by Lucy Score
“Almost as good as? I think you meant to say ‘blows my IPA out of the water.’”
“Clearly your beard has ruined your taste buds.”
Phoebe winked at Summer. “They can go all night like this if we don’t distract them.”
“CP and BP? Carter Pierce and Beckett Pierce?”
Carter nodded. “We have an ongoing competition.”
“Can I try one?” Summer asked.
Did anyone ever say no to those baby blues?
Carter slid his bottle across the island to her. “This is one of Beckett’s. An India pale ale. It’s not too bad.”
Summer picked up the bottle, and Carter watched her lips wrap around the mouth.
Shit.
Realizing his mistake, he turned his attention to assembling the salad.
Phoebe, her kitchen prep done, settled in to tell Summer how she had earned a degree in sustainable food and farming and met the boys’ father while researching her master’s thesis.
“John Pierce took one look at me and tried to run for the hills, but he never stood a chance.”
“You knew what you wanted,” Summer said.
“He had these soulful, gray eyes and unruly hair and was frowning more often than not. I fell head over heels. The work he was doing here didn’t hurt either. This used to be 200 acres of broken down fields and ramshackle buildings rotting on their foundations.”
Carter moved around the kitchen, grabbing a basket for the garlic bread, and started to slice. “Mom and Dad took what had been a century-old dairy farm and turned it into Pierce Acres.”
“What kind of animals do you raise here?”
“We don’t raise most of them in the traditional farm sense,” Phoebe said. “We’ve got free-range chickens for eggs and horses for the riding program. But everyone else is a pet or a rescue.”
“Mr. Vegetarian here lets his bleeding heart make the decisions,” Beckett said, snagging a piece of steaming bread.
Carter shot Summer a glance and saw her mentally filing information away. He didn’t like it. Every conversation with her would be focused on dragging private details out of him. He took another swig of beer.
“I still say spaghetti without meatballs is sacrilege,” Beckett sighed.
“You’ll get over it.” Carter tossed him another piece of bread.
A knock at the side door caught their attention. The three Pierces shouted a welcome, and the door swung open.
“Joey, how many times do I have to tell you that you don’t have to knock?” Carter reminded her.
The woman who let the screen door slam behind her had the height and strut of a runway model. “Unlike you gentlemen, I wasn’t raised in a barn. Besides, I don’t want to give any of you the idea you can burst into my house any time you want,” she said in a voice as husky as a jazz singer.
She strolled in, navy riding breeches and tall boots accentuating legs that went on for days. Her long sleeve polo was untucked, and her chestnut hair was pulled back in a low, sleek ponytail. Summer felt like she was looking at a Ralph Lauren Polo ad come to life.
“You wouldn’t have let them in the house, either, if you were their mother,” Phoebe joked from the stove.
“You just come from the barn?” Carter asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that a beautiful woman had just entered his house.
“Yeah. I stayed after the lessons to check on Gonzo. He was favoring his front leg today, and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t anything serious. He’s fine. Just being a baby.”
Joey worked her way through the greetings. A kiss on the cheek for Carter and Beckett and a tight hug for Phoebe.
“Joey, this is Summer. She’s writing the article on the farm. Joey is our on-site horse whisperer,” Carter said.
Summer offered her hand and they shook.
Joey’s brown eyes coolly measured. “Hi.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Summer said, hoping a friendly smile would disarm her.
Joey dropped her hand and shifted her attention to Phoebe. “Thanks for having me to dinner.”
Not a warm and fuzzy kind of girl. Summer could respect that.
“Anytime, sweetheart. You’re always welcome to help me even out the testosterone,” Phoebe chuckled, her glasses steaming from the contents of the pot.
Joey dumped a worn tote on the counter and Beckett dove for it. “Please tell me you brought dessert. Apple crisp?” he asked hopefully.
“Peanut butter pie,” she corrected.
“Are those crumbled up peanut butter cups on top?”
“Of course.”
