FarmBoy

by Kayt Miller

  “Isabelle, I miss you.”

  I’m a little shocked by his words. I don’t know what I expected him to say, but that wasn’t it. “You do?”

  “We do.”

  See that? He just made it a “we” rather than just a “me.” One letter changes everything. I sigh because I can’t help it. I’m resigned. “I miss you guys too, but….”

  God, I want to cry, but I promised myself that I wouldn’t cry over Nash Watson anymore. It’s a useless waste of energy.

  “Did you read my letter?”

  He knows I did. “Yes.”

  “Is that why you shut us out?”

  Us? What the ever-loving…. “Us? Shut us out?” The man is exasperating, and not in a good way. “I shut you out. I’ve made sure Andi knows I’m there for her. I see her every day at school, and I make it a point to find her and talk to her each day.” God, what kind of monster does he think I am? I’d never shut out Andi. She’s got nothing to do with my feelings about Nash.

  “So, you’re shutting me out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?”

  “Yeah, Isabelle.” His voice sounds hard. “Why?”

  Is this the point in our story where I tell him how I feel? It could take all night if I start. But maybe that’s exactly what I need to do because Nash is clueless. It’s also all about him, and I’m over that. Ivy is always going to be there––she’ll always be in the periphery as part of his and Andi’s life. She’s in his world for life.

  “You want the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  God, he can’t handle the truth. But I need to finally say it. Taking in a deep breath for courage, I start. “I’ll tell you, but you need to shut the hell up until I’m all done.”

  Nash chuckles. He thinks it’s funny now, but he won’t after I’m done. “I’m ready, kitten.”

  “Don’t call me ‘kitten.’” I’m a lioness, dammit.

  “Isabelle.”

  “Better.” I pause. “I’m not sure where to start, so I’ll go back to the beginning.”

  “The beginning?”

  “Shut. It,” I snap.

  “Shutting it,” he says quickly.

  “Let me start at the beginning. Again.”

  “Okay.”

  I don’t say a word. I meant what I said. He needs to just let me spew all of my crap.

  “Sorry.” He sounds remorseful.

  “Anyway, I was a teen, and one day I walked into the family room and saw you playing video games with Isaac and it hit me.” I pause, thinking he’s going to interject, but he doesn’t. “That’s the day I fell in love with you.”

  I hear him inhale on the other end of the line, but he says nothing. Good boy.

  “After that day, all I could imagine was you and me. Nash and Isabelle sitting in a tree, etcetera. I pictured our wedding day, my dress, your suit, and then I saw our kids. Three of them. Two boys and one girl.”

  I can’t believe I’m saying this to him. This is like unlocking my diary and just handing it to him. Terrifying. Humiliating.

  “Then, you started dating Ivy. I was pretty bummed out about that, but I remained optimistic. I mean, Ivy was Ivy. I didn’t fathom anyone could stand to be with her for very long.” I snort a laugh. “I guess I was wrong about that because you were with her a long time. Then, Andi.”

  “Yeah.”

  I let that one slide. “So, Andi came, and I figured the two of you would live happily ever after. I went off to college. I wasn’t looking, but lots of people meet their husbands and wives at college. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen for me. Instead of fretting about that, I focused on school and made some great friends. I remember hearing about Ivy’s disappearing act, but I wouldn’t allow myself to hope.”

  “Isabelle—”

  I ignore him. “After graduation, the only job I could find was back here. Then that night of the open house, I saw you for the first time since Isaac’s wedding, and you acted like you had no idea who I was.”

  “I knew.”

  “Please let me—”

  “Sorry.”

  “Then, Nicole begged me to talk to you about Andi. I didn’t want to because: a) you didn’t seem to remember me, and b) you were a jerk-and-a-half.”

  “I was. I’m sorry.”

  “So, when you finally acquiesced and let me help Andi and we started to become friends, I couldn’t help but hope again.” This next part is even more embarrassing than admitting my teen crush. “Then you propositioned me in your living room, and while it irked me that you’d lump me in with your hookups, I thought it was interesting you acted that way toward me. It meant that, perhaps, I wasn’t just Isaac’s little sister––that you saw me as a woman, something I liked very much.”

