CHAPTER TWO
Abby
Trent Lawson looked like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than dealing with me for another morning.
I could see it in his posture as I picked my way across the uneven ground toward the main big shed at exactly seven o’clock the next morning.
He stood there, shoulders tense, arms crossed, that scowl that could curdle milk already firmly in place.
His slightly long dark hair was damp at the ends as if he’d already worked up a sweat—or stepped out of the shower.
That image made my insides flutter, and I stumbled, almost going down again.
I wasn’t usually this uncoordinated. Yes, gravity was my mortal enemy on a good day, but I wasn’t normally this much of a disaster. Apparently, devastatingly grumpy orchard owners were hazardous to my already questionable coordination.
And honestly? This wasn’t fair. No man should look that good with damp hair and a worn flannel shirt barely past sunrise. It was like fall had handcrafted him with an apple scent and unreasonable biceps.
“You’re late,” he said as I approached, not moving from his position blocking the door.
I checked my watch. “It’s seven oh-one.”
“I said seven. Not seven oh-one.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” I stopped in front of him and tilted my head back to meet his eyes. God, he was tall. And broad. Like a sentient pine tree with anger issues and…okay, abs.
Focus, Abby. You’re here for the children. Not the chest.
“It’s sixty seconds. I’m sure your precious apples survived the trauma.”
“My precious apples pay for this place. Your field trip is an inconvenience I’m tolerating, not a priority.
” He pushed off from the door without moving aside, forcing me to step back.
“And if you can’t follow simple instructions like showing up on time, maybe you should find somewhere else to take your kids. ”
Oh, he was a real charmer. “Well, lucky for both of us, I’m not going anywhere. My students are counting on this trip, and I don’t disappoint kids because some grumpy hermit can’t handle basic human interaction.”
His jaw tightened, and I caught a flash of something dangerous in those dark eyes.
Good. If he thought he could intimidate me with his I don’t like people routine, he was about to learn otherwise.
I’d been stared down by angry PTO moms and once negotiated peace during a second-grade glitter war.
His glower didn’t scare me. It actually kind of turned me on. But that was beside the point.
“Fine,” he said through what I was sure as slightly gritted teeth. “Follow me. Try to keep up without breaking anything.”
He strode off toward the orchard at a pace clearly designed to make me jog to keep up. I managed it for about thirty seconds before my shorter legs started protesting.
“So,” I said, slightly breathless, “tell me about the history of this place. My students love—”
“It’s an orchard. We grow apples. End of story.”
Wow. And I thought my second-graders were moody in the morning.
“Come on, you can do better than that. This place has been in your family for generations, right? There has to be something interesting. A founding story? A family legend? Maybe a tragic romance involving forbidden love and apple blossoms?”
He stopped so abruptly I almost ran into him. When he turned around, his expression could have flash-frozen hell. Apparently, Trent Lawson took offense to whimsical field trip stories. Noted. No apple-blossom love stories. Just doom, gloom, and agricultural highlights.
“This isn’t some romanticized fairy tale, Ms. Foster. Or some tourist attraction. It’s a working orchard that requires actual work, not cute stories and photo opportunities for Instagram.”
The dismissive tone hit exactly the wrong nerve. I’d dealt with condescending men before—plenty of them—and I was not about to let this oversized grump treat me like some vapid city girl looking for entertainment.
“First of all, I don’t have Instagram,” I said, putting my hands on my hips.
“Second, I’m not looking for photo opportunities.
I’m looking for ways to teach seven-year-olds about agriculture, hard work, and where their food comes from.
But clearly, that requires more communication skills than you possess. ”
For a moment, he just stared at me like I’d grown a second head. Then his scowl deepened.
“You want communication skills? Here’s some communication.
This place doesn’t run on warm fuzzy feelings and educational moments.
It runs on sweat and luck and hoping nothing breaks down long enough to turn a profit.
Your kids want apples? Fine. They can pick apples.
But don’t expect me to turn it into some heartwarming lesson about family legacy. ”
The bitterness in his voice caught me off guard, but I wasn’t about to back down. “You know what? Fine. Be as miserable and unwelcoming as you want. But those kids are going to have a great time here whether you participate or spend the whole day frowning at us from behind the trees.”
Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe—before the scowl returned. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like stubborn woman and stalked toward the orchard.
This time his pace was slightly less punishing and I took it as a small victory.
We’d reached the main section of the orchard, and despite my annoyance with my surly tour guide, I had to admit it was beautiful. Rows upon rows of apple trees stretched out in neat lines, heavy with fruit that ranged from deep red to golden green.
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathed.
“It’s work,” Trent said flatly. “These trees don’t maintain themselves. Pruning, spraying, harvesting, dealing with pests, weather, equipment failures—it never stops. And it sure as hell isn’t gorgeous when you’re dealing with a crop disease or a late frost that wipes out half your harvest.”
I winched in sympathy even though I knew he wouldn’t appreciate it. Of course, I had to try and lighten the mood. “Well, Johnny Appleseed, I still think my students will—”
“First lesson,” he interrupted, pointing to a ladder leaning against one of the trees. “Ladder safety. I can’t have a bunch of kids falling out of trees because their teacher didn’t bother to learn basic safety protocols.”
