LITMIR.BIZ

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the need to defend himself in front of his dad’s farmer, of all people, he didn’t know and didn’t want to examine too closely.

      “I wasn’t being sarcastic,” she said, her hands up in a show of honesty. “It really does sound important. I should pay more attention to legislation and my elected officials and such, but I only really know about what comes into my email from the farming associations I belong to.”

      Unused to being complimented in this room, much less in this house, Trey turned the conversation back to Max. “What kind of legislative issues come into a farmer’s email?” At the suspicious face she made, it was his turn to hold up his hands and say, “No, really, I’m curious.”

      There was just enough light in the room for him to see Max raise her eyebrows at him. “But not curious enough to take a tour of what I’ve done to your ancestral landholdings.”

      The ridiculousness of that statement forced a laugh out of him. “Ancestral landholdings?”

      “Sure. Your family has lived on these lands since time began, haven’t they?”

      “Well, yes, but I’ve never considered this forty acres to be anything but a mud pit that money and time fall into.”

      “Yeah,” Max said with a mixture of sympathy and amusement on her face. “Hank doesn’t seem to have been a very good farmer.”

      “And you?”

      “Am I a good farmer?” She shrugged. “What’s your metric? I sell out of my vegetables most weekends at the farmers’ market. My CSA subscriptions fill up every year, providing me with the money to buy seeds and plants without having to borrow. I’m not going to get rich, but I have a small savings account and some money for retirement. Plus, I grow nutritious vegetables people want to eat and my job allows me to spend most days outside, hands in the soil and the sun on my back.”

      “And the rain.”

      Max’s laugh was full and hearty. “You really are determined to spotlight the negatives of the farm. Yes, and the rain, which gets me wet, but also makes the plants grow.”

      Her accusation stung a bit. He hadn’t meant for his hatred of the farm to bleed into his relationship with Max because, no matter how he felt about the farm, he was interested in the farmer. “You tell me about the legislation emails that interest you so much and I’ll let you give me a tour of the farm tomorrow.”

      “More of that rain you’re so afraid of is supposed to hit tomorrow. Buckets of it.”

      Her voice was warm, like the rays of sun she described hitting her back, even as she talked about the rain, and he wanted to see the land as she saw it. To understand what had attracted her to this life and had kept her willing to put up with his father when he called her a lady farmer. “Tell me what worries you, and I’ll agree to a tour, even if it’s in the rain.”

      “Okay.” She took a deep breath before the words poured out of her. “Despite looking at the maps and hearing the reassurances, I worry what fracking will do to my water quality and thus to my plants. I worry about regulations designed for a large corn grower like my father’s farm but which don’t take into account the scale of farms like mine or the different safety issues we face. I worry about changing labeling requirements and how that could weaken the value of my product and the work I put into it. And those are just the legislative and policy worries.” This time Max’s laugh had a self-deprecating edge. “Do you want to hear about the nonlegislative worries, too? I mean, while I’m spilling my fears into the dark.”

      “How about we save the nonpolicy worries for Friday,” he responded, surprised to find he meant it. “We can watch another basketball game together and I’ll have had my tour, so what you tell me will mean more.”

      The television erupted in cheers, jolting both their heads up to see a replay of a Carolina fast break and dunk. “Tar,” Trey called and Max’s lack of response reverberated around the room. “You’re supposed to respond with ‘heel.’”

      “Even if I live in North Carolina, I’m still a Fighting Illini.”

      “Tar,” Trey called again.

      “Oh, fine.” She laughed. “Heel.”

      “Now with more feeling. Tar!”

      “Heel!” She had a powerfully booming voice that shook the farmhouse and made Ashes raise his head.

      “Good. Now I wouldn’t be embarrassed to take you to the Dean Dome.”

      Trey was pleased when she laughed again. “Is that what this is about?”

      He didn’t entirely know what this was about, only that he had forgotten how much this house weighed on him while Max, with her intense eyes and serious manner, laughed.

      * * *

      MAX WAS TOUCHED when Trey walked her back to the barn, insisting despite her contention that she walked the farm alone most of the time and had done so for years. Plus, she had Ashes to protect her from raccoons and coyotes. “I’m not doing this for you,” Trey had said, “but for my mom, who would be appalled if I didn’t walk a girl to her front door. I recognize that it’s a mostly empty gesture, but—”

      “So long as we both know it’s a bit silly, I’ll let you do it for Noreen’s memory.”

      The walk across the grass had been silent and awkward. An evening spent watching a college basketball game and eating the leftovers from a funeral wasn’t a date, but at some point it hadn’t felt like two friends hanging out, either. Flashes of light from the big-screen TV had emphasized the attraction in Trey’s eyes and she had been grateful for the oversize woolen sweater hiding the way her nipples had answered. She could have pretended it was the cold, but she would’ve been lying. Trey was attractive and she liked the way his silliness escaped despite heavy, black eyebrows and a serious career.

      He was here for the rest of the week—right next door and very convenient. And then he would leave and she wouldn’t have to worry what next? Responsibility-free sex would be nice. Could she do it, though? And shouldn’t she pick a better candidate for such an indulgence than the man who owned her land? Only she couldn’t socialize while at work and the men at the farmers’ market saw a farmer rather than a woman. She went out with friends only occasionally, and even on those rare nights out she wondered if money spent at a bar would have been better put aside for buying land.

      That last sad statement was reason enough to give this a try.

      Her hand had wanted to reach for his on the walk over—like they were in middle school or something—and she’d had to yank it back. Her pajama bottoms didn’t have pockets to give her hands somewhere to go, so the one closest to Trey still twitched. At least her nipples hardening had been a sexual response. She was an adult and he was good-looking, so that was easy enough to explain away. But hand-holding implied a desire for a relationship and, while she now knew what job required Trey to wear a suit, he was still a stranger and he still lived in D.C. Sex, rather than hand-holding, was what should be on the agenda.

      They stopped on her front porch, the wind blowing the storm in, mussing up her hair as surely as his short hair stood on end with no escape. Ashes sat at the door and stared at the wood. “Thank you for dinner and the game. This is the latest I’ve stayed up in ages.” That statement was true, even if she didn’t have her watch on her. “Farmers up with the chickens and all,” she finished awkwardly.

      God, this was weird. His eyes were warm and steady on her lips, despite the wind buffeting about everything else in the vicinity. Like some out-of-body experience, she could feel her lips part and her chin lift a little. Her heart fluttered. Warmth flooded her body and she wanted to take off her sweater to cool down. She shifted slightly forward. Trey’s hand was coming out. She wanted him to slip it under her big sweater, to feel his grip tight on her waist.

      Ashes barked. Trey’s hand brushed her breasts, more accidental than not, on its way up to the back of his neck. “So, my tour. What time tomorrow?”

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