Page 18 of The Farmer
My mouth is dry, but the rage sparks hot behind my ribs. Before he can keep going, I lift the phone away from my ear and stareat it like I’m talking to a stain on my shoe, which I probably am. “You know what, Brad? I resign, and you can go fuck yourself.”
The silence afterward is dizzying. The birds. The wind. My own heartbeat in my ears. Did I just do that? I’ve worked in the magazine for years, and I genuinely enjoyed my time there. That was before Brad came along and acted like he was guarding heaven’s gates.
I wait to feel anxious or scared, but the feeling doesn’t come. Instead, I’m relieved, like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
When I look up, Parker’s standing ten feet away, hay stuck to his shirt, eyes fixed on me, a small smile playing on his lips.
He whistles and shakes his head. “Damn. Remind me never to piss you off.”
I let out a shaky laugh, and just like I did when I first met him, I run to him and leap into his arms. He catches me with ease, strong hands locking around my waist as I throw mine around his neck.
Maybe it’s from the aftershock of finally standing up for myself after repeated verbal abuse from Brad. Maybe it’s the happiness from being free of nightmares.
Or maybe it’s just Parker. Of the way he changed my life from the moment I met him. Of the way I knew it wasn’t just lip service when he offered that this could be my home, too.
I mold my lips to his, wanting to memorize the way he feels when everything inside me is finally quiet.
The kiss is soft at first. His lips move against mine. He matches my pace, kissing me back with a tenderness that makes my chestache. One hand spreads across my spine, anchoring me against him.
My fingers tunnel through his hair, and a soft sigh leaves me.
I can definitely get used to this. And as Parker deepens the kiss, I wrap my legs around his waist, locking them at the ankles, pressing my crotch against his flat stomach.
His lips are still brushing mine, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my hip, when I hear the crunch of tires on gravel. I try to ignore it because he does too. Just one more minute. One more second where the world doesn’t exist outside his arms.
But then the engine cuts off, and a grating, nails-on-a-chalkboard voice slices through the passion building between us.
“Parker, can I talk to you?”
Oh, Jesus. It’s Analie. That girl from the farmers’ market my new “girlfriends” called “The Viper.” Actually, I think that’s Mrs. Allen’s name for her. Mrs. Richards wasn’t so kind and straight-up referred to her as the Town Bitch.
Parker doesn’t even look away from me. Just presses a kiss to the side of my neck. “Sure, talk.”
Analie’s closer now. I can feel her staring and burning me with her glare. “Alone.”
I stiffen, but Parker doesn’t flinch. His mouth finds mine again. Then he breaks the kiss just long enough to say, “No. Say what you want or leave.”
There’s a pause and a loud exhale. Then her voice again, a little sharper. “I’m divorcing him.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t have anywhere to go.”
He still hasn’t looked at her. “And that’s my problem, how?”
“I know you still care for me,” she says, a step closer now. “Let me stay here.”
I’m a journalist, and I know desperation when I hear one. Analie is desperate and pathetic, and I won’t stand here and act like she’s not trying to encroach on my man.
I turn to face her and roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of my head. “God, can’t you read the room?”
Her gaze cuts to me, sharp and mean. “This doesn’t concern you.”
But Parker’s voice cuts in before I can answer. “Actually, it does.”He finally turns, one arm locking tight around my waist. His tone is cool, calm, lethal. “She’s my girlfriend. You don’t get to come to my house and disrespect my woman. As for your problem, respectfully, I don’t care.”
Her mouth opens, but he’s already done.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Parker adds, “kindly close the gate on your way out. Wouldn’t want my cows following you.”
