by Lucy Score
Lolly took a tentative step to her and then another.
Her soft nose brushed the apple and Summer’s hand.
“Is she going to bite me?” Summer whispered. Lolly dropped her head, snuffling at something on the ground.
“She’s playing hard to get. Just hold your hand flat,” Carter said in her ear. His warm breath tickled her neck.
Summer uncurled her fingers, balancing the apple on her palm. “Come on, pretty girl.”
Lolly lifted her head and tossed it.
“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you,” Summer whispered.
The horse whickered softly as if to ask permission before taking the daintiest bite.
“She’s eating it!” Summer said with wonder.
Carter squeezed her wrist. “Nice job. She doesn’t take food from just anyone.”
“Will she stop once she gets to the bottom, or will I lose fingers?”
“Usually she stops,” Carter teased.
When Lolly finished her snack, Carter suggested they look for Joey. They found her in the ring astride a horse so tall Summer couldn’t figure out how she got on it.
The horse didn’t seem inclined to behave. It danced sideways, head tossing and tail swishing. Joey’s face was a mask of determination. She adjusted the reins and dug her heels into its chestnut flanks. The horse’s head bobbed, and Summer was sure it would disobey the order. But then it leapt forward. Summer caught Joey’s look of triumph as she and the horse moved as one, galloping around the ring, glossy tails streaming behind them.
She snapped several pictures with her phone and crossed her fingers that one of them would turn out to be good enough for the blog.
After a few laps, Joey slowed the horse and came to a stop inside the fence in front of them.
“Progress,” Carter said as Joey slid to the ground.
She thumped the horse in the chest. Her beautiful face was impassive again, but her eyes still sparkled.
“Yeah, he’s doing well. Some more work, and I think he’ll be a good show horse for some of the more advanced students.”
“Let me know if you want me to take him out this week to see how he does for another rider,” Carter offered.
Joey nodded briskly. “Sure. You two here for a ride?”
Summer’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. Carter’s just giving me the tour.”
“Have you ever been on a horse before?” Joey’s lips curved.
She grew up in New York. She couldn’t just hop on a horse instead of the subway or a taxi. “No, I’ve never ridden before.”
Joey and Carter exchanged a look.
“Oh, no.” She shook her head vehemently. “I’m writing an article, I don’t need to—”
“If you’re scared, you don’t have to do it,” Carter said sweetly.
“Yeah, not everyone can handle riding.” Joey’s voice was laced with what Summer recognized to be mock sympathy.
She knew when she was being played. “Fine,” she sighed. “But do you have one smaller than him?”
Carter laid a hand on her shoulder. “I think we can find someone more your speed.”
Ten minutes later, she was wearing a helmet and sitting astride a pretty little mare named Charcoal. Summer’s knees were glued to the horse’s sides, her knuckles white on the reins.
“Loosen up on the reins,” Joey called from the end of the lead rope she was holding.
Summer let some reins out but kept her grip tight.
“Okay, we’re gonna walk now,” Joey said.
“Wait! What if she runs? What if I fall off?”
“Keep your heels down, grip with your knees, and let your hips rock when she moves.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Summer called out, trying to keep the panic out of her tone.
“You will in a second,” Joey said and signaled Charcoal forward.
Summer clutched at the horn of the saddle as she was lurched into motion.
“Keep your back straight,” Joey ordered. Charcoal moved slowly, making a wide circle around her.
“Get a grip,” Summer whispered to herself. She released the horn and sat lower in the saddle. Her knees were locked on the mare’s sides so hard her thighs trembled. She straightened her spine and tried to look confident.
“Better,” Joey told her as Charcoal ambled past the fence.
Summer forced her heels down and felt her hips start to move with the horse. Charcoal’s ears twitched as if congratulating her.
“You got it now!” Carter grinned from his perch on the fence.
Summer couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across her face if she wanted to. “Can we go a little faster?” she called out to Joey.
“Next pace is a trot. It’s harder to sit than a walk. Sit deep in the saddle and give her a squeeze with your legs,” Joey instructed.
Summer did as she was told and was delighted when the mare pranced into a trot. She was jostled about for the first few steps before regaining her seat. She followed Joey’s instructions to refine her form and felt braver and more confident with every circle.
“Okay, now let’s try stopping,” Joey called. “Take the reins and pull back very gently.”
Summer did as she was told and was delighted when Charcoal came to a neat stop in front of Carter. He slid down from the fence into the ring.
“Take your right foot out of the stirrup and swing your leg over,” he told her.
“Okay, but how do I get down—”
He plucked her off Charcoal’s back like a child and set her on the ground.
“I did it! I rode a horse! My mother is never going to believe this,” she said, turning to face him. She lost her train of thought. He was inches away. She was trapped between him and the horse. Charcoal shifted and hip-checked Summer into Carter. Her palms splayed across his chest, and she tilted her head back, the weight of the riding helmet made the strap dig into her chin.
“Nice job,” Carter said with a half smile that did nothing to soften the intensity of his gaze. He tugged the end of her ponytail.
