For tractors.
Laurel was climbing up into a little green one, the skirt of her dress flying dangerously up her legs. She settled in the seat and the old engine rumbled into life as she turned the key.
Nate stopped for a second, because this was a weird picture. Prim and proper Laurel in a pale blue sundress and wellies, in the little green tractor. Huh.
‘Get in, it’s quicker this way,’ she grinned, hair flying around her face in the breeze. Startled into life, he ran to the passenger side and climbed in.
Of course Laurel Fletcher could drive a tractor.
Laurel
Laurel put the tractor in gear and took the milking route up to the dig site. Okay, they could have run it, but she wanted to show off. Nate had looked dumbfounded when she’d climbed into the old Massey Ferguson and cranked the engine into life. She suppressed a smile as he looked around for a seatbelt. This little tractor was way too old for such luxuries.
‘What do you think it is?’
Laurel kept her eyes on the rutted track and rested her hand on the juddery gearstick.
Nate hesitated. ‘I don’t want to guess. I don’t have all the information.’
‘But it could be—’
Nate put his hand over hers to cut her off. She held her breath, not moving.
‘Laurel, don’t guess,’ he said, leaning closer so she could hear him over the engine. She glanced at him. His face was closer than expected, excitement shining in his eyes. ‘I’ve learned not to expect too much, you can’t be disappointed then.’
‘That’s sad,’ she said, swallowing hard because he still had his hand on hers and he was still looking at her with soft, sea blue eyes. ‘You get to expect things, Nate, everyone does.’
Nate sat back in his seat, taking his hand away from hers. Good lord, if she was breathless and hot just from him touching her hand, she’d pretty much explode if he ever touched her anywhere else. With anything else.
No, no. This was not the time to be delving into those thoughts. Besides, apart from a bit of harmless flirting, how could she even know if he liked her in that way?
She forced the old tractor into first gear and slowed at the side gate to the dig site. He jumped down eagerly and jogged toward the gate, before turning back.
‘Just because I’m not expecting anything, doesn’t mean I’m not excited!’ He grinned, and Laurel’s stomach lurched. He was beautiful, the sun shining behind him, face flushed and eager. Nate Daley lived for this.
‘Come on!’ he called, because Laurel had hesitated, trying to ignore an unfamiliar feeling of fullness. He wanted to share this. With her.
‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ she said, trotting over to him as best she could in her wellies.
Nate pushed the gate open and motioned for her go first.
‘Dr Daley!’ A scraggly student waved frantically from a trench about waist deep. People were crammed around, trying to catch a glimpse of what had been uncovered. They parted like the frigging Red Sea for the shining archaeological light of Dr Nate Daley, and he jumped down into the trench effortlessly. The students jostled around her, smelling of dirt and sweat. Also, how were they all so tall?
‘Guys, move,’ Nate commanded, giving them the frustrated look Rebecca saved for Robin when he was being immature. ‘Laurel, jump down.’
Jump down? Uh, no thanks.
Laurel wasn’t short, but she wasn’t going to jump three feet into a trench, and certainly not in front of twenty-five students who were watching avidly. But she did want to see, so she sat down and dangled her legs over the edge of the trench. Unceremoniously, she slid into the hole in the earth. Great. That would be another dress for the dry cleaners.
Nate was already on his knees, carefully brushing at the earth.
‘Laurel, look.’
She knelt next to him on the soft gardener’s pad the students used to protect their knees, angling herself closer to him so she wasn’t getting in his light. His summer rain and hot nights smell mingled with the dry earth. This was what she was supposed to be doing, uncovering hidden treasures buried for centuries. On her farm, here in the dirt.
Laurel’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. The last time she’d felt this adventure, this nervousness, was when the earth had given her the Pictish Stylus. But what if it was a bit of tin? What if it was some ridiculous piece of awful Victoriana that had been buried extra deep? Could her little soul take the disappointment?
She reached out and covered his hand to stop him dusting. Nate looked up at her quickly.
