8. You’re Stubborn
My eyesopen on the second ring, my heart immediately rumbling in my chest like a fully powered engine. I wasn’t sleeping—only just managed to close my eyes after an hour of tossing left and right in bed.
I stand, rush to the living room, and grab the landline receiver. For some reason, the word ‘police’ keeps banging in my mind, though they likely wouldn’t call this late. But knowing they’re preparing a case against us is unnerving.
“What?” I bark as I bring the receiver to my ear.
“Hey, boss,” Kyle says with an apologetic voice. “Sorry to wake you up.”
“What happened?”
“Uh, nothing much. She was in a shitty mood after you insulted her, so I brought her to get ice cream. We just got back to the farm, right? But it’s dark, and with the rain last week, the valley is still pretty muddy, and...”
My throat clenches. “Is Primrose okay?”
“Oh, yes. Totally fine. But she—uh...fell.”
She fell. She fell.
I smack the receiver down, grab my helmet on the way to the door, and stop with the handle between my fingers. Looking down at the black helmet, my heart beats through the roof. The bike’s faster, but if I use it to go to her, I’ll also have to use it to bring her back here, and I can’t let her ride with me.
I just can’t.
I set it down and grab the keys, flying out the front door into the night—the pickup turned on before I’m even fully sitting.
I drive across the farm, testing the power of my pickup’s engine like I never have before. It’s either going to break down or take flight like a shuttle.
She fell.
What if she’s hurt? Kyle said she wasn’t, but he’s a troublemaker. If she’s as much as scratched, I’ll waterboard him in cow piss. He’s done hanging out with her—she’s not here to make friends anyway. To go on dates and kiss Kyle. I want my eyes on her at all times.
She fell.
The closer I get, the faster I go, until in the darkness, the headlights flash on Kyle, waving.
I crank the handbrake and come to a stop in front of him. So close, in fact, that he bounces back with wide eyes. At least he knows exactly how I feel about him right now.
“Where is she?” I bark as I jump out.
“Logan, don’t overreact. Nothing bad happened—” When he notices my flared eyes and nostrils, he raises both hands in defeat. “There. Next to that tree.”
I rush past him, my chest so tight I can’t breathe, and my eyes settle on her, sitting on the ground. I run, and Kyle’s voice reaches me from behind. “That right there isan overreaction!”
* * *
“Two hours. I left you alone for two hours.” Knees deep in the mud, I study Primrose’s ankles, relieved when I see nothing horrendous like a bone sticking out.
“I slipped,” she says with a pout. “And I didn’t want Kyle to call you anyway. I’m fine.”
Yeah, she’s peachy, sitting in the mud. My eyes run up and down her no-longer-pink dress, looking for any damage. I still can’t tell if she’s regular pretty or if she made an extra effort to go out with Kyle.
Doesn’t matter.
Focus, Logan.
“Can you rotate your foot?”
She does, then hisses, letting it drop back into the mud. “Yeah, but it hurts.”
It shouldn’t be broken. If it was, I imagine she’d be in much more pain. Maybe she sprained her ankle. “Well, why are you sitting here?”
“Every time I tried to pick her up, she screamed bloody murder,” Kyle explains with a shrug.
My questioning gaze moves to Primrose, whose cheeks have turned a dark shade of pink. What’s with that? I kissed her two minutes after knowing her, so I don’t think it’s an issue of not wanting to be touched.
“Can I pick you up?”
She shakes her head, and though my first instinct would be to scream at her to quit whatever this is, I breathe out, trying to remember what she said about not being a goat. Not that I’d ever scream at a goat. “Look, I’ll pick you up and bring you straight to the truck, okay? Fifteen seconds, tops.”
“No!” she squeals as I reach forward, her body cowering away as her hands sink into the mud.
What the hell?
I study her wide eyes, and the way her shoulders relax once she realizes I’m not going to grab her against her will.
Is she embarrassed? It looks like it, but I don’t get what for.
I turn to Kyle. “Walk away.”
Kyle’s brows quirk, but with a nod, he turns around and walks until he’s out of earshot. Only then do I focus on Primrose. “Well?
She sheepishly glances at me. “What?”
“Why don’t you want me to pick you up?”
She presses her lips tight, and when that doesn’t magically convince me to leave her here to die, she sighs. “I’m too heavy, Logan.”
Too heavy?
I look down at her thighs, smeared with mud all the way to the short skirt of her dress, but that doesn’t help anyone, so I quickly focus on her face again. “You’re not too heavy for Kyle, let alone for me.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
I inhale, my jaw clenching. “So what’s the plan, Barbie? Are you sleeping here?”
“Just help me stand, and I’ll hop to the pickup.”
