Page 12 of The Farmer
Because this man—the one who married the woman who left me when she realized I wasn’t interested in country club barbecues, BMWs, and hair pomade—is standing way too close to MY girl. And already, the thought of someone else even looking at her like that makes my fists clench.
“Paris,” I call out, voice low but sharp enough to cut through whatever the hell Chad thinks he’s doing. “You ready, baby?”
Her head turns toward me instantly, and she beams. That smile is enough to warm me and extinguish the unfamiliar, intense feeling of jealousy. “Almost. Let’s walk around some more?”
Chad doesn’t like being dismissed. He likes being in the spotlight. He gets off on attention.
“Still riding that beat-up tractor around? I feel like I’m about to get tetanus just watching it,” he says, casual as a slap, voice just loud enough for nearby heads to turn.
He’s fishing, like he always does, throwing out bait like he’s desperate for someone to bite so he can puff up his chest and play king of this place. But his words hit like a dull thud. I’ve heard worse from him.
I shrug. “It’s beat-up, yeah. Still more useful than you’ve ever been.”
His smile falters for half a second, then his jaw tightens. “You still bitter about Analie? Still angry she chose me over you?”
The name lands like a brick. Chad wants a reaction, and when he doesn’t get one, he shifts, weight twitchy like he’s the one itching to fight.
“Guess you couldn’t keep her happy,” he adds with a sharp smile.
Before I can speak, Analie slides an arm through Chad’s and leans against his shoulder.
“Oh, boys,” Analie purrs, sunglasses perched on her nose, red hair curled to within an inch of its life. “Don’t tell me you’re fighting over me again. That is so high school.”
Paris stiffens beside me. Her fingers squeeze tighter around the small pie box in her hand.
Analie’s gaze rakes over her, slow and assessing, lips curling at the corners, those familiar green eyes narrowing as they travel from Paris's windswept strawberry blonde waves down to her clearly city-bought boots.
Before she can unleash whatever venomous comment is forming behind that predatory smile, I slide my arm around Paris’s waist and pull her in flush against my side.
Her soft curves fit perfectly against my larger frame, and I can feel some of the tension drain from her shoulders as she leans into my touch. There, better. Let Analie see exactly where things stand now.
“Wouldn’t waste a breath fighting over you,” I say, not bothering to mask the steel in my voice. “But your husband here seems to enjoy walking up on beautiful women when they’re minding their business.”
Chad pins me with a glare.
Analie snickers. “Oh, you have a new pet, Parker? Cute.”
Paris straightens her back and lifts her chin. “Strange. Parker didn’t mention you at all. You mustn’t be as important as you think.”
I nuzzle her neck and smile. “So true.”
When I pull back, Paris has a wicked gleam in her eyes. “And your mouth was too busy to talk.”
I can’t help but chuckle, which feels so odd coming from me. It must have been years since I was genuinely amused and having a grand time.
Without paying any attention to them anymore, I grip Paris’s jaw, tilt her face up to mine, and kiss her hard. I’ve lived pretty low-key for the past few years, but showing possession in front of half the town doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Everyone here has to know she’s mine and mine alone. The same way I’m hers.
Her arms wrap around my neck. She kisses me back with all the heat in her body, like she’s claiming me too.
When I pull back, she’s breathless, lips pink, and every set of eyes at the market knows exactly what just happened.
The second our lips part, there’s this strange, quiet beat. Then a burst of applause from the farther stands, getting closer and closer.
I spot four women—my grandma’s old poker buddies—beaming and clapping. Nothing quite like this kind of audience to kill your libido in exactly one second.
“Finally!” one of them, Mrs. Bryant, I believe, hollers, sliding her glasses to her short, white hair. “Took you long enough, Parker!”
Mrs. Richards flaps her hand in the air and fans herself. “You’ve been turning down our granddaughters for years,and now we see why.”