Okay, now he was just trying to make me fall off something. “I’m perfectly capable of learning safety protocols.”
“We’ll see.” He walked over to the ladder. “Rule one—never climb alone. Rule two—check stability before putting weight on it. Rule three—don’t be an idiot.”
“Thanks for that last one. Really illuminating.”
He shot me a dark look. “You want to be sarcastic, or you want to learn how to keep kids from getting hurt.”
I bit back my retort and focused on his demonstration, but standing this close to him was making it hard to concentrate. He smelled like soap and something outdoorsy that made my pulse kick up, and when he adjusted the ladder’s position, his forearms flexed in ways that were definitely distracting.
“Are you paying attention?” His voice cut through my wandering thoughts.
Was I paying attention? To the ladder, no. But to his jawline? His forearms? The way he looked like a paper towel commercial that had been emotionally compromised? I could give myself a gold star.
“What? Yes. Absolutely. Ladder safety is very important.”
He studied my face with those sharp dark eyes, and I tried to look like I hadn’t just been checking out his arms like a teenager.
“Prove it,” he said, holding out the ladder to me. “Show me proper ladder setup.”
Pooh-bear. I’d been so busy being distracted that I’d missed half of what he’d said. There were plenty of ways I’d imagined dying. Falling off a ladder under the judgmental eye of a man I was half-crushing on wasn’t one of them.
But I was a teacher—improvisation was one of my core skills.
I took the ladder with what I hoped looked like confidence, positioning it against the tree and giving it a shake to test stability.
“You know, my students aren’t going to be climbing ladders.
They’ll pick from the low branches. Or better yet, take the apples that have already fallen to the ground. ”
“And what if they want one from the very top of the tree? We both know you’d try and get it for them.”
I sighed. How could he know that about me? We’d just met. I repositioned the ladder.
“That’s the wrong angle,” Trent said immediately, walking up behind me. “That’s too steep. You want it to fall over and crush someone?”
“No, of course not—”
“Try again.” He covered my hands with his and eased the ladder back, I had to move in order not to place it on my toes. That forced me right up against his hard body. I hid my smile at the muttered curse he gave and deliberately wiggled my butt. Just a little.
He stepped back quickly and crossed his arms, that dark frown of his firmly in place. “Now climb up three rungs and show me how you’d reach for an apple.”
Three rungs. I could handle three rungs.
I made it to the second rung just fine. The third one was where disaster struck.
My foot slipped—because of course it did—and suddenly I was falling backward, my hands glued to the ladder as it tilted from the tree. I knew I wasn’t that far off the ground, but it felt like I was falling forever.
Then strong hands caught me around the waist, yanking me against a solid chest and pushing the ladder away from us.
“Damn it,” Trent’s voice was rough against my ear, his arms like steel bands around me. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? How could you fall from the third rung of a ladder?”
He sounded pissed, but his hands were still on me like he hadn’t decided to let go. And I kind of didn’t want him to.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. Not because of the fall, but because of the way he was holding me—tight and protective, like he couldn’t bear the thought of me getting hurt. His chest was rising and falling rapidly against my back, and I could feel tension radiating through his entire body.
“Sorry,” I managed. “I told you I was graceful as a drunk giraffe.”
“This isn’t funny.” His grip tightened. “You could have been seriously hurt.”
There was something in his voice, something raw and almost panicked, that made my heart skip. I turned in his arms, and suddenly we were face to face, his dark eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
“Then you shouldn’t have had me climbing ladders,” I retorted because I was pretty shaken up. Not by the near fall, but by him. What was happening to me? I had never felt this instant attract to anyone before. My love life was barely non-existent but Trent…
This wasn’t flirting. Was it? Maybe. Probably. God, what was this? I could feel his warm breath, and I was dangerously close to testing the theory of what a cider kiss tasted like.
His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. “I might not always be there to catch you.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to be more careful.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth and knew, just knew, he was about to kiss me.
Then his phone buzzed, and he stepped back so fast I stumbled.
I’d never wanted to stay in someone’s arms so badly. Which was wildly inconvenient, given he clearly wanted to toss me back on the ladder just to prove a point.
“Trent here,” he answered, his voice clipped and professional. As he listened, his expression grew increasingly grim. “Damn it. I’ll be right there.”
He hung up and scrubbed a hand over his face in a gesture I’d already recognized as his go too when he was stressing. “There’s an irrigation problem in the north grove. I have to go.”
“Of course you do.” I stepped over to pick up the ladder, mostly to give me something to do.
He took it from me and propped it against the tree on the ground.
Safety first, I mused, suddenly wanting to see him when he forgot about rules and regulations, and control.
Lordy, how I wanted to see him lose control.
“Should I just... wait here? Come back later?”
“You’re coming with me.”
I blinked at him. “You want me to come with you? Even after I nearly killed myself with basic ladder operations?”
“Especially after that.” His scowl was back in full force. “Can’t have you getting into more trouble while I’m gone.”
I couldn’t help one more smart-mouthed comment as I followed behind him. “So this is like... behind-the-scenes access?”
That earned me a sound between a grunt and a growl.
And suddenly, I was very happy that I’d chosen a visit to an apple orchard as my class’s field trip.