chapter 8

*Grace*

In early April, the temperatures finally get warm enough to prep the fields. Using the tractor, I till, leaving a clean, firm seed bed I’m proud of. In the west acreage, I work in the eighty pounds of nitrogen per acre the beets will need.

The corn and soybeans need a different watering schedule than the beets, and after messing with the timers on the irrigation system for several days, I finally give up and decide I’ll manually run the water for them, rather than risk overwatering.

Rob and I are sharing a bathroom now while he finishes retiling, which has been interesting. The two of us have a war of politeness going on, each fighting over who showers last. I think he likes having the bathroom already warm, but I absolutely love saturating myself in the smell of his body wash, and since he usually has to leave for school before I have to do anything, I typically win.

I have no idea what ancient alchemy the company employs to get that perfect combination of masculine power and clean. On Rob’s skin, it morphs into exactly the right formula of sensually attractive and all male, essentially the olfactory equivalent of heroin. One that otherwise only transmits when we’re in close proximity, and that doesn’t happen often enough to satisfy my nose.

For the next month, we’ll be sharing the bathroom in my room while he works on the tile in his bathroom across the hall. I embarrass even myself, sniffing his towel every time I’m in there. What can I say? I love the smell of Egyptian cotton that’s been wrapped around a naked Adonis, especially before I climb into bed.

*Rob*

It’s a week before finals and I’m cramming on the sofa when I hear Grace come back in through the mudroom. Her beet seed arrived this week, and she was going out this morning to broadcast then cover it, so I’m surprised to hear the door and wonder what she forgot. That’s when I hear the water running in the kitchen sink, its murmur muffling Grace’s private muttering to herself, and a moment later, I catch a whiff of cleaner.

That’s how I know something’s wrong. I know her signals pretty well now, picking up when she’s upset or angry faster than she does. Those feelings almost always precede cleaning. Wedging a bookmark in to keep my page, I set my textbook aside and ease my way to the kitchen.

The sink is half-filled and topped with dish soap foam—that’s the cleaner smell. Grace, still wearing the floppy, sky-blue sunhat that accents her sapphire eyes, is scrubbing away at the already spotless counters. Taking a seat at the kitchen bar, I lean over to watch her, to invite her confidence. “Is there something wrong?”

Grace grits her teeth into a smile and, still scrubbing, says, “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Clearly.

Not.

Staying where I am, I smile back. “I’ll wait for you to catch up.”

*Grace*

I freeze, staring across the space between us. It’s not the first time Rob has said this to me. It is the first time I’m cognizant enough to recognize what it means. To realize how deeply tuned to me he’s become. He’s still smiling, his dimples soft in his cheeks, then his eyes flick meaningfully to the seat beside him and back to me.

Glancing at the sponge I’m using, I toss it into the sink and come around the bar, taking him up on his offer. It hasn’t been long since he showered, and I catch a hint of his divine body wash. In the mood I’m in, it’s all I can do to keep from rubbing myself all over him like a cat. Though I doubt it’s for the same reason, that would probably make me purr too.

“The tractor won’t start,” I begin, and before I know it, the entire story of hooking my trailer up to the back, loading all the stupid heavy bags onto it and then troubleshooting the tractor dumps out of me like emotional vomit. “I don’t have the money for a big repair right now and I need to get the seeds planted.”

“Let’s take it one step at a time,” Rob soothes. “A repair quote won’t cost you anything. We can plan after we know what we’re dealing with. Okay?”

Taking a deep breath, I nod, looking at the floor. It’s not really what I want, but Rob’s right in that it’s all I can do. My breath lets out in a thankfully inaudible, sighing moan as his fingers lift my chin, graze along my jaw before retreating.

“Let’s go for a drive. I’ll get you some lunch.”

“No.” I shake my head vehemently. “You need to study. You have finals this week.”

“Grace,” he starts, and the way it sounds in his tenor sends a five-alarm shiver zipping down my spine. A pleasant throbbing starts between my hips and it takes absurdly long for my brain to process what he says after.

“I have one final this week, and there’s not much else I can stuff in my head. Do me a favor and get me out of the house for a while?”

Between the delightful lilting cadence of his voice and the way his smile touches the corners of those honey-colored eyes, every minor frustration and little sorrow vanishes. I can’t help but smile and acquiesce, “Okay. Let me put on some decent clothes.”

*Rob*

The sun’s warm and the air fresh through the lowered windows as we drive, one slow turn leading to another and soon we’re lost in the winding backroads. The trees are crowned with bright green new growth and from the woods on either side we’re barraged with a cacophony of birdsong.

Grace tips her head back against the seat and closes her eyes, one arm extended out the window to feel the wind slide over her as the slow miles fall behind us. At low speeds on the long, straight country roads, I can stare at her almost entirely uninterrupted, which is a rare treat I thoroughly enjoy. The frown lines between her brows and at the corners of her mouth relax, and she looks peaceful. And absolutely beautiful.

