LITMIR.BIZ

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couple stopped by Dell’s booth, obviously new to the market. Dell chatted them up, trying to keep his head in the game instead of across the aisle.

      The couple left with some radishes and Charlie meandered back to their stand. He looked as if he fit more in with the customers in his dark jeans, sweater and some kind of loafer shoes. His brother, the yuppie.

      Didn’t make an ounce of sense to Dell, and probably never would. When Charlie didn’t offer anything, Dell nudged him. “So?”

      Charlie shrugged. “She said check the market’s Facebook page.”

      “Facebook page? That’s her grand plan? Give me your phone.”

      Charlie rolled his eyes. “You even know how to use my phone?”

      No, but did it take a rocket scientist to figure out? When he held out his hand, Charlie slapped the phone into his palm. Dell swiped his thumb across the bottom of the screen then stared. Shit. He didn’t know how to use a damn smartphone. All he saw was a bunch of squares with stock or finance in the title. “How do I get to Facebook?”

      “Give it back, moron.”

      “Just because I don’t know how to use a smartphone doesn’t mean I’m a moron.” Dell handed the phone back to his brother and shoved his hands into his pockets. He wasn’t some dumb farmer. He had his ag degree from Mizzou.

      But it was no MBA from Wash U in big brother’s eyes. Or Dad’s. No one seemed to want to let him live down the fact he’d been wait-listed, either, all because of his crap-ass standardized test scores. Who cared about those stupid tests anyway?

      His family, that was who. Oh, and his girlfriend at the time, who’d dumped him for someone who could “intellectually stimulate” her.

      He hadn’t had a clue what that meant at eighteen. He had even less of a clue what it meant now.

      More giggling echoed across the aisle and Dell hunched his shoulders, glaring at Charlie. “Hurry up.”

      Charlie waved him off. “Nothing on Mia’s page.”

      “Well, what the hell are they laughing at, man?”

      Charlie started laughing. Pretty soon he was laughing so hard he was slapping his knee.

      “What the hell?”

      Charlie passed the phone to him, and Dell squinted over the Millertown Farmers’ Market page. The last comment was from Mia Pruitt.

      “Pruitt Farms has an extraspecial treat this week, ladies. If you want to see pictures of our intrepid Naked Farmer, Dell Wainwright, in his underwear, do I have the goods for you. Stop by from eight to nine Saturday morning for a peek!”

      Dell shoved the phone at his brother so fast Charlie nearly dropped it, but Dell barely registered Charlie’s cursing because he’d already hopped the table and stalked over to the crowd of women. “Pruitt, you’re dead.”

      The giggling didn’t stop, but it did become more hushed as the sea parted, so he was standing face-to-face with Mia, only her table of goods—many of those goods in the bags of the women who normally bought from him—between them.

      “Well, howdy, Dell,” she drawled, flipping closed a family album. Wait a second. His mother’s family album.

      “Where the hell’d you get that?”

      “You look awfully cute in diapers, honey,” Deirdre, one of his regular customers, said, giving his arm a pat.

      It took every ounce of salesman in him not to shrug her off or growl at Mia. “Hand it over.” She held it out and he snatched it from her hands.

      “Careful. Your mother will kill you if you tear one of her pictures,” Mia said sweetly. “And Deirdre’s right, you do look awfully cute in nothing but your underwear.”

      He forced himself to grin. “Aw, sugar, don’t be upset just because you’ve never seen me in my underwear.”

      She tried to grab the album back. But Dell was too quick. He flipped through the thick pages. There were indeed pictures of him in his underwear. Of course, he was under the age of eight in every single one of them.

      “I particularly like the bare-butt one in cowboy boots. Adorable.” Val pointed to the picture on the upper-left corner. He resisted the urge to slam it shut on her fingers.

      “How did you get this?”

      Mia smiled, flashing perfectly straight teeth. “Some secrets are meant to be kept.”

      “Trust me when I say I could get any little secret out of you I wanted.”

      Mia rolled her eyes. “Just because you’re hot doesn’t mean I’m going to— I mean...” Some of her bravado faded as her cheeks went pink. “You can’t charm me.”

      But he kept waiting. Everyone they’d gone to high school with knew the key to unraveling any of Mia’s attempts at social interaction was simply to wait. In silence.

      “Oh, screw you. I got it from Kenzie. Have you forgotten our baby sisters are best friends? And she wasn’t too happy with you apparently.”

      Damn it, Kenzie. “I’ll kill her.”

      “You seem really obsessed with killing women today, Dell.” Old Mia was gone, replaced by this surprisingly quick-on-her-feet, good-with-a-comeback version. Even knowing she’d gotten a little bit better with people hadn’t prepared him for this, or the comment that came next.

      “Perhaps you should seek therapy.”

      Dell shoved the album under his arm. “Don’t think this is over.” He pointed his finger at her, ignoring that she looked sexy with her hands on her hips. As he stalked away, Mia’s laughter followed him.

      She was going to pay. Big-time.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      THISTIMEWHEN Mia dropped a pallet full of vegetables, it wasn’t Cara’s fault. Instead, it was the sign under Morning Sun’s stand: Morning Sun Farms. Home of the Naked Farmer.

      The sound coming out of her mouth was somewhere between a screech and a snarl. Then Cara started giggling.

      “Oh, my God. He’s brilliant. Brilliant.”

      “Brilliant?” Mia sucked in a breath, tried to find some center of calm. All she found was more anger. “He’s a glorified stripper!”

      “A brilliant glorified stripper.”

      Mia bent to pick up the scattered radish bunches and cabbage heads. She couldn’t believe he was using the title she’d come up with against her. And he wasn’t even naked! Only half-naked.

      Right?

      Mia peeked above the table to make sure. Yep. He was still wearing jeans. Although they were loose enough to hang low on his hips and were liberally streaked with dirt and grass stains at the knees. He could be in a hot-farmer calendar with that getup.

      All he needed to do was stick his thumbs through his belt loops, pull down the pants a little bit, maybe flex.

      The image was not at all appealing.

      Not at all.

      Mia shook her head and focused on the vegetables. Putting them out in neat rows, hanging the pretty little price tags Anna had made for her in art class. Maybe Dell offered a certain kind of appeal to some women, but families would appreciate Pruitt’s cleanliness, cuteness and overall clothedness.

      She told herself that all morning, but woman after woman, regardless of the number of children they were carting around, fled to Dell and his shirtless idiocy. A few families came by her booth and bought some vegetables. A few of the women came over and bought a pan of Mom’s cinnamon rolls, since Dell wasn’t

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