“When are you going to give up spending all your time with horses so you can marry me and make me desserts every day?” Beckett sighed.
Joey rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Keep dreaming, Mr. Mayor. I have no desire to be first lady of Blue Moon.”
“You’re the mayor?” Summer asked, eyebrows raised. That was an interesting tidbit. Beckett had to be a year or two younger than Carter’s thirty years.
“Mayor and an attorney. You couldn’t tell from the bullshit that spills out of his mouth?” Carter smirked.
“Carter Pierce, you watch your damn mouth,” Phoebe warned, brandishing salad tongs.
“Yes, ma’am,” Carter answered contritely.
Beckett flipped him the bird and quickly ran his hand through his thick, dark hair when Phoebe set her sights on him.
“Put that finger away before I break it, Beckett,” she ordered.
“Yes, ma’am.” He turned back to Summer. “I am the mayor, two years into my term.”
“It was either Beckett here,” Joey jerked a thumb in his direction. “Or Crazy Fitz from the bookstore. And Fitz wanted to make it mandatory that all residents had to build fallout shelters.” She leaned in and snagged a cucumber out of the salad.
“For the love of—if you all are going to keep picking, we might as well eat,” Phoebe sighed.
Dinner was an entertaining and informative peek into family life. The Pierces—and Joey—bickered and laughed their way through dessert. It was an easy dynamic, one bred from years of knowing every detail of each other’s lives.
Summer sat back and did what she did best, observed the action. Her family dinners hadn’t had the casual familiarity the Pierces exhibited for years, and it was refreshing to watch the friendliness, the easiness.
She tried to pay attention to everyone, but her gaze always returned to Carter. After his shower, he had changed into clean jeans and a long-sleeved tee that hugged every inch of muscle. He had a scar that split his eyebrow and traveled up, carving a path into his forehead. He looked like a warrior. Where Beckett was smooth and polite, Carter was rough around the edges.
There was something there that intrigued her. Something miles beyond his attractive looks and her desire to tell his story.
She liked looking at him, liked listening to the rumble of his voice. And, for now, she would leave it at that. She was here to write his story, the story of farm and family. Not throw herself at him.
After cleanup—in which they all participated—Phoebe brought out photo albums. “I thought you’d like to see where it all started,” she said, sliding onto the bench next to Summer.
The photos were faded with age, but Summer could see the hopeful beginnings of a life on the land.
John Pierce was a tall, striking figure. A doting husband and father, Phoebe explained, he had a quiet, patient way with the land and the animals that made everything thrive.
“You boys look so much like your father,” Phoebe sighed, cupping a hand to Carter and Beckett’s cheeks as they leaned over her shoulders to see the album. “He’d be so proud of you.”
Carter kissed her palm. “No more wine for you. It makes you sappy,” he teased.
In defiance, Joey topped off Phoebe’s glass.
“Oh look, here all three of you are,” Phoebe said pointing to a picture of three little boys with jet-black hair and varying degrees of bruises and grass stains. “And here’s one of you a
nd Jax, Joey.”
Joey didn’t look, but Summer did. A mini Carter-looking boy was holding the lead of a pony that a small, grinning girl rode.
“I forgot how good he was with horses,” Phoebe said, tapping a finger over the picture.
Joey shoved her chair back and abruptly got to her feet. “Thanks for dinner, everyone. I’ve got an early morning.” And with that, she stalked from the room. They heard the screen door slam shut a few seconds later.
Phoebe sighed.
“It’s been eight years,” Beckett said. “At some point, shouldn’t it stop hurting?”
“Some things aren’t healed by time,” Carter said, taking a long draw from his beer and laying a hand on his mother’s shoulder.
Phoebe squeezed his hand. “Sorry about that, Summer. Jax and Joey were high school sweethearts, and it ends the way so many of those stories do.”
“With a broken heart?” Summer supplied.