Which is good for me on another level. Besides taking a break has obviously relaxed her, it’s rewarding as hell that Grace trusts me enough to close her eyes while I drive. What’s not so good for me is the way the seatbelt dips between her breasts, highlighting their tight fullness and the flatness of her slim waist.

I’m not going to lie; I was wholly unprepared for the transition to warm weather clothes. Particularly tank tops and close-fitting t-shirts and the way they exploit Grace’s willowy figure. Thankfully, I’ve managed to rein in my body’s instantaneous and insistent response to that, because I’d be nothing if not horrified if she knew how many times just the sight of her towel and the thought of it wrapped around her naked body has spurred some exceptionally risqué fantasies.

We’ve been driving for a couple hours when the bumpy transition from packed grated dirt to paved bridge causes Grace’s eyes to fly open and she sits up straighter in the seat beside me.

“Where are we?”

“Not far from St. Mary’s.” I point to the trees on her side of the car. “Just the other side of the woods is the neighborhood where your sister lives. Are you hungry yet?”

She smiles at me, nodding. There’s something tender, almost—hell, I don’t know—adoring maybe? in her expression. If it weren’t for the rough shift back to grated road, I’d have kissed her right then and probably driven the car into a tree.

So much for reining in my body’s response to her.

“Three Fools isn’t far from here,” I offer. “Their cook isn’t as good as you, but he makes a decent burger. How’s that sound?”

*Grace*

I can tell Rob’s a regular here as soon as he walks in behind me. He waves to the woman behind the bar with one hand, steering me towards a high-top near the pool tables with the other, warm and firm in the small of my back.

“So this is Three Fools.” There’s no point to my comment, just reinforcing the memory for the next time Rob talks about spending time here with his friends. For a Sunday mid-afternoon before finals week, the place is actually kind of crowded and a little noisy, but I can see the appeal.

After I’m seated at a table near a dart board and Rob takes the seat next to me, a cute waitress with a hot pink curly bob saunters towards us, looking for all intents and purposes like a lioness about to pounce. I recognize her from Rob’s stories as the girl his friend Tim has been crushing on for a couple years. While I’ve never met Tim to know what kind of guy he is, I can tell immediately why this girl has no interest in him. Not that I can blame her. It’s something we have in common—we’re both lusting after Rob.

She sizes me up as she reaches the table. “The usual, Rob?” she asks in a way that implies more intimacy with him than I have and I begin to wonder if maybe something hasn’t happened between them.

Rob catches my eye, and everyone else vanishes. “They have a great cider on tap. Or, if you like it, a good IPA. Either sound good?”

“The cider sounds perfect, please,” I answer, directing my gaze at the pink-haired waitress who doesn’t acknowledge me.

“Two ciders and two burgers with cheese, please,” he replies politely to her, and every thought I had about Rob and this girl is gone. Her feelings are a one-way street, and it’s not because Tim is his friend and likes her.

Rob is in the bathroom when she returns with our food and two more ciders, even though mine’s only half gone.

“Mayo-mustard-ketchup?” she rattles off as she sets the steaming plates down.

“Just ketchup, thank you.”

She sets the bottle down beside my plate and backs away a step but continues to stare at me. I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable and wishing Rob would get back when she shifts her weight to one hip.

“He’s never been in here with a girl before. You must be pretty special.” She smiles at me in a way I bet boosts her tips with men, then winks. “He’s pretty special too. Take good care of him.”

I’m still trying to recover from the shock when Rob gets back.

“Everything okay?”

I nod, tucking into my food.

*Rob*

I don’t know how or why, but we wind up at Three Fools until late in the evening. Grace cleans my clock at nine-ball on the pool table, oozing elegance, poise and finesse. Though I can tell she’s seriously buzzing, she’s got skill, precision and patience in spades. But even without that, just seeing her across from me, leaning on her pole as I take my shot, is distraction enough for her to run the table.

We play a few rounds of eight ball doubles with a couple regulars and have a good time, but they can tell Grace is a pool shark and we’re alone again not long after.

What Grace is lousy at is darts. So much so that I feel bad for the wall. Not that I mind. She’s as gracious a loser as she is a winner. Besides, I’d have to be some kind of idiot to not enjoy standing behind her, her round bottom fitted against me as I coach her throws.

It’s when she makes a triple ring shot, purely by chance, and says over her shoulder that she could kiss me that I realize her glass hasn’t been empty all night.

And we’ve been here for hours.

I switched to soda a while ago, and could have sworn Grace asked for soda too, but the cherry red fluid in her glass is still cider. Taking the darts from her, I toss them into the board and lead her back to our table by the hand.

