Page 2 of No More Secrets
“I’m in the middle of something,” Carter said, swiping a hand through his dark hair.
“What are you in the middle of?”
“A field of lettuce. First pickup for the produce shares is this weekend.”
“I realize that. I thought we weren’t harvesting until tomorrow. Isn’t that why I’m spending my entire afternoon with your hairy mug?”
Beckett gave Carter nothing but shit about his beard. His clean-shaven brother didn’t understand that after a few years in the military, the choice to sprout facial hair was a special kind of freedom.
“I was checking the irrigation and thought I’d get a head start.”
“Well stop starting and get your ass back to the house.”
“Why?”
“Check your watch.”
Carter swiped a finger over the dirt coating the face of his leather watch cuff. “Shit.”
“Better hurry up or you’ll give her a bad first impression.”
Carter hung up on his brother’s laughter, grabbed his gloves and tools, and ran for the Jeep.
The time had gotten away from him, as usual. Knee deep in plants and earth and sunshine, some days he felt as though time stood still. He should have set a damn alarm.
Maybe she’d be late?
He threw the Jeep in gear and hightailed it down the dirt lane toward the house.
It wasn’t like he didn’t have other things to do. Showing a writer around for a week was yet another responsibility that the rest of his family felt would sit nicely on his shoulders. His mother should be the one holding her hand, letting her pet calves, and make garden fresh salads. Or glib-tongued Beckett. He’d give her the idyllic tourist view of the farm and then treat her to candle-lit dinners. Send her back to the city with stories of how romantic Blue Moon was.
But no. It fell on Carter to walk her through life on the farm. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to treat her like an honored guest. An extra pair of hands was an extra pair of hands. He was going to put Summer Lentz to work and send her back to Manhattan with the real story on farm life.
He spotted the little red coupe as he shot down the lane to the farmhouse.
Bringing the Jeep to an abrupt halt next to the car, a sense of urgency propelled him out of the Jeep and across the drive. The front door was unlocked, as it always was. Maybe she was inside.
He stopped midstride when he spotted her. Her navy button down, with its crisp collar, was tucked neatly into the waist of slim pants the color of ashes. The pants ended a few inches above her trim ankles, most likely to show off the short suede boots with needlepoint heels. Stick-straight hair hung to her shoulders in a silvery blond curtain. Wide eyes, the color of the Canterbury bells that bordered the flowerbed behind her, peered at him. Her full lips wore a sheen of pink gloss and were parted, as if to ask a question.
She looked like one of his grandmother’s porcelain dolls come to life. Her small hands were clasped in front of her, spine straight enough to draw a compliment from a drill sergeant.
He had probably scared the hell out of her with his entrance, Carter thought, and stopped his approach.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” Her voice was whisper-soft, with a huskiness that went straight to his gut.
––––––––
The man before her was like no farmer Summer had ever envisioned. His dark-as-midnight hair was shorn ruthlessly short on the sides with more length on top. Beards weren’t exactly hot in Manhattan, but his had her questioning why that was. Raincloud eyes held her gaze and the deep frown that put the line between his eyes had her pulse skittering.
The dirt streaked Henley stretched across a mile-wide chest, sleeves shoved up his very fit forearms. His legs under the worn, holy jeans were braced as if for battle. She just wasn’t sure if it was with her or someone else.
He looked like a model some smartass art director had plunked down in a field to sell jeans or watches. Niko was going to have a field day with tall, dark, and frowny, Summer decided. She wished she hadn’t left her phone in the car so she could get a picture of him just like this.
She was already fascinated and he had only spoken a single word.This story had just gotten a hell of a lot more interesting.
“Are you Mr. Pierce?” She started forward, covering the dusty distance between them, her hand outstretched.
