Page 5 of Where It All Began
Great. Not only was she a woman. She was a nerd.John had landed himself the least helpful farm hand in the history of the industry.
“You hungry?” he asked abruptly.
Phoebe must not have heard him come in. She responded with a shriek and a jerk that sent papers flying.
John silently bid farewell to the temple-like quiet of his home.
“You scared the hell out of me!” She slapped a hand over her heart.
“Did you assume I’d never come back downstairs?”
“No. I…” She was glaring at him and seemed to have lost her thread of the conversation.
He glanced down wondering what distracted her. He was indeed wearing pants, and he couldn’t see any gruesome stains that would hold a woman captivated. “What?” he demanded.
Phoebe blinked and closed her mouth. “Nothing. You were saying something about… something?”
“I was asking if you were hungry. Normally I just have a sandwich for supper, but I could be talked into pizza tonight.”
“Pizza?” There was a hopeful quality in her tone.
“Pizza, and we can talk about this… arrangement.”
The smug look on her face told him that Phoebe assumed she’d won.
Chapter Four
Phoebe eased her butt onto the ripped upholstery of the passenger seat in John’s elderly pick-up truck. She was trying to keep her knees glued together beneath the restrictive denim skirt so John wouldn’t get an unnecessary view of her underwear.Of course,he’d insisted on opening her door for her. That’s what 1950s etiquette dictated.
He shut her door soundly before she could remind him that she was perfectly capable of opening and closing her own doors. It was probably for the best. She needed to keep her lectures to herself until she was sure he was going to let her stay. He may have shown her a bedroom, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to show her the door in the morning.
She should have changed into jeans first, but she’d felt that might have been too presumptuous of her. She wasn’t opposed to presumption when it played in her favor, but she couldn’t get a read on the man. And any action she took could result in him sending her packing, putting her thesis in danger.
So, she’d settled for sending a subtler message, staking her claim by setting up her typewriter on John’s kitchen table.
He slid behind the wheel, and in the enclosed space, she caught a pleasing whiff of his soap. The ends of his hair were still damp from his shower, curling at the back of his neck. Physically, he ranked right up there with Hollywood’s finest hunks. Broad shoulders, tight jeans, a sexy face with chiseled lines, and a glorious crop of stubble. His eyes were serious, searching.
John Pierce was enough to make any woman pause to take in the view—as she had when he’d strolled into the kitchen—but Phoebe wasn’t quite ready to rule him the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on. Her level of attraction to a man depended heavily on character and intelligence, both of which had yet to be determined.
“Are we going into the town that time forgot?” Phoebe asked, securing her seatbelt.
The corner of John’s mouth turned up as he turned the key and shifted into reverse. “I take it you drove through Blue Moon on your way here.”
“What’s the story there?”
“Story?” he asked, as they bumped along down the lane.
She rolled her eyes skyward. “A place like that doesn’tnothave a story behind it.”
“You ever hear of Woodstock?” John asked.
She shot him a cool look. “It sounds vaguely familiar.” There was that quirk in his lips again.Jerk.
“Well, after Woodstock wrapped, everyone headed home. But not everyone made it. A dozen or more partakers got lost on their way back and ended up setting up camp in the town square. They liked the place so much they decided to stay.”
“Just like that? They never went home?”
John shrugged his big shoulders. “Probably baked out of their gourds. I was twelve when they showed up, pitching tents, camping in VWs. The whole town smelled like grass.” His laugh was warm with the memory.