I made sure when we left the farm that she didn’t have her purse—this meal’s on me. The balance in my bank account has swollen beyond what I thought I’d need, and that’s because of this arrangement with Grace.

When the check comes, I’m stunned to see only four drinks on the bill and the scribbled note: Good luck!

I look across the bar, my mouth dropping open as I realize both the bartender and Tim’s waitress-crush have been trying to ensure I get lucky.

With Grace.

The thought makes me feel like I’ve burst into flame.

“Are you alright?” Grace’s brows draw together. “Let me get that,” she offers, assuming the entirely wrong conclusion for the flush on my skin. She looks at the back of her chair. “What have I done with my purse?”

“It’s alright, Grace. I’ve got it.” I tuck some bills into the holder, including a generous tip, and help Grace out of her chair. She’s a bit wobbly, but it’s the fact that she keeps holding my hand, out of the bar and across the parking lot, that has me flustered.

She’s leaning heavily on me while I open her car door and giggling a little, and it takes longer than I expect to get her tucked into her seat. Darting around the car, I take a seat behind the wheel, put the keys in the ignition then jump in shock. My breath comes out in a whoosh as Grace slides her hand over my thigh and strokes my groin.

“Mmmm,” she giggles drunkenly, feeling me harden instantly at her touch.

Catching her wrists, I pin them against her chest. Grace’s head tips back, her sapphire eyes deep purple with a desire I’ve longed to see there. “God help me you don’t remember this, Grace. I want you more than anything on this earth. But not because you’ve had a few too many. I want you to choose me.”

“I choose you,” she whispers before her eyes close and she slumps against the seat, passed out.

Mercifully.

“Thank God.” I relax with a sigh, tucking Grace’s hands in her lap and straightening her in her seat. Reaching over her to pull the seat belt across puts my face level with her chest and I groan out loud at the agonizing temptation. It’s not like she’ll hear, and releasing the sound helps a little with the actual frustration.

Not much. But a little.

I click her belt into the buckle and face the steering wheel. “She barely touched you!” I snap accusingly at my groin, shifting at the uncomfortable bulge in my pants. I glance across the console at Grace’s profile, and my body lurches again with desire. “Yeah, okay. Who am I to argue?”

Starting the car, I drive home carefully, but I needn’t have worried. Grace doesn’t wake. Even when I lift her out of the car and carry her into the house. Even when I carry her up the stairs to her bed. She folds like a rag doll when I lay her down and click on the bedside lamp.

Removing her shoes, I set them out of the way so that if she wakes in the night, she won’t trip over them. I reach for the switch on the lamp, staring down at her sleeping form. “You are so beautiful,” I whisper, feasting my eyes on her features in a way I’m not free to do otherwise. “And so out of my league.”

Resignedly, I click her light off and leave the room, pulling the door to behind me.

**

Grace is still asleep when I leave for my final in the morning. I hope she’s not hung over, but I leave the ibuprofen out beside the coffee anyway.

I expect to be done and home again by noon, and then I have work to do trimming the tree that damaged the farmhouse siding. I’d planned to take a job over the summer break, like my friends, but now I think I can do without, and it pleases me to help Grace.

*Grace*

The earliest I can schedule a repair consultation for the tractor is Thursday, which frustrates my plans to plant this week. I know Rob’s sensitive to it, and he’s tried to keep me busy in other ways since he finished his final Monday morning.

He did a nice job trimming the tree. Then had me helping with the siding repair and choosing shingles for the house and the barn. The last thing to decide is the paint, which we’ll go shop for after the shingles are delivered and the tractor repairman comes by tomorrow.

I’m holding the ladder while Rob hauls his tools to the roof when I hear a vehicle on the gravel behind me. Since I’m not expecting anyone, it’s most likely someone lost. But as Rob disappears onto the roof overhead, I hear a vehicle door close and am nearly stunned stupid when I see Mueller moseying his way towards me along the drive.

“Miss Hammond,” Mueller drawls and tips his hat to me and I do my best not to be sick. “May I have a minute?”

I bristle like a porcupine. “You’re standing in my drive. Doesn’t seem like I have much option.”

“Now, Gracie,” he carries on quickly, ignoring my obvious disapproval, “I hear you’re having problems with the tractor, and it’s only neighborly if I offer you some help. I know we got off on the wrong foot and that’s my fault. I’d like to make it up to you.”

A noise from the roof distracts me and I glance up quickly, but Rob is nowhere to be seen. I’m on my own, on the ground, a few feet away from a pit adder. “I don’t need your help.”

Mueller stops about four feet away and stands watching me with those shifty eyes of his. “Just hear me out.” He removes his hat, but I know there’s no respect in the gesture. It’s the bait to lure me closer so he can get a better shot.

“Gracie, your grandmother struggled here for years after your grandfather died and I feel bad about that.”

There’s no way he does, but unless I want to climb the ladder after Rob, there’s nothing I can do but stand here and listen to his lies.

