The Sullivans: Always On My Mind Part 4

Starving again, when she walked into the kitchen and didn't see any evidence that Grayson had eaten yet, she decided to make them both breakfast. When the bacon was nearly crisp and the eggs were almost ready to slide out of the frying pan, she opened the front door and yelled, "Breakfast!" the same way she had her whole childhood when it was time for her brothers and sister to come to the table.

With eight kids, everyone in her family'd had a ch.o.r.e. She'd been in charge of cooking breakfast, getting everyone to the table, and cleaning up the kitchen afterward. That skill set had come in handy many, many times as an adult. Not only for overnight guests, but also when out on the road with a troupe of dancers. She refused to let anyone who danced for her starve themselves when she needed them at their very best and she had wooed more than one figure-conscious performer with her signature blueberry and lemon pancakes.

She was just pouring freshly squeezed orange juice into gla.s.ses when Grayson walked in. He was sweaty and had wood chips stuck in his hair and to his clothes, but at least he'd put his shirt on, thank G.o.d. She didn't think she could handle another close-up shot of all that male perfection-not before getting some sustenance in her to build up some resistance, anyway.

He didn't say anything, not "Good morning" or "Thanks for breakfast," just sat down and started to eat. With a roll of her eyes, she followed suit.

Last night their silent meal had been perfectly fine with her. She'd been tired and in no mood to chat. But she'd go crazy having silent meals forever. Clearly, if she wanted to start a new mealtime trend, she was going to have to make the first move.

"I'd love to know more about your farm."

He ignored her and kept eating, but Lori had grown up with six older brothers. She wasn't the least bit daunted by being ignored.

"What do you specialize in?"

He took a long glug of orange juice before answering her. "I run a CSA."

"I was reading an article about Community Supported Agriculture on the airplane yesterday." He gave her another look that had her realizing she'd accidentally said too much. "A couple of my siblings are members of CSAs. So people come here once a week to pick up their fruits and veggies?"

"No one comes here."

Wow, that sounded a little ominous. No one comes here. Geez, he acted like they were in some gothic novel. She worked to shake off a little shiver at the darkness in his tone. Certain that it had come out more strongly than he had to mean it, she asked, "Then how does everyone get their food?"

By now he was looking more than a little irritated with her endless questions, but if she was going to work with him she'd have to understand how his business operated.

"Eric picks up the boxes. People go to his farm once a week to pick up their food."

"But in the article I read," Lori said with honest confusion, "it sounded like the farmers sell directly from their own farms, and most of them even have barn stores where people can drop in throughout the week if they need something extra."

"That's not how I do things."

But Lori was already two steps ahead as an exciting idea hit her. No doubt Grayson was simply too busy running the farm and producing the food for his CSA to find those extra hours for the weekly community pick-ups. But she could change all of that for him.

"Now that I'm here, I could run the pick-up days so you don't have to have your friend do it on his farm." She instantly loved the idea of it, getting to meet everyone in town. It was how her life and house had always been-an open door for friends and family. Maybe she'd been wrong about life on a farm being so isolating. "I could even open a farm store for you!"

Grayson's eyes were cold as he pinned her with them. "I said, that's not how I do things."

This time his words were loud enough-and hard enough-for her not to miss them, or their intent. He wasn't doing things this way because he was too busy. He'd set it up specifically so that he wouldn't have to deal with anyone else.

"Do you have agoraphobia?" The words popped out of her mouth before she could shove them back inside.

"No." He shoved away from the kitchen table, his plate in his hands. "I just don't like people."

She was torn between wincing and laughing. What kind of person didn't like people? She just couldn't understand it. Which was why, even though every inch of his body language was telling her to back off, she had to ask, "Why?"

She asked too many questions, d.a.m.n it. Worse than that, though, was that despite himself, Grayson wanted to ask her just as many. Where had she come from? What did she do for a living when she wasn't trying to masquerade as a farmhand? And how the h.e.l.l was she able to make the best d.a.m.ned breakfast he'd ever eaten...so good that he'd almost embarra.s.sed himself when he'd started eating it?

"Do you want to hear about my last farmhand?"