  “You are a woman. A sexy, gorgeous woman.”

  “I had fun pretending to date you, but when you blurted to everyone and their dog about us getting married, it got real. Marriage is something I take seriously. It’s sort of sacred to me, and you were throwing it around so flippantly that it hit me at my core. You seemed sorry for it, but not the way I’d hoped.

  “You’ve been there for me and my family, and I can’t thank you enough for that, but I can’t sit by and be used just to prove to Ivy that you’ve moved on or that you’re providing a stable home for Andi. Everyone knows you’re already doing that, and honestly, I deserve better than that. So, in answer to your question at the end of your letter, no, I can’t just keep doing what we’re doing. I can’t pretend to date you or be engaged to you if it’s not real. I want it all, Nash. And if you aren’t willing to give it to me, to give me everything, then respect me enough to leave me alone and let me, hopefully, find the person who will.”

  There’s a long silence between us. I’ve said what I needed to say, and now I almost regret it. He could hang up right now, and that would be that.

  “Isabelle.”

  I wait for him to say more. And wait. And wait. I feel my eyes start to burn with tears, so instead of letting him hear me, I hang up the phone. There’s no point in listening to the man breathe on the other end of the line.

  I turn off all the lights, make sure the front door is locked, switch off the television, and head up to my bedroom. I’m really tired, but I know this attempt at going to bed is going to be fruitless. Maybe I should take something to help me sleep. I shake my head. I have to get up in the morning, and I don’t want to be groggy. Slipping off my leggings, I get beneath my covers and find the only spot on my old bed that’s comfortable. I breathe in the clean scent of my sheets and sigh again. “I did the right thing.” I chant that to myself a few more times, and the repetition helps lull me into sleep. Thank goodness.

  “Isabelle.” It sounds like someone is whispering in my ear. It must be a dream. I feel the bed squeak and jostle about, then, “Isabelle.” Someone’s hand touches my face gently, and soft lips kiss my mouth. “Wake up, Isabelle.”

  “Nash?” It sure sounds like him.

  “Baby, wake up.”

  I blink a few times until I see his silhouette. The light from the hallway is making it hard to see his face. All I know is he’s lying next to me in my bed. “How did you get in here?” I mean, I locked the front door.

  “Back door. You need to lock up at night, babe. You never know who’ll sneak in.”

  I should be angry right now, but all I do is laugh at his words. “Someone like you?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I’m here to tell you what I was about to say on the phone––right before you hung up on me.”

  I grumble, “You were taking forever. That’s never good.”

  “Well, I had to try to say it right. I couldn’t just blurt out that I love you too and that I’ve probably loved you since I saw you at Isaac’s wedding and that I told your brother I’d leave you alone, but then you moved back here and that’s it. I knew you had to be mine, but I fucked up, and look where we are.”


  I start to giggle because he said all that without taking a breath. “You love me?”

  “Not just love you, Isabelle. I adore you. I worship you. I’ve never known anyone like you, and I’m in awe of you. I’m not good enough, which means I don’t deserve you.”

  “Nash—” He places his finger over my lips.

  “But I decided that’s the way it will always be, and I can live with that. You’re going to have to put up with a man who isn’t worthy. It’ll take patience and kindness on your part, both of which you have in abundance, so I think we’ll be okay. You’ll get tired of the pedestal I’ve placed you on but, again, you’ll have to figure out a way to cope.”

  I want to laugh again, but the way he’s talking to me sounds so sincere, sweet.

  “You love me?” I know I shouldn’t keep asking, but I need to hear it.

  “I love you, Isabelle Renee Harmon, with everything I’ve got.”

  I’ve got to keep myself from crying and ruining this moment, so I lift my head and kiss him. He doesn’t hesitate. Before I know it, I’m on my back and Nash is above me. I open my legs to make room for him, and my body feels charged, alive. Not only that, it’s like… it’s like he’s supposed to be right there. Yeah, I know that sounds hokey, but it’s true. For the first time in my life, I can breathe.