“You’ll slip on the mud again.”
She shrugs, but then squints into the darkness like she’s trying to measure the distance. “No, I won’t.”
Goddamn stubborn woman.
“Fine.” I stand, then offer her my hand. She pulls herself up on one foot, and even before she can think of hopping anywhere, her one shoe slides forward in the mud, and she shrieks as she falls back.
I manage to let go of her hand and lean forward, wrapping an arm around her back and holding her up before her ass hits the ground. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like the time and place for “I told you so.”
She breathes hard, then looks into my eyes, and our faces are much closer than they should be, because I can smell the scent of strawberry coming off her skin—maybe her lips.
“Thank—”
I circle the backs of her knees with my arm and hoist her up, and with a final shriek for good measure, she settles against my chest.
She gasps. “You?—”
“You’re welcome.”
“You know that’s not what I meant! I told you not to pick me up, that I’m?—”
“Too heavy?” I say as I lift her even higher. I could do lunges carrying her. I could prop her on my back and go about my day and I’d barely even remember she’s there.
Too heavy. Fucking ridiculous.
She sighs and tries to shift away, but I can still detect the blush on her skin—redder than ripe tomatoes. Setting the thought aside for now, I walk to my pickup, and a cat-calling whistle resounds in the distance.
Kyle, of course.
“Watch your head,” I mumble as I deposit her onto the seat, and once she’s in, I close the car door behind her, then point a finger at Kyle. “I’ll bring her back home. I’ll deal with you tomorrow.”
“Me? There’s no need to deal with me.”
But there is. He knows she’s not dressed right for the farm. For slippery mud and thorns. We’ve got snakes here too, and they wouldn’t think twice before biting her naked ankles.
I’m sliding into the driver’s seat when I hear him call, “Can I come too?”
Without answering, I shut the door, then throw a look at Primrose.
“You okay?”
She nods, visibly upset. Is it because Kyle made her uncomfortable? Because she didn’t get to kiss him? Because they did kiss, and it was horrible? Or because I picked her up?
No idea, and when my eyes dart to her mouth to check if her pink lipstick is there or if it’s smudged, I find a smear of mud. Trailing up her face, I catch her eye, one brow arched.
I shake my head and start the car, focusing on the road.
Even if they did kiss, I don’t give a fuck.
* * *
“I’m sorry,” Primrose says as I grab a chair and sit in front of her, dropping the first aid kit and towel on the table next to me. Gripping the edge of the couch, she shrugs one shoulder. “I told Kyle not to call you, but...”
But he knew if he didn’t, I’d shove his face in pig shit.
“You’re fine.” I pat my leg. “Foot here.”
“No, you’re angry. You told me those shoes were not suited for?—”
“Foot. Here,” I insist as I tap my thigh again.
She leans back and rests her tiny foot on my leg. It makes my mouth go dry, the awareness that now I get to—have to—touch her.
It’s not like I want to.
I grab the wet wipe on my side and clean the top of her foot. She’ll have to wait until she can stand to take a shower.
“Where are the...” She swallows, peeking past the table.
She’s terrified of those damn piglets, isn’t she? “Do you eat pork, Primrose?”
“Yes?” she says suspiciously.
I look into her eyes, trying to sound ominous. “Well, then. You may have eaten their mom at your last barbecue, but you won’t let them nibble you just once?” I click my tongue. “Sounds unfair to me.”
She studies me, eyes widening and brows tightly knit together, and only when I lift one corner of my lips, she exhales, then quickly chuckles. “Oh, you’re the worst.”
“Pigs love apples. Occasionally, they play—it’s quite cute,” I say, wiping her pink toenails. “Don’t scare them, because then they will bite you, but pigs are prey animals. They won’t do anything to you.”
When she doesn’t say a word, I look up at her, and I’m surprised to find a sweet grin.
Why is she looking at me like that?
My hand slips as I rub her ankle, and she flinches. “Damn—sorry. Does it hurt?”
“No, the wipe is just a bit cold. Do you think it’s broken?”
“Likely just sprained. I’ll bandage it now.”
“Thank you,” she whispers. She obviously feels guilty, and I guess she technically shouldn’t. She didn’t fall on purpose.
The silence stretches as I grab the white bandage and roll it around her ankle. Everything about her is so tiny that it feels like trying to paint a miniature with oven mitts.
“Logan?”
“Hmm?”
“Can you tell me what’s going on with the farm?”
I glance up at her. “What did Kyle say?”
“Nothing.” I cock a brow, and she shrugs. “He just mentioned...you’re having issues.”