She looked a little wary at the unexpected question. "Something tells me this is a trick question. But if you're finally feeling all chatty, go ahead."

No question about it, she wasn't just pretty, she was smart, too. And sa.s.sy as h.e.l.l, despite the pithy one-word answers he'd growled at her throughout breakfast.

"He was twenty-two, young enough and strong enough to work circles around me. He couldn't cook, but he could chop wood, herd cows, shear sheep, bale hay, harvest the crops, and do construction. But his best quality was that he didn't speak. At all. He just grunted when he was hungry or needed help with something."

Lori blinked up at him with wide eyes, at least a thousand times too pretty for his peace of mind this morning. He hadn't been able to sleep just a wall away from her and had finally given up and gone outside to chop firewood.

Good. Maybe he'd finally gotten through to her. If she wanted to stick around for much longer, she needed to zip it.

"Wow," she said in a tone that had him being the wary one this time, "I don't think you've said that many words in total to me since yesterday."

He turned and started to wash his plate off with hard strokes of the sponge over the porcelain, a string of curse words playing out in his head. He'd been trying to make a point-quite a clear point, he thought. He wasn't interested in conversation, just in getting the work done.

"Hey, that's my job." She shoved in beside him at the sink. "Scoot."

He could wash his own dishes, d.a.m.n it, but when he felt her hip b.u.mp against his to gently push him out of the way, he dropped his plate so fast to put distance between them that he practically shattered it on the bottom of the sink.

Just touching her hand last night when she'd cut her finger had been too much. Knowing anything at all about the feel of her hips-that they were toned, yet with a woman's softness-was miles beyond anything his self-control could deal with.

"Let me make sure I understood what you just said," she offered as she started deftly washing off the plates, her hands looking too elegant to be so efficient. "You don't like to talk to or interact with people. And I love both those things, which you find annoying." She shot him a glance. "Do I have that right so far?" When he just stood there and stared at her, she said, "Do you also agree that it's doubtful that either of us is going to change anytime soon?" At his continued silence, she said, "No, don't bother using up one of your precious words. I already know the answers."

This was it. This was where she was finally going to accept that she needed to leave so he could get a real farmhand. Grayson was sure the relief was going to come any second now. After all, hadn't that been what he'd been wishing for since the first moment he'd set eyes on her-for her to go?

He had to work like h.e.l.l to ignore the voice in his head that told him he'd been wishing for a h.e.l.l of a lot more than that...and that most of his wishes had Lori naked and reaching for him.

"It seems to me," she said in a considering tone as she turned off the faucet and began wiping the plates dry with a clean dish towel, "that we'll just have to agree to disagree." The sunny smile she followed that inane statement with nearly knocked his feet out from under him, giving her enough time to quickly segue into, "So now that I'm almost done washing up, what do you want me to work on first?"

He'd never been a big talker, but that wasn't why he didn't answer right away. He couldn't believe anyone could be this stubborn. Delusional was another good word for it.

Why wasn't she packing up her things and leaving already? Under any other circ.u.mstances, he would have done it for her, but the memory of the way she'd cried in her bed last night was still too fresh in his head.

Somehow he needed to find something for her to do that she couldn't screw up. Even better, something that would convince her she was not meant for the farming life. Toilet brushes and chickens hadn't daunted her...so what would?

His lips almost moved up into a smile as he hit on it. "Pigs."

She couldn't hide her immediate look of horror. "You have pigs?"

He couldn't believe how difficult it was to keep the grin off his face. There hadn't been much cause for smiling these past few years, not until an irritatingly beautiful stranger had shown up and declared herself his new farmhand. Fortunately, he would have bet his farm that she was going to hate dealing with the pigs, with all their mud and mess-and their surprising intelligence.

"They need fresh water and feed."

"That doesn't sound so hard."

It wasn't, unless the pigs were feeling frisky and the mud was fresh. Maybe it wasn't fair to have her work in their outdoor enclosure rather than the indoor pig house with the cement floor, but after the rain they'd had a couple of days ago it did need to be cleaned up. "That's why I'm letting you do it," he pointed out.

"Didn't I prove to you that I could handle yesterday's ch.o.r.es and that I can cook?"