“What the hell are you two doing over there?” Joey’s voice had Summer trying to push both man and horse back to get some breathing room.
Carter took the reins from her. “Come collect your horse before she tramples Summer,” he told Joey.
After the horses, Carter drove Summer around the farm to show her the rest of the property. Fields, barns, the pond and creek. He knew she was dying to ask questions, but she seemed willing to take it all in without muddling the experience with unnecessary conversation.
He pulled up in front of the house. “Let’s break for lunch, and then we’ll tackle some work in the afternoon. Okay?”
“Sounds good. Can I ask you some questions while we eat?”
And just like that, his reprieve was over.
“Sure,” he sighed.
Summer patted his arm. “It won’t be so bad. I promise.”
They exited the Jeep and were heading toward the house when a squeal caught their attention. Two pigs clamored against the gate against the driveway.
“Well, since you already rode a horse today, you might as well meet the pigs,” Carter said, taking Summer’s hand in his. He led her to the gate and unlatched it.
Sensing her hesitation, Carter went in first. “Come on before they get it in their head to take a field trip. The little one’s fast. She’s hard to catch.”
Summer stepped inside and jumped back when the pair nosed up to her.
“Meet Dixie and Hamlet.” Carter crouched down, and both pigs greeted him, their curly tails wagging.
“They’re like dogs,” Summer murmured.
“They’re actually smarter than most dogs.” He thumped Hamlet on his flank. He bent down and picked up a blue rubber ball. “Here, throw this.”
“They do not fetch! Do they?”
“Throw it and find out,” he said, arching an eyebrow.
Summer snatched the ball out of his hand and showed it to Dixie. She heaved it
toward the far end of the field “Go get it, piggy. Go get the ball!”
Dixie took off with a squeal of delight, Hamlet hot on her heels.
“There’s no way she’s going to…”
“Pick up the ball and bring it back?” Carter smirked, as Dixie dropped the ball at Summer’s feet.
“How did you teach them to do that?” She picked up the ball and threw it again. This time Hamlet—who had a good fifty pounds on the delicate Dixie—got to it first and pranced back with Dixie jockeying for position. He wasn’t as inclined to give up the ball as his sister had and waddled off to hide his treasure in a shady corner.
Dixie nudged Summer with her wet nose.
“She wants you to pet her,” Carter said.
“Well, if you insist,” Summer said, kneeling down. Dixie wiggled with pleasure as Summer stroked her hands down the pig’s side.
Carter’s phone rang in his pocket. It was his mother’s ring tone.
“Morning, Mom,” he said, walking a few paces away.
“How’s everything going?” Phoebe asked.
“By everything, you mean Summer, right?”
“You’re a smart boy. No wonder you’re my favorite. Now tell your mother what she wants to know.”
“I’m not overworking her. She’s playing with Dixie and Ham right now. Joey got her up on a horse this morning, too.”
“Good. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t working her into the ground.”
“There will be some actual farm labor in her future, but I promise not to do any permanent damage.”
His mother sighed. “Well, that’s all I can ask. This article could be a very good thing, you know. A little attention for the farm wouldn’t hurt.”
“I know, Mom.” He turned and spotted Summer on her knees petting both pigs at once. She laughed as Hamlet tried to shove Dixie out of the way. The light spring breeze teased Summer’s ponytail. Pretty as a picture.
“Listen, I gotta go, Mom. We’re going to have lunch before we tackle any real work. I’ll tell her you said hi.”
Over leftover spaghetti, Summer’s inquisition began.
“Do you mind if I record this?” she asked, waving her phone.
Carter shrugged. Of course he minded. He minded this entire thing. A lot. “It’s fine.”
“It helps me stay focused on the conversation instead of trying to take notes. Plus I can eat,” she said, hitting record. “So let’s talk about why you went organic.”
He was relieved by the softball question. “We decided to make the switch a few years ago. Science and agriculture are constantly changing, and one of those variables is pesticides. Which ones are ‘safe,’ which ones have been reclassified. We can’t predict the long-term effects of some of these chemicals. Throw in the unknown of genetically modified plants, and it’s too big of a gamble to make. We’re all firm believers that the closer you can keep things to nature, the better.”
“Makes sense. Did you have any backlash from the rest of the farming community here?”
Carter laughed. “I’ll show you around Blue Moon, and you’ll see what I mean when I say we don’t do backlash here.”
“I’m intrigued.” Summer took a bite of spaghetti and continued. “How do you believe growing and eating organic plays into the bigger picture of health?”
He expertly twirled pasta onto his fork. “Health isn’t just one big decision. It’s hundreds of smaller ones that add up to a way of living. Take what we’re eating right now. It’s a fast, easy lunch in the middle of the day. Some people would grab a frozen meal or go through a drive-thru. But how fast was it to reheat the spaghetti sauce made from homegrown vegetables and herbs and whole grain pasta? And which choice is better for you?”
“Do you think that organic produce and a plant-based diet can play a role in healing?” She was just toying with the pasta on her plate now, watching him closely.
