Seven days aren’t nearly enough. Not with that silky blonde hair, those rosy cheeks, that golden skin and thick, pink lips. Sunshine in human form with curves for days.
Her almond eyes gleam amber and moss, lashes thick and dark. Her brows tilt in an imperious arch, but wariness flickers there too. Like she doesn’t quite know what to make of me.
I wait, long-sleeved khaki shirt and Stetson back in place, gloves in my back pocket. My heart flops against my ribs like a caught fish. My pulse buzzes at my temples. Mouth dry and wet all at once. I take far too long choosing my next words.
Until I don’t use words at all. Instead, I sweep a hand toward the big red barn, iconic against the golden prairie and its heavy-headed grass.
“Know we’ll dive into the garden and the larger ranch more over the next week. But how about a quick tour?”
She nods.
“Carrots, leeks, onions, rutabagas over here. Spinach, lettuce, second-harvest greens near the house where they catch shade in the afternoon?—”
“The soil here isn’t the dry, cracked dirt I’d expected,” she says, bending forward to grab a handful.
I try not to notice her round ass and ample hips, but she’s stunning. No other way to put it. And her tight-fitting jeans are a walking, sashaying crime.
Her voice calls me back. “Rich and dark, the kind that crumbles like chocolate cake when you lift a handful.” The faint smell of earth and sun-warmed straw rises, grounding me in the place … with this captivating woman.
“Worked hard to improve it over time. Organic matter, aged manure, fallen leaves … all of it’s helped with the soil structure, nutrients, fertility, microbial activity,” I drawl, expecting to lose her. Instead, she listens raptly, hands covered in the soil I’ve devoted years to. Nothing sexier than a woman willing to get her hands dirty.
“Makes me think of the earth at my grandparents’ apple orchard back East. Beautiful, rich, nearly black, and capable of producing gorgeous, big vegetables.”
I whistle. “Sounds like I’ve got some competition then.”
She nods, eyes laughing. “Yep, you won’t impress me with your long carrots or big zucchini.”
I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “Got to ask you to withhold judgment until you see my eggplants, then.”
She reddens, and I’m here for it. Don’t want to come across as a creep, though. Should get back on track with this farm tour. “Kale,” I say flatly, nodding toward a verdant couple of rows.
She grins, looking relieved by the change of subject. “Hipster heaven.”
My mouth twitches as I try not to smile. “Don’t let the bummy clothes and unshaven face fool you. I’m not the type tocharge twenty bucks for a handful of weeds. But with garlic and bacon grease? I’ll fight a man for the last bite.”
She giggles, airy like birdsong. “Personally, I like it sautéed with lemon and garlic or creamed.”
I rub my stomach, smiling broadly. “I’d give either of those a try. Maybe with antelope or wild boar steaks. You do eat meat, right?”
“Absolutely, and I love wild game. Do you hunt?”
“Have to around here … just to keep our livestock safe.”
She nods, a faint smile on her lips.
“Course I apply for tags. Enjoy going out when I get one, and it doesn’t conflict with harvest time. How about you?”
“Never even touched a gun,” she says, voice shaking. There it is again. That whiff of fear. Like something about the life she’s lived up to this point leaves her on edge.
I stop, scowling. “You should at least know how to use one. For self-defense.”
Her eyes dart to mine, her face unreadable, before her gaze flickers away. She moves forward, and I follow a few steps behind, admiring how the slight breeze tugs at her curls, sending golden threads dancing against the periwinkle sky. Makes me jealous I can’t touch her like that.
We pass a patch of lush herbs, their fragrance filling the air—peppery basil, resinous rosemary, lemony thyme. Her stomach growls, and my lips quirk.
“When’s the last time you ate today?” I ask.
She pauses, looking up to the right for a moment. “This morning. Coffee and some eggs.”
