Page 3 of No More Secrets
He paused for exactly one second before engulfing her palm in his. His grip — and everything else about him — radiated strength. Rough calluses met her manicured, moisturized hand. There was something there. An energy that shot straight up her spine.
“Carter,” he said, finally.
“Summer.” She returned the pressure of his grip as confidently as she could. In her line of work, everyone was a potential enemy, but Carter Pierce was a different kind of dangerous.
He didn’t release her hand, but the frown line gradually dimmed. “Welcome to Blue Moon Bend, Summer.”
CHAPTER TWO
Unlike its owner, the exterior of the farmhouse was exactly what Summer had expected. The two-stories of white siding and windows were capped with a blue metal roof. The wide porch with its natural plank floorboards wrapped around the side, out of sight. White columns held up the roof and a pair of ceiling fans turned lazily from the varnished ceiling.
Ferns spilled over baskets hanging from the rafters. A quintessential porch swing with faded blue cushions was angled to take in the view of the sweeping expanse of lawn and pasture.
It was a home kept with pride.
“Come on. I’ll show you around the house,” Carter said, leading the way up the porch steps. She noticed that his dirt-stained jeans fit him just as well from behind as they did from the front.
He pried off his work boots and held the front door, more glass than wood, waiting for Summer to catch up.
She slipped out of her peep-toe booties and after a brief internal debate placed them just inside the front door. She wasn’t sure how free range the animals were on this farm, or if any of them had a shoe fetish.
The foyer drew an approving eye. Hand-scraped oak flowed from the front of the house to the back. The original layout was intact at the entrance, with formal dining and living rooms to the right and left of the door, but Summer could see the back of the house opened into a large addition.
“Carter, your house is beautiful,” she said, examining the staircase with its timeworn treads and steel and cable banister. “It’s like this delicate balance of modern and rustic. You’d never expect it from how traditional the exterior is.”
She turned to him. Without her shoes on, she had to look up, way up. He was watching her wordlessly, his arms crossed, from just inside the door.
“Mind if I look at your kitchen?” She paused and smiled. “I’m sorry, I’m a horrible snoop.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Snoop all you want.”
“You’re going to regret saying that,” she said, arching an eyebrow before she padded down the hallway toward the light-filled kitchen.
Carter followed a few paces behind.
The hallway opened into a bright kitchen attached to an even brighter great room. The wide windows over the stainless apron front sink overlooked a stone barn and what looked like miles of fencing. An island, wide and deep, ran the length of the wall of cabinets and windows, with plenty of space for the six metal barstools.
To the left, the two-story great room housed leather couches, tall bookcases, and a hulking flat screen mounted above a spectacular fireplace. Massive cathedral-like trusses drew the eye overhead and sunlight poured in through the windows and French doors that lined both sides of the room.
Summer whistled. “This room is twice the size of my entire apartment.” She turned back to the kitchen.
“Is it just you here?” The first floor was spacious enough to host thirty with plenty of elbowroom left over.
“Just me.” Carter moved around the island to the refrigerator. He tossed her a bottle of water and took one for himself. He frowned at her inquiring stare. “What?”
“I have so many questions already,” she admitted, twisting off the cap of the bottle.
“Why waste time?” he shrugged. “Shoot.”
Summer took the invitation at face value. She slid onto one of the barstools and clasped her hands daintily in front of her.
“Do you cook? How is your house so clean? Did you design all this? How much land do you have? Do you have help? Do you ever get lonely?”
He was frowning again.
“You’re writing about the farm.”
“You are the farm.”