She was fishing for something. He just wasn’t sure what. “I’m no doctor. But I do think between the sun and the fresh air, being that close to nature is a smart place to start. What you fuel your body with during any kind of recovery is going to play a role in how successful you are,” he continued. “You can’t fight an injury or a disease as efficiently on fast food and soda as you can with plants and healthy grains and water.”
She changed the topic to the horse program, and Carter counted his lucky stars. He didn’t like talking about healing. It skirted territory that he had no intention of sharing with a stranger. Besides, he had spent a good year talking it to death with his family when he returned home. Dredging it all up again didn’t help.
5
The lettuce field stretched out in front of her. Rows and rows of romaine stood at attention like perfect soldiers.
There were four of them against the legion of leafy greens.
Beckett, in jeans, a t-shirt, and boots nearly as worn as Carter’s, sighed. “I’ll start over there.” He gestured at the far row.
Colby took the middle, leaving Carter and Summer alone at the edge.
“This is a row crop knife,” Carter said, holding up an orange-handled blade. “You grab the plant a few inches off the ground with one hand and cut with the other.” He leaned over, grasped the stalk, and swiped down with the blade. He freed the lettuce head from the earth and tossed it into a wooden crate on the ground. “Don’t hold too far down on the plant or you’ll be cutting your hand. Got it?”
Summer nodded. “Grab, slice, toss. Got it.”
“It’s hard work,” he warned.
She nodded again. If Carter was waiting for her to flake out, he could just keep waiting. She could spend an afternoon in the dirt, and the story would be better for it. Besides, the monotonous work would help her brain sift through their lunch conversation. She knew there was so much Carter hadn’t said, and she had a feeling that that’s where the real story was. She would get him there. Trust grew slowly. She knew that for a fact. She had a week here to get him to open up.
“I’ll start here and work my way in,” she said, pointing at the outside row.
He handed her a blade. “I’ll start over there and work my way to you. If you get tired, let me know.”
She wouldn’t. In her career as a writer and then editor, Summer had interviewed sources through a translator, followed a team of scientists into a bat cave, and once sat down with a troubled model/actress for an interview in the limo on her way to rehab. Plus, she had already been on the back of a horse today.
Harvesting lettuce, she could handle.
Beckett and Colby were already moving like machines up their rows.
She shoved up the sleeves of her shirt and bent from the waist.
Grab. Slice. Toss. Grab. Slice. Toss.
The first few tries were sloppy, and she had to take a second and sometimes third pass with the knife. But as her crate slowly filled, she hit a rhythm.
Grab. Slice. Toss.
There was something satisfying about having her hands in the earth, about seeing her progress when she looked back at the empty stalks. Another few heads, and she straightened to take a drink.
Her back sent a swift and undeniable complaint of discomfort. Her feet were echoing the sentiment.
She felt eyes on her. Carter, of course. Checking on either her progress or physical well-being. Pretending not to notice, Summer took a quick swig of water and bent over again. The complaint from her back got instantaneously louder, but she sliced through the next head of romaine with authority.
Grab. Slice Toss.
Once her crate was full, Summer struggled to pick it up.
“Summer, leave it,” Carter called. He was already stepping over the rows separating them. He hefted the crate and carried it to the truck bed where he grabbed an empty.
She used the opportunity to jab her fingers into her throbbing lower back. “Thanks,” she said, pasting a smile on her face.
“Doing okay?” Carter asked, tugging her ponytail.
“Sure,” she answere
d with more enthusiasm than she felt.
He raised an eyebrow before heading back to his row.
To save her back, Summer crouched down. She couldn’t swing the knife as efficiently, but at least her back wasn’t taking the brunt of the effort.
Grab. Slice. Toss.
Summer hated the farm. The dirt. The stupid lettuce.
But most of all she hated the smirks Carter and Beckett were throwing her way. Colby was at least polite enough to look at her with pity when he picked up her crate.
She had tried standing, crouching, and kneeling. The only thing left was to lie down in the dirt and crawl through the field. She was seriously considering that option when she ran into a pair of work boots. Strong arms lifted her up despite the protest in her lower back.
Carter held her by the shoulders until she found her footing, which took longer than it should have once she realized he was shirtless. Ripped did not do justice to the chest and torso she was staring at. Broad shoulders and an expansive chest tapered down into a six-pack that would make most of the male underwear models Summer knew cry. His jeans rode low on his hips, revealing those exquisite twin creases that directed her eyes lower still. There were scars, too. On his shoulder and his chest.
Her hand raised to touch them before she stopped it.
Summer’s cheeks flushed, and she brought her wayward hand to her hair. “Why are we stopping?” She willed herself to look only at his face and tried not to sound so out of breath.
“We’re done.”
She looked around. What had been a green field hours before was now empty. She’d been so absorbed in the labor, focusing only on the next head of romaine, that she hadn’t realized how much had been accomplished.
Beckett and Colby were loading the last of the crates into the back of the pick-up.
“We’re done,” she repeated.
Carter relieved her of her knife and work gloves. He pressed a fresh water bottle into her hands. “Drink.”