“But I understand. You grow attached to the land, especially when you’ve spent your whole life here, you bury your family here, like Juliet did.” Mueller’s face is getting more animated as he winds up. Not genuine expressions, but the kind of faces you make when you’re trying to persuade someone you’re sincere. He can’t think I’ll believe it, but maybe he’s trying to convince himself.

“Farming is hard work though, and not the kind for a beautiful single woman. It took its toll on Juliet—there’s no denying that.”

When Mueller meets my eyes, I realize the truth. This conniving slimeball didn’t just want my mother when they attended high school together, he made a play for my grandmother after my granddad died too. The thought turns my stomach.

“But Juliet had raised her family, Gracie. You haven’t even started yet.” He pauses to give his words more weight. “And I know she didn’t intend for you to be here, trying to follow that path.”

I flashback to Juliet’s letter. While those words of Mueller’s might be true, now I wonder if he didn’t plant the thought in her head.

“I know what it’s cost you already.” He nods, as if acknowledging an agreement that doesn’t exist. “And I’m prepared to give you that back. To buy you out of the property. I’ll pay you the tax value they levied at probate. Plus all your probate costs. Any costs for farming supplies. I’ll even pay you for the work that—” Mueller stumbles here, casts a sidelong glance towards the roof, and I can tell he nearly slipped and said something offensive about Rob, “– you’ve had done.”

He takes a step closer, and instinctively I step back, recoiling.

“And I’ll leave the house. Out of respect for your grandmother. I’ve always kind of admired it anyway.” He smiles at me.

There are so many ways that this visit of his has offended me, I don’t know where to begin. The simple answer is ‘no’, but I don’t want any part of the low road Mueller’s on either. I draw a steadying breath. “Mr. Mueller, I appreciate your generosity.”

Across from me, Mueller straightens, his greasy smile widening. He thinks I’m the kind of idiot who’d take this deal.

“But this is my family’s farm, and I prefer to remain here. If that changes, I’ll get in touch with you.”

*Rob*

The sun-heated shingles are hot when I reach the roof and set down my tools. Before I start looking around, I pull my shirt over my head and drop it on the toolbox. The sun feels good on my skin as I’m wandering around, getting a feel for the shape of the roof. Then I catch sight of a familiar truck on the drive behind Grace’s.

“Oh hell.”

I don’t know how long Grace was on the ground with Mueller. By the time I get to the ladder, he’s approached her and I could hear him talking even though I couldn’t make out the words.

They’ve squared off from each other as I reach the ground, like fighters in a ring. Mueller’s making Grace an offer for the farm. I catch the insult he almost lets fly about me and see him glance my way as I approach.

If it’s possible, my respect for Grace triples because even though I can see she’s ramrod stiff with loathing, she goes out of her way to decline Mueller’s offer politely. Which is when he goes off the deep end, repeating himself and arguing with her about her decision.

In front of me, Grace has crossed her arms over her chest, closed and protective. Before he can continue his tirade, I step up behind her shoulder. “Mr. Mueller,” I raise my voice to be heard over his rant. “She said she prefers to remain here. If she changes her mind, she’ll contact you. That means this conversation is over. Have a safe trip home.”

Mueller’s eyes squeeze to slits with rage and his face pinches up and turns red. I shift my weight, just in case he tries to take a swing at Grace, which I seriously think he might. But he just turns on his heel and storms back to his truck, then throws gravel all over as he backs out to the road and drives off.

Both Grace and I watch until he’s out of sight, then she turns to me.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Grace’s face is flushed. I feel bad because she’s forgotten her sunhat and gotten too much sun. That’s when I see her eyes rove over my bare chest and linger for a few breaths. Her color darkens and she looks away quickly, but not before I see that she’s sucking air through that mesmerizing little space between her gorgeous lips. Though she’s looking away, there’s a pulse visible in her throat thumping like the bass in Iggy Pop’s Lust for Life.

I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more.

I step closer and touch her arm at the elbow, but I can’t take my eyes off her mouth. “Grace?”

*Grace*

I felt it when Rob came up behind me, even before he raised his voice and backed me up with Mueller.

That didn’t prepare me for what I see when I turn around. He’s taken off his shirt in the heat, and his skin is slightly sheened, rippling and bulging in all the best ways. My hands itch to follow the deep V cut of his obliques to where it disappears at the low waist of his jeans, but I force myself to be content watching the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

I’m so flustered when he asks if I’m okay, I can’t speak and feel light-headed.

“Grace?” Rob steps closer, which is exactly opposite of what I need but everything that I want.

“I’m fine. And thank you.” The words come out to quickly, and I curse myself because they’re husky and full of yearning. “Are you done on the roof?”

“Until the shingles get here, yes.”

“Okay. I’ll go start dinner.”