Chapter 3
THREE
NANCY
“Oh my god!” I shout, dropping my coffee cup so I can pull off my shirt.
“Whoa!” Strong arms wrap around me, and I’m suddenly pressed up against another body, a very firm body. “Not sure I’d do that in here, empress.” When I tip my head back, dark blue eyes nail me to the spot. “Hey.” He grins that hot, goofy grin.
I’m suddenly very aware that I am standing in the middle of a livestock barn, full of people, half-naked, and plastered to the chest of a stranger.
My mother would probably faint if she saw me right now, and it’s that thought that has me staying exactly where I am.
Knowing how much this whole situation would drive her bananas has a wave of joy washing over me, perhaps even leaning in a bit.
Goosebumps break out across my skin as the cool air hits me, and I begin to pull back so I can slip my wet, cold shirt back on.
“Just a minute,” farmer Joe instructs, dragging me back into him and walking me backward until I’m half behind a barrier curtain. He lets go and turns his back to me, blocking the other opening so I can cover up without being seen.
“I’m good,” I announce once my shirt is in place.
When he turns around, I notice that his shirt is not only covered with what is likely my coffee but also bits of yellow sauce and possibly potato. He notices me looking and follows my gaze.
“I guess I should be grateful that my brother hates ketchup.” He laughs, brushing his hand down his front and then thinking better of it. “Nice boots.”
“Well, I figured since my shoes were ruined, I should stick with boots for the remainder of the week.”
“Not just a pretty face,” he teases, the cocky grin quickly replaced with a horrified expression as if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “I me—”
“You think I’m pretty?” I interrupt, tipping my head in the flirty way I’ve seen my sister do whenever she’s about to take advantage of someone.
“Yeah?”
“Is that a question?”
“No?” He shakes his head and appears to collect himself.
The grin from earlier finding purchase again.
“No, I think you’re pretty. No, actually…
” He steps tentatively toward me, and I hold my ground.
“I think you’re stunning. Even with that shirt covered in coffee and roti, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in my entire life. ”
Another step, and I have to tip my chin up to keep my eyes on his face. God, he’s tall, or maybe I’m just that short.
I’m stuck somewhere between wanting to take a step forward and turning to run back to the safety of the show ring where my mother is competing tonight. Back to the familiar yet suffocating existence I’ve always known.
But then I open my mouth, and words that don’t sound like my own slip out. “You’re not so bad yourself, farmer Joe.”
“Karl,” he purrs, taking one more step. “But you can call me anything you want.”
My cheeks heat as he raises a hand and tucks an escaped strand of hair behind my ear. The brush of his fingers against my skin sends waves of pleasant chills down my neck.
“Oh?”
He’s very determined to make sure that lock of hair stays put, and I watch something cross his face, his mouth moving as if he’s trying to hold back a laugh. It's not exactly an expression that matches his current action, and I can feel the spell start to break as the chills become less pleasant.
“Yeah. But, and don’t take this the wrong way, one day, I’d like to call you a Hore.”
Spell. Fully. Broken.
“What?” I gasp, stepping out of his reach, his hand falling to his side.
“I told him that was a shitty line,” he groans, rubbing his face, transferring some of what was on his shirt to his cheek.
“Telling someone you want to call them a whore? You couldn’t figure that out for yourself?” I fume, crossing my arms and then immediately uncrossing them when I remember the state of my shirt
“Not whore as in—” He waves his hand around as if it’ll convey just what kind of whore he means and then stops abruptly, his gaze settling on me. “No W.”
“No W?” I repeat, not following and wondering why I’m still standing here.
“H-O-R-E,” he enunciates each letter. “It’s a joke, as in one day…” He trails off, looking at me pleadingly as if I can figure out what the hell he means.
“I’m sorry, are you expecting me to get the joke? I mean, right now I kind of feel like I am joke.”
“You know how usually the goal of a pickup line is to convey interest in the other person.”
“Yes, I’m aware of what the purpose of a pickup line is.” Why am I still standing here?
“Okay, well, normally you’d say something flattering.”
I glare at him. “Is calling me a whore supposed to be flattering?”
“No, God no. And again, not whore with a w. I’m a Hore,” he rushes to say.
I raise my eyebrow and study him. “I guess I can see that,” I admit slowly.
Despite the food on his face and down his shirt, farmer Joe looks like he’d have no issue getting it whenever he wants, and that thought annoys me for some inexplicable reason.
“Excuse me?” It’s his turn to look offended.
I gesture at his body. “I don’t know. You’re kind of whorish-looking. No shame, it’s all good.”
He blinks at me a few times. The sounds of the various farm animals add to the ridiculousness of this entire encounter.
“My name is Karl Hore. The line implies that I would like, one day, for you to have my last name.”
I’m speechless. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect someone to propose in the most insulting way, in the middle of a giant room full of livestock. Maybe in the tack room at our barn, but certainly not near a cacophony of moos and bahs.
In place of words, a laugh bursts out of me.