“He left town in the middle of the night. No explanation. Just ‘I’m going to California.’ We didn’t see him again until Christmas the following year. Joey still hasn’t seen him.”
“Mom, I don’t think Summer needs all this background,” Carter contended.
“And Joey would hate us sitting around all ‘poor Joey,’” Beckett added.
Phoebe closed the photo album. “Well at least you know not to ask Joey anything about the third Pierce brother. Now, if numbers one and two can help carry my things to the car, I’m going home to put on pajamas with an elastic waistband.”
4
Carter gave Summer points for dragging herself out of bed at the un-Manhattan hour of 6 a.m. And even more for wandering into the kitchen fresh faced and smiling.
“Good morning.” Her voice still had the huskiness of sleep, but her eyes were bright.
“Morning,” he said, pulling a second mug out of the cabinet. “Coffee?”
“All that you have and more,” she said wiggling her fingers toward the mug.
He filled it and handed it over. “Cream’s in the fridge. Sugar’s on the counter.”
She shook her head. “I work for a fashion magazine. If you’re going to drink your calories, it’s booze, not cream and sugar.”
That silvery blonde hair was pulled back in a perky ponytail. She was wearing a touch of makeup, designer jeans, and brand-new hiking boots. Too pretty for a workday on the farm.
“How long have you had those boots?”
“I just got them. Do you like them?”
Carter shook his head. “You’re going to be on your feet all day in brand-new shoes.”
She waved his words away. “If I can spend thirteen hours in stilettos, I can walk around in these.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Are you always so adversarial in the mornings?” she asked, frowning at him over her mug.
Only when he spent half the night tossing and turning, trying to force thoughts of a certain baby doll blonde down the hall out of his mind.
“How do you like your eggs?” he asked, ignoring her comment.
Over perfectly scrambled eggs and toast that she burned a little, Summer plotted how best to ease Carter into the interview process. Direct personal questions seemed to put his back up, and that didn’t help anyone.
She washed down her handful of pills with water and took her dishes to the sink. And then, because they were there, she washed them quickly and put them on the drying rack.
She needed Carter open, and that meant he had to trust her.
“So, let’s talk about the article for a minute before the grand farm tour. Obviously this isn’t going to be some exploitive tell-all. I don’t know if you’ve ever read Indulgence—”
“Do I look like I read Indulgence?”
Summer did a head-to-toe scan of him. Scarred work boots, another Henley today with a huge hole in the forearm, and those piercing gray eyes.
“No,” she decided. “However, in addition to the usual fashion-led content, we always include a bigger picture feature. Something about improving the world we live in. Last month’s issue was on an American couple working with refugees in Europe.”
“And you think running a family farm ranks up there with offering shelter to refugees?”
“I do.” She nodded earnestly. “What you do here matters. And you’re going to help me tell the story.”
“Fine. I’m just not very comfortable with strangers poking around my life looking for meaning behind every little thing.”
“Well, then you’ll just have to get to know me so I’m not a stranger.”
“Funny,” he said dryly.
They decided on the tour first followed by an afternoon of actual work.
“If there’s anything work-wise that you can’t handle, you tell me.” Carter demanded, grabbing bottles of water out of the fridge. “Don’t try to prove yourself. You could get hurt or destroy crops or burn down the farm.”
Summer grimaced. “Your confidence in me is inspiring.”
They left the safety of the kitchen via the side door and entered the unknown of farm life. Carter was leading the way to the garage across the driveway when something brown and hairy nibbled at Summer’s jeans.
She yelped and grabbed for Carter. Clinging to the waistband of his jeans, she peeked around his back.
“Oh my God! What is that? It tried to bite me!”
Carter dragged Summer out from behind his back and anchored her to his side. He was trying not to laugh. “You’ve never seen a goat before?”
“They’re not exactly wandering around the streets of Manhattan!” She was embarrassed and startled. Plus, the thing had yellow eyes. What animal had yellow eyes?