Focusing on the bandage, I mumble, “We’re a vegan farm, so our prices are higher than average. It costs more to grow produce when you’re picky about what chemicals you use.” I keep wrapping. “And we don’t provide meat or eggs, which means that most customers working with us will have to get a separate supplier, and not everyone is willing to.”
“And I guess all the animals you keep here are expensive.” Her eyebrows are arched, and her eyes are rimmed with worry.
“Very. Food and vet bills. Medicines.” I tape the bandage. “I’ve had to take on some loans.”
I’m done with her foot, but she keeps it on my thigh.
“Plus, the competition is cheaper.”
“You mean Derek?”
“And a few others, but mostly him, yes.”
“Well, it’s unfair.” She pouts. “His produce might be cheaper, but he’s...”
“He’s the devil, but that’s not how business works.” I doubt I need to explain it to her, seeing as she’s built an audience of two million. “And besides, I’m not such a great person myself.”
Her face does something. It’s a sort of amused twinkle in her eyes with a hint of I’m not buying your bullshit. Like she’s telling me she knows me, which is ridiculous since forty-eight hours ago, we were strangers to each other.
Lifting her foot off my leg, she asks, “Aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not.” I watch her set her foot down, then check her face, but she doesn’t grimace. Instead, she knowingly grins. “What?”
“Logan, you got my list back, and I didn’t even ask you to. And tonight you showed up with that pickup flying across the field...You almost ran your friend over, then I saw with my own eyes the relief washing over you when you were sure I was okay.”
I shift uncomfortably.
“And as you eloquently said tonight, you don’t even know me. So, sorry if I struggle to believe you’re this horrible person you want me to think you are.”
Thinking of my lash-out, I grimace. A nice person wouldn’t have told her any of that. “You’re not leftovers,” I mumble.
With a flick of her hair, she nods. “I know.”
“And I don’t think you’re leftovers.”
“I know that too.”
Good.
“So...what’s going to happen to this place?”
My heart twists, but I look away to hide my expression. “Uh, no idea.”
“I can see why you’d have a panic attack over it.”
With a glare, I snap, “We don’t know what it was.”
“Sure.” She fidgets with the hem of her dress. “Does anyone know? Because Kyle didn’t seem well-informed about the farm’s financial situation.”
So she did inquire, the snoop.
“No, not really.” And I just know telling her is the wrong choice, but she has this way of looking at me when she asks questions. Makes it impossible to tell her to mind her business. “The farm wasn’t vegan before I took over. My mom tries to understand, but...”
“You’re afraid to admit making the farm vegan...”
“Is bringing it toward certain failure. Yes,” I conclude in her place. It’s the truth, as painful as it may be. And telling my brother he was right all along feels like punishment for something I’ve done in a previous life.
“Still, if we were to end up in prison, someone would have to take over. And they should be aware of the situation. Don’t you think?”
“We’re not going to prison.” Not as long as we act coupley and don’t give them any reason to look into our past. “I don’t want you to worry about that.”
She scoffs. “Easier said than done.”
“I made a promise, remember?” I busy myself with the first aid kit, shoving everything inside. Then I force myself to stare back at her. “I keep my promises.”
She nods, though I can still see stress lines on her forehead. “Well, you have to do something, right? About the farm?”
Oh, I’ve done more than something. I’ve hired an advertising company, run dozens of promotions, and reached out to any local business that might be interested in our produce. Good god, I even tried to get a table at the farmers’ market, though I’ve been denied every week. “Trust me, this farm is the most important thing in my life. I’m doing everything I can.”
“I guess I could...” She drums her fingers on her leg, indecision making her stop in her tracks.
I’ll make it easy for her.
“I don’t want you to promote us.”
“Why not?” she asks suspiciously. “Everyone does.”
“Because I think influencers are lazy freeloaders who didn’t feel like finding a job, so they made their egotistical fantasies their occupation.”
At her horrified expression, I laugh.
Even when she doesn’t say a goddamn word, she’s funny.
And pretty. She’s pretty too.
“You’re joking, right?”
“Yes. Primrose, this is something I need to fix myself,” I explain. “And besides, you’re busy with your own thing. Bold flavors or whatever.”
It looks like she’s about to argue, so I slap my thigh and stand.
“Do you want me to take you to bed?” She smirks, and I give her a dry smile. “You know what I mean.”
“I can hop,” she says, getting to her feet and taking two hops forward to prove it.
“Now I wish I had a phone to record you.”
With a chuckle, she hops across the living room. “I’ll see you tomorrow, cowboy.”
“Try not to die before the morning.”
She widens her eyes dramatically. “You’d miss me too much, wouldn’t you?”
Sure I would. The tornado roommate who keeps falling and waking me up is just the addition to my life I didn’t know I needed.
Two days gone, fifteen to go.