He didn’t care how little the cut was, he didn’t like to see her hurt, or to know that she’d done it to try to prove a point to him about how hard she could work. “You need to be more careful,” he growled as he wrapped a clean dishtowel around her little finger and applied pressure to it, “especially when you’re tired.”
They were standing close enough now that he finally saw the dark smudges beneath her eyes. And given the fact that, for the very first time, she hadn’t come back with a quick retort, he knew she had to be exhausted.
“Go to bed, Lori. I’ll deal with this mess.”
“I’m fine.”
The urge to stroke his hand over her cheek to find out if her skin was as soft there as it was on her hands made his voice more gruff than it needed to be as he told her, “The day starts early here on the farm. You need the sleep.”
Her full mouth tightened down, before she shrugged and said, “You’re the boss.”
She looked at their hands and he belatedly realized he was still holding hers. He took a step back and let her go. Of course, she couldn’t just head to her bedroom, she had to make a pit stop to make a fuss over the cat again, with a promise of making her some “yummy treats” soon. It wasn’t until she started sneezing uncontrollably that she finally wished Mo good night with a kiss to the patchy fur on the cat’s forehead.
He purposely kept his mind blank as he cleaned up the floor, then did the dishes and headed into his bedroom to hit the sack. He could hear Lori banging around in her room, knew she was pissed off at him, and tried not to feel guilty about his behavior. Hell, if she’d have been the male college-aged kid he’d planned to hire, he wouldn’t have been worrying about being nice or trying not to touch his new farmhand. And he sure wouldn’t be practically tiptoeing around in his own bedroom because he was worried about waking her up when she’d obviously been hard hit with the need for rest.
What the hell was wrong with him? How could he have considered letting her stay even for one night? Tomorrow, he decided, one way or another she had to go.
Grayson was just pulling back the covers when he heard something that had him stilling.
Crying.
She was crying, damn it.
Grayson clenched the covers tightly in his fist as his heart—the one he swore he didn’t have anymore—broke for her.
He had no idea what, or who, had hurt Lori Sullivan. But given how strong she’d proved herself to be all day long, he knew it had to be bad if it could force her to the point where she couldn’t hold back her sobs.
Especially since he knew the last thing she’d want would be for him to hear them.
It took every ounce of his self-control not to go to her, and in the end, the only thing that kept him from leaving his room for hers was the absolute certainty that she would hate for him to see her with her walls down, vulnerable and hurting.
And by the time her bedroom finally fell silent a short while later, Grayson knew he wasn’t going to make good on his promise to himself, come tomorrow.
He was going to let her stay.
Chapter Six
So much for everything looking better in the morning.
Because even though Grayson had let her sleep in past sunrise, when Lori got out of bed to deal with the call of nature she was shocked by how much everything hurt. She’d danced for hours every day for nearly her entire life, yet she still ached from the cleaning and stooping and kneeling on the floor. All for someone who didn’t appreciate any of it, and who clearly had never uttered the words “thank you” before.
Why had she ever thought it was a good idea to start over in Pescadero? Instead of renting a car at the airport and driving into the boonies, she could have hopped onto another plane and headed off to Hawaii. She could be lying on the beach right now sipping drinks under an umbrella with the sound of soothing waves lulling away her sadness.
Only, she’d always hated lying around on the beach. Besides, she would have gone absolutely crazy in Hawaii with all of those happy couples on their honeymoons and anniversaries walking hand in hand and kissing in the moonlight.
She hadn’t bothered to blow-dry her hair last night after her bath. She could jump into another quick bath and blow-dry, but why should she when she was just going to get all dirty and sweaty again cleaning and cooking and dealing with chickens? It was much easier just to run a brush through her hair and pull it back into a ponytail. She gave another thought to pulling her makeup bag out of her suitcase, but what was the point of that, either? The farm animals wouldn’t care what she looked like.
And she certainly wasn’t trying to attract Grayson. In fact, it would be better if she didn’t look pretty. That way, he wouldn’t get the wrong idea about her and actually start looking at her as a woman, rather than a farmhand.
Still, it was weird to forgo makeup, considering that even when her brothers had dragged her out camping a couple of times, she’d brought the basics with her. But as Lori studied herself in the mirror, she was surprised to realize that she didn’t look half bad with a perfectly clean face, apart from the fact that her eyes were still a little puffy and red around the edges.
She still couldn’t believe she’d cried last night—that she’d actually lain in the guest bed and sobbed into the pillow to make sure the sound didn’t carry to the rest of the house. Her twin sister Sophie had always been the crier—over sad books or when someone got hurt or even when one of their brothers did something really great like win the World Series or an Oscar—but never Lori.
She’d rather hug or kiss or dance. Anything but cry.
She tried to tell herself that they had been angry tears. Frustrated tears. Exhausted tears. But it was no use, not when she knew there had been plenty of self-pitying tears mixed in, too. And those were the ones that she absolutely wouldn’t stand for.
Lori Sullivan wasn’t someone who felt sorry for herself. She didn’t have time for that nonsense.
Moving quickly, she pulled on her jeans and T-shirt from last night and looked through the shoes in her bags. Mostly heels. The closest she had to farm-appropriate shoes was a pair of ballet flats. She sighed at the thought of just how quickly they were sure to get ruined in the dirt and mud and grass, but slipped them on anyway. Just then, she finally looked out her bedroom window and her breath caught at the view of Grayson’s land in the morning light.
My God, it was beautiful here. She’d noticed the beauty yesterday, of course, but every moment since she’d gotten on the plane in Chicago had felt like such a battle, and she’d been so tired that she hadn’t really seen Pescadero clearly.
With wonder, she drank in the open sky, grass so green it almost hurt her eyes, and—
Oh my
. Grayson was working without his shirt on, sweat gleaming on his incredible muscles as he chopped wood like a man possessed.
The natural beauty of his farm was breathtaking, but once she caught sight of him, she couldn’t pull her gaze away. Not when he had to be the most perfectly built man she’d ever seen. Which was saying a lot, considering that as a choreographer and dancer she worked with amazingly chiseled men on a daily basis.
And then, suddenly, he paused and turned his face toward her window, catching her with her mouth watering and her body reacting to him even from a distance.
Normally, she would have thought being stuck with a gorgeous man was a plus. But now, instead of being a bonus, Grayson’s looks were a huge negative. Thank God he had such a gruff personality, or she’d really be in trouble.
In any case, she decided as she forced herself to turn away from the window, she was determined to be positive from here on out. No more self-pity. No more wallowing in how bad her decisions had been over the past year or so, especially those that had involved Victor. She was going to charge full speed into the fresh start she’d decided on yesterday.
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 chore. 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 glasses 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 God. 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, damn 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 hell was she able to make the best damned breakfast he’d ever eaten...so good that he’d almost embarrassed 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 sassy as hell, 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.