Carter leaned down to offer the goat a friendly scratch on the head. “This is Clementine,” he said as the yellow-eyed monster rubbed her head against him affectionately. “Clementine, meet Summer.”
“Nice to meet you, Clementine,” Summer said tentatively. “Why’d you eat a hole in my jeans?” She felt it with her finger. High enough on the hip that the blue lace of her underwear was now visible. Her investment in the denim from the right designer that hugged all the right places now seemed like a rather large waste.
“That’s how she says hello.” Carter held up his ripped sleeve. “This was ‘Hello and why haven’t you fed me yet?’”
“So she’s not trying to rip off limbs?”
Carter laughed. “No. She’s just attention-seeking. The only person she’d try to rip limbs off is Jax. They share a mutual hatred of each other.”
Clementine made a bleating noise and became marginally cuter. Summer tentatively reached out her hand and let Clementine nuzzle it. “I guess she’s not so bad, minus the pants-eating.”
Carter eyed her jeans. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s all part of the experience. I have another pair with me.”
Summer pulled her phone out of her back pocket. “I guess this is a good way to start documenting my first day here. Come here,” she said, tugging Carter down.
“You’re not seriously taking a selfie with a goat.”
“I’m taking a selfie with you and a goat,” she corrected. “It’s for the blog. I can see you judging me, Carter. Smile.”
He glanced at the screen and heard the click. “I’ve never taken a selfie before.”
“Your first one? I’ll text it to you,” she promised. “Are all of your animals so… free range?” She stowed her phone back in her pocket and glanced over her shoulder to check for new biting threats advancing on them.
Carter’s eyes twinkled. “Free range doesn’t mean no fences. Clem escaped, which means either there’s an open gate somewhere or someone left a bucket too close to the fence and she jumped it.”
“There you are!” A young man, more boy than man, jogged across the driveway. “Shit. Sorry, Carter. She got past me again.”
“No problem, she just came to introduce herself,” Carter said, giving the beast anoth
er ear scratch. He made the introductions and Summer learned that Colby worked part-time on the farm and part-time in town at an HVAC place.
“It was nice meeting you,” Colby said. “I’m gonna get Clementine back to her home before she can wreak any more havoc.”
“Make sure you move the bucket away from the fence,” Carter called after him.
He led the way to the Jeep and they headed down the dusty lane toward the main road. “I’ll show you the horses first since that’s a big part of our operation here. Joey runs most of that side with some help from Colby and the others.”
He turned onto the main road and headed south. Fields of what Summer assumed was corn flanked the road on both sides.
“Is this all Pierce land?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, turning the Jeep onto what looked like a paved driveway. “And these are the stables.”
They rounded a bend, and the corn opened up to riding rings and a large metal and stone building. Beyond the barn were green, green pastures. Summer counted more than a dozen horses grazing.
“Wow.”
“Come on,” Carter said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ll show you around.”
They went inside first, where he gave her the tour of the indoor riding ring with its sawdust floor and high timber ceiling. Next came a tack room so spotless and organized a surgeon would have given it the nod of approval. There was an office that looked barely used and a closet full of supplies and snacks where Carter grabbed an apple. And then came the stalls, twenty of them in all.
“This is amazing,” she breathed.
Carter led the way down to the last stall. A spotted gray mare stomped anxiously. “This is Lolly. We just got her a week ago from a neglect situation, and she’s still a little shy. Here.” He handed Summer the apple.
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Give it to Lolly.”
“Do I just put it in her feed thing?” She pointed at the bucket mounted on the door.
He grinned. “No. You hold it out like this.” He gripped her wrist and slowly extended her arm toward the horse. “Go slow. Don’t scare her.”
His heat seeped through the thin layer of her shirt, and Summer paused to memorize the moment. Dusty sunlight streamed through windows to lie in pools on the straw-covered floor. The unmistakable scents of straw and leather and sawdust mingled in the air. Carter’s strong fingers held her wrist just over her racing pulse.