"You cook and clean well," he agreed, "but I need more than a maid."

She gritted her teeth as she leaned in across the kitchen island, her hands flat on the wood surface as she snarled, "I can't wait to feed and water your pigs."

Never in his life had he met a woman like her, one who didn't back down from a challenge or from being purposely insulted. She stomped out to the porch and was already heading for the pigpen when he finally saw the shoes she was wearing.

"Those are the shoes you're going to wear to muck out the pig stalls?"

Her eyes closed for a split second at the word muck, but then she was pushing her shoulders back and saying, "When I'm done with my work for the day, I'll head into town to pick up some more appropriate shoes."

If he had his way, when she was done with her work for the day, she'd head into town...and keep going.

"Wait," she said suddenly as she looked down the drive, "where's my car?"

"It wouldn't start this morning. I had it towed to the shop."

"So-" She finally looked daunted by something. "-I'm stuck here with you now?"

Did she have to remind him? "Just until Sam fixes your radiator and whatever else you busted on my fence post." He led her over to the pigs, pointing out their feed and showing her where the hose was. "Whatever you do, make sure you latch the gate all the way, or the pigs will destroy my crops."

He gave her some simple instructions on how to muck out the pigs, then left her in her fancy jeans and inappropriate shoes to deal with the dirtiest animals on earth.

Chapter Seven.

After growing up with six brothers, Lori knew her way around mud and dirt, and wasn't particularly squeamish about it. Still, as she surveyed the pigs from outside the fence, she had to admit that she'd never seen a mess quite like the one in the pigpen.

She knew Grayson had chosen this task to see whether she'd get all girly about it and quit, and now a part of her wondered if he had already been out here this morning watering everything down so that the pigpen would be extra wet and squishy. But at breakfast he'd been covered in wood chips, not mud, so she knew that was just her lingering frustration with his little sermon on silence at breakfast.

Grunting. That's what his last farmhand had done rather than speak. And Grayson had liked it that way.

Frankly, she was glad that she could get down and dirty with the pigs this morning, if for no other reason than to let off a little steam. She'd always worked out her frustrations by dancing before. Today, she'd just have to work them out with some stinky, snorting pigs instead.

She opened the gate and took a careful step inside. Of course her ballet slipper sank nearly all the way into the mud. After carefully latching the gate, she turned back to the crew of pigs facing her, a half dozen or so in the large pen. They were actually pretty cute, but bigger than she'd realized. Fortunately, they didn't look the least bit threatening. Maybe a little curious about who the stranger was, however.

She figured she'd get them their water and feed and then when they were busy chowing down, she'd work on mucking out their stalls. Moving slowly through the mud, she was halfway across the pen when she stepped in a particularly slippery spot and her feet almost slipped out from under her.

Years of needing to stay on her feet no matter what had her quickly righting herself and widening her stance to make sure she wouldn't fall again. She was just about to start heading forward when she looked up and saw one of the pigs making a beeline toward her, much more quickly than she could have ever believed possible for such a stocky animal. Its little hooves were powering through the mud and its curly tail was wagging.

The next thing she knew it was pushing between her legs and lifting her up off the ground. "Hey!" she exclaimed as the pig kept on moving through the mud with her stuck to its broad back. "What are you doing?"

But she already knew, didn't she? The pig was having a fabulous time carrying her off through the pen...with all of its friends watching with eager eyes, probably vying for who would be next to mess with the total greenhorn.

And then, just as quickly as she'd been hoisted off the ground and onto the pig's broad back, she was unceremoniously dumped on her rear in the mud with a hard splat.

She sat in the mud for several moments as she worked to get her breath back from where the ground-and the very mischievous pig-had knocked it out of her. Only, when she looked down at herself completely covered with mud, and thought about just how ridiculous she must have looked riding bareback on a pig, instead of getting upset she started to laugh.

Who knew working on a farm could be so crazy? So full of mishaps? Or that a bunch of stinky, unruly pigs would be the ones to get her laughing again? It reminded her of when she and her brother Gabe and twin sister Sophie would go out and make mud pies in the backyard after a storm when they were kids.