  “Isabelle,” he says right before he kisses my cheek, then my nose, both eyelids, and down the other side. He picks his head up and stares down at me. Luckily, the light glowing from the hallway lets me see him. I wouldn’t want to miss this, not for all the tea in England. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Me too.”

  “No, not just recently. I mean, my whole life. You’re what’s been missing.”

  “Oh.” Shit. That does it. The waterworks. I did my best to avoid them, but it can’t be helped. That, right there, what Nash just said, it’s what girls like me dream about.

  “Shh, don’t cry, honey,” he coos. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  I shake my head, because if I try to talk right now, I’ll sound like Yoda. So, I lean up and kiss him again. I use my hand to wipe off the tears that I just smushed onto his face, and I kiss him again. And again. Until we’re making out like teens in the back seat of a car. Except we’re not in a car. We’re in my bed. My squeaky, tiny bed. No matter. We’re alone, and that’s all that matters. Wait… I pull back and ask, “Where’s Andi?”

  “Mom’s with her at the house.”

  “Your mom’s in your house?” I mean, that’s a pretty big deal. She’s been avoiding stepping foot in the place ever since she moved into town––after Conrad died.

  “I told her I needed her.” He kisses my mouth. “And she came.”

  “Oh.” Damn it all to hell in a handbasket. The tears again.

  “Shh, Isabelle,” he says with concern in his deep voice. “Why are you crying now?”

  “I don’t know,” I say sort of angrily. “This is overwhelming.”

  He starts to pull away. “I’m sorry. Is this too much?”

  I grab at his T-shirt and pull him right back where he was. “Hell no. Don’t move.” Well, move. I want him to move. But you know what I mean.

  His chuckle is the most beautiful sound in the world. “You want me to stay?”

  I nod. “I do.”

  “For more than one night?” the jerk asks.

  “Definitely. For more than one night.”

  “Forever?” he asks softly.

  “Absolutely. Forever.”

  The kiss that results from that little conversation is slow, sexy, and deep. Our tongues are playing a game of cat and mouse all while his hand has started to sneak up into the inside of my T-shirt. “This okay, Isabelle?” he asks, kissing my neck lightly.

  Yes. I want his calloused hands touching my skin. It’s the best feeling in the entire world––a sign of a hardworking man. There’s nothing sexier. “Yes. Please.”

  “Please?” he whispers as his hand finds my breast. His palm skims over the top, making my nipple erect and hard. I arch into his hand like I’m reaching out for more. I am. I definitely am.

  To expedite things, I reach down to the bottom of my tee and lift it up until it’s over my head and tossed somewhere into the room. “Jesus.” Nash groans. “Fucking glorious breasts, Isabelle.”

  “Thanks,” I say with a giggle. I know they’re big, but gravity hasn’t taken hold yet, so they’re okay.

  I watch as he slowly leans down and takes one nipple into his mouth. It makes me squirm because I feel it all over. Goose bumps run down my arms and legs, causing me to open them wider to accommodate his big body. I want him touching me everywhere. I only wish it were skin to skin. So, I tug on his shirt. I want it off.

  Pulling back from my breast, he reaches back behind his head and pulls off his shirt. I love it when guys pull their shirts off like that. It’s something about the way their arms flex and their stomachs clench that makes it a drool-worthy sight to see, and Nash is no exception. Heck, he may be the rule.

  Once his skin is free, I run my palms from his hard belly up over his pectorals. I skim my hands over his nipples, and he hisses. I guess his are sensitive too. Pushing myself up, I get close enough to one to lick. His hiss is louder and longer. “Isabelle.” Nash’s voice sounds strained. I lean over and lick the other side, and while I do that, I run my right hand down his stomach to the front of his pants. He’s hard. Really hard. I can feel the ridge of him straining through his blue jeans.

  “Darlin’,” he says, taking my wrist, “let’s not rush.”

  “Rush?” I want to laugh. “I’ve been waiting ten years for this moment.” Turning my wrist, I reach for his jeans again. I want to see him.

