Page 5 of The Farmer
With a groan, I stare at the ceiling and interlace my fingers over my stomach, going over everything that happened today and why I’m feeling extremely restless, with more anxiety bubbling under the surface than usual.
My boss, who also happens to be the editor, could have sent a million voicemails by now. He expected the article before the day’s end, but I didn’t count for being lost in the cornfield.
I’m probably about to lose my job, a job I worked so hard for the past three years.
I can’t remember where I parked my car.
I don’t have any inclination or desire to finish the article.
I’m currently under the same roof with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.
I grab the pillow, press it against my face, and let out a growl. I remember the first time I laid eyes on him in the cornfield. My initial reaction was fright because what if I was about to be sacrificed by a cult. Then, I felt relieved.
But it’s not until he brings me into his house that I really see him.
And holy guacamole. He’s … gorgeous in a raw, feral kind of way that should be illegal in at least thirty states. His long-ish dark hair is slightly wavy, pushed back like he ran his hand through it too many times. He’s got a full beard, thick and sharp along his jawline, and dark gray eyes that look like smoke and steel.
His frame filled the doorway when he walked in—broad shoulders, massive arms, chest straining under a white Henley that hugged every inch of muscle. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, thick veins visible along his forearms, making my mouth go dry every time I caught a glimpse of them.
I felt hunger like I had never known before. A hunger that rolled around my belly and settled in my core.
Even now, I’m hot and horny for him. He looks like someone who’d be rough in bed, and I wonder just how coarse he’s willing to be … for me.
It’s almost ten at night. I heard him leave earlier, but I didn’t hear him come back in. He did tell me he would periodically check the maze in case someone else got lost.
Thunder cracks above the house, and I jolt, already feeling the familiar creep along my skin. Back in the city, in my cramped apartment, there’s always some kind of noise to keep me company—neighbors having their nightly screaming match about whose turn it is to do the dishes and why the other didn’thave the common sense to take the garbage outside, sirens wailing, drunken twenty-somethings shouting Taylor Swift lyrics outside my window at 2 AM.
In this small town, Silverwick Valley, it’s way too quiet and open. So easy for someone to stand and stare just outside the window, just beyond the corn, just … out of sight. The thought makes my skin crawl, and I wish I hadn’t watched all those horror movies about possessed scarecrows.
Another rumble rolls through the sky, and my heart rate speeds up.
I need to find Parker fast. I can’t explain it, but I know he’s safe. I trust my gut because it saved me more times than I can count, warning me about sketchy guys at bars and too-good-to-be-true apartment listings, and it tells me Parker’s a good guy … despite his perpetual scowl that seems permanently etched onto his stupidly handsome face.
Not to mention how hot the guy is. Although, to be fair, I don’t need my sixth sense for that. His size alone is enough to make me feel tiny, and I'm not usually one to get all fluttery about tall men. God, how is he single? In the city, women would be lining up around the block for a guy like him.
“Parker?” I call out, voice thin against the rain.
No answer, only the sound of water pounding the roof, the windows, the porch, drenching everything in thick, wet silence. I step closer to the screen door and squint through it, but it’s useless. The yard’s a wall of darkness. The cornfield is just a black blur. I can’t see a damn thing, not without my glasses, which I left back in the car.