The sad truth was that Lori hadn't felt like a kid in a very long time. Not until today, when the pigs had made any chance at being anything but a messy, muddy buddy of theirs an impossibility.

Of course, getting down to the pigs' level only made her more interesting to them, especially to one of the babies who had started snuffling around at her face.

"Hey, cutie," she told him, "maybe when you're a little bigger you could sweep me off my feet, too." She stroked his snout. "I have always loved a guy in pink with a little facial hair."

She could have sworn he gave her a grin as she slipped and slid while getting back up on her feet. And as she went about her duties while singing a pop song that the pigs seemed to like despite her horribly out-of-tune voice, she made sure to keep her legs close together to stave off any more impromptu pig-riding trips around the pen.

Grayson could easily have spent the rest of the day focused on the new roof he was putting on the cottage, but he needed to check up on Lori. Not, he told himself, because he missed seeing her since breakfast, but because letting her work on his farm was like keeping a box of fireworks next to a roaring fire-you never knew when one little spark was going to light off the whole d.a.m.ned thing.

That was why he'd told her to work in the pigpen. How much damage could she possibly do there?

As he approached the pigpen from a distance, he couldn't miss that she was covered in mud. Even though he figured that should have been the last straw for her, he could hear her singing in a G.o.dawful voice as she petted one of the pigs, her little bottom wiggling back and forth as she all but danced around in the mud.

He'd never met anyone like her before in his life-a city girl who would sing and dance in the mud with the pigs, rather than bailing on the hard, dirty work. With every pa.s.sing second that she remained on his farm, he could feel her not just getting under his skin, but going even deeper. Just as she had the previous night when he'd heard her crying in bed.

G.o.d, he hoped she didn't cry again tonight. Because if she did, he wasn't sure he was strong enough to keep from going to her and pulling her into his arms and kissing away those tears.

Grayson was about a hundred feet away from the pigpen when he saw something big and pink out of the corner of his eye down by his strawberry patch.

Oh no, had she left the gate open? One instruction-to make sure it latched securely-was the only thing she needed to follow. But had she done that?

He ran over to the big sow, hollering at her to get out of his strawberries, but the pig was too busy mowing down the neat and flourishing rows of fruit to look up in his direction. It was as if a rototiller had been driven over his strawberry plants, the very ones he'd been planning to load into boxes this week for his customers. It was a sweaty and difficult job corralling the sow, but ten minutes later he had her back where she belonged.

Lori was working with the hose, spraying down the pens, and clearly didn't hear much above the sound of the water and her singing until he'd pushed the sow back into the pen.

When she finally caught sight of him, she was so surprised that she blasted him with the freezing cold water straight in the chest. The clear fury in his gaze had her quickly trying to turn it off, but her hands were muddy enough that it took her more than a few tries to finally get it. By then, Grayson wasn't only p.i.s.sed as h.e.l.l, he was soaked, too.

"Sorry about that! You surprised me." She looked down at herself, her clothes and skin liberally covered with mud. "If you want to turn the hose on me to make us even, that probably wouldn't be a bad idea."

She reached out to hand him the hose and he batted it out of her hand so that it landed in the mud with a splat.

"I knew you were trouble when you drove like a maniac up my driveway." He pointed to his obliterated strawberry crop. "I told you to shut the G.o.dd.a.m.ned gate. Look at what happened because you can't be trusted to do even one little thing right." Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear how harsh he was being, but Lori didn't even flinch.

Instead she came right back at him with, "I did shut it!" She moved across the muddy pen with surprising grace and reached behind him to shut the gate again with a frown. "I did it just like this."

She slipped just enough in the mud for her hip to push the gate, and as she reached out to steady herself the latch began to wobble. She pushed a little harder and it came completely loose so that the gate popped open.

"See?" She turned to him, her beautiful face full of righteous indignation. "I told you I closed it."

Feeling like a total a.s.s, he waited for her to demand an apology from him. But she didn't, which only made things worse. Probably because she didn't think he was capable of making one.

And she was right. He couldn't seem to find the words he should be saying to her. Instead, he told her, "I need something from the hardware store. Go wash up and I'll take you into town to pick up some boots."