  “Isabelle.” Nash’s voice is deeper and more commanding.

  So, I stop and look up at him. “What?” It’s my turn to sound commanding.

  “If I take off my pants, I won’t want to stop. I will, of course, if you want me too, but I won’t want to.”

  “Right now, I want to feel your skin against mine.” I want the rest of it too, but one thing at a time. “Let’s play it by ear.”

  Without a word, Nash moves to slide out of bed, and it creaks and groans like we’re murdering it.

  “Your bed….” Nash chuckles.

  “It used to be my grandmother’s.” Then it was my mom’s. I love this old bed with all the wrought iron and memories. The fact that it’s been passed down from generation to generation makes it even more special.

  He halts his movements. He was just about to unbutton his fly. “Your grandmother’s?”

  “Yep.” From the look on his face, I’d better leave off the part about it being my mom’s too.

  “We’re not doing this for the first time in your grandma’s bed.” He reaches his hand out for me to take. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I’ll go along. He tugs on it until I’m out of bed and standing in front of him. Looking down at me, he focuses on my chest. “Hands down, my love, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” With a kiss on my nose, he pulls me out of my room and down the hallway to Isaac’s old bedroom. Inside, he leads me to the bed. Isaac’s bed is a double and newer than mine and squeak-free.

  As Nash pulls back the quilt, he says, “It’s bigger, and I assume it doesn’t cry out for help whenever you’re on top of it.”

  I want to giggle, but then Nash quickly finishes opening his fly and my giggles stop. He pushes the jeans, along with his underwear, down past his… his penis, over his thick thighs, and down to the floor. Kicking them to the side, he steps my way. I know this because my eyes are on his penis, and I can’t help noticing it getting closer. And closer. It’s pointing right at me, and it looks a little angry, to be honest. It’s rigid and all shades of red and purple.

  Once Nash is in front of me, he takes one of his fingers and brings it to my chin, helping me lift my head until our eyes meet. I know he knows I was staring at his, well, his dick, so I’m just going to say it. “You loo
k like you’re bigger than average.”

  He tugs my panties down, letting them fall to the floor, as he responds. “I’ve never compared.”

  I’d call bull crap on that, but I decide this isn’t the time to tell him I know guys better than that. Right now, I need to focus on this man. My man.

  Oh my gosh. My man. I know I gasp out loud the second the thought enters my mind because Nash asks, “What’s wrong?”

  With confidence I didn’t know I had, I reach down and take him in hand. I run my palm up then down slowly so I can feel what he’s like. “You’re my man,” I say, looking into his pretty eyes.

  Nash’s breathing has picked up since I placed my hand around him, so when he says, “And you’re my woman,” it sounds all growly and sexy.

  And then, it all happens at once. I’m on my back on Isaac’s bed in a millisecond, and Nash is kneeling on the floor with his body between my open thighs. “You’re finally fucking mine, Isabelle.” He latches onto my breast, and we’re back to the place we were in my bedroom, minus the squeaking bed.

  33

  Nash

  I’m finally right where I’ve been fantasizing about for months. The two of us naked and me between Isabelle’s legs. It’s heaven, and I haven’t even done all the things I want to do with her yet. Her breasts are spectacular. I’ve never seen a body like hers in my life, not even when I used to watch porn. She’s curvy and soft and smells of sweet honey and, I swear to you, cinnamon.

  God, I love cinnamon.

  “I want you, Isabelle,” I say as I move to her neglected breast. I wrap my mouth around her and moan as I suckle. Fucking cinnamon.

  “Nash,” my woman says, all breathless and shit, “I want you too.”

  I’ve literally fantasized about this moment a million times. As my hands skim her soft skin, I begin to kiss her, starting between her tits. Then I move down her stomach. I lick at her belly button and keep moving down. I place my nose at her apex and inhale. Sweet as fuck. Swiping my tongue over her wet slit, I revel in her taste.

  I feel her try to wriggle away, so I stop to look up at her. “Babe? What’s wrong?”