7. Darcy
SEVEN
DARCY
The guy from the sports bar.
The fucking guy from the sports bar.
The fucking guy from the sports bar is my employee for the summer and living on the same property.
The fucking guy from the sports bar is my employee for the summer, living on the same property, and he smells just as good as I was afraid he might. Cedar and amber and man.
I know this because he leans close to me while loading some pruning shears back in the four-wheeler hitch. How can he possibly smell this good after an hour of heavy labor? Could he at least have the decency to have body odor like a normal person? Does he have to smell like testosterone and dreams?
This is bad. Really, very bad.
I’m determined to overcome this. Just because I’m ovulating and freshly single doesn’t mean I need to go mounting the first man who crosses my path.
I snap to attention at the sound of Jake’s voice. “Darcy.”
“What?” I say it with hostility, but other than him being a mediocre man with mediocre man ideals, he hasn’t done anything to harm me.
He chuckles. “Becca asked you a question.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, wiping my brow with my forearm. “What’s up?”
“Are these the original trees? Like the trees your grandpa planted?” she asks, tossing a bundle of chopped branches into the hitch.
“No,” Jake and I say at the same time, and I give him a look.
“Sorry,” he says. “I grew up on a fruit farm. You tell it.”
Strike one, buddy.
“No,” I reiterate. “My great grandpa started this farm to try and keep our family out of the coal mines. Peach trees only get a lifespan of ten to twenty years before they stop producing as much. These are descended from those, though. We’ve introduced some new varieties, but we always keep a separate row of Poppa’s trees.”
“That’s really cool,” Caleb says.
Caleb’s real cute too, with an easy smile but doesn’t feel false. But Caleb didn’t eyefuck me at a sports bar two nights ago while showing off his single dad prowess, and even though Maggie implied I should become involved with our summer workers, I’m not sure that’s the wisest idea.
“Was he successful?” Jake asks.
The storm cloud erupts over my head again. “Successful how?”
“Keeping your family out of the mines.”
I need to stop being so mean to this guy. He means well, and he’ll be here all damn summer. It’s not his fault I’m attracted to him and I’m trying to avoid any and all attraction because I’m currently of the mindset that men are a disease.
I flatten my lips because that’s the closest I’ll get to a smile under the circumstances. “One of my family’s proudest achievements. It took him a good decade to get it going and get the cycle of the trees down, but he was eventually able to quit the mines. He and Nonna had to work real hard at it, though. And with all their kids, it wasn’t easy. But they were dedicated, and they made it work.”
“What an amazing story,” Jake says, like he’s actually impressed or something. Do his eyes have to glow like that under the brim of that fresh-looking straw Stetson? Does his butt have to perfectly fill out his jeans? Do his shoulders have to make that pocket tee look like it’s tailored? And skin me alive, I swear there’s a little ink peeking out of his shirt sleeve and collar. Rob didn’t have tattoos. I love tattoos.
I’m fucked.
Like he smells my indecent thoughts, we bump into each other after dropping branches in the hitch. That cruelly delicious man smell wafts off him again.
And there’s that casual dimpled smile—again. “My bad, boss.”
Those dimples should be illegal in the lower forty-eight, a hazard to society. Absolutely unforgivable.
His butt and shoulders? Despicable. The ink? Criminal.
This summer might be impossible.
I make a wager with myself: survive the next week without touching the employees and you can order yourself a fun new vibrator. One of those clit and g-spot ones I got served ads for back when I had consistent internet access. Next time I go into Paint, I’m smashing that order button. Well, next Saturday. I do not already deserve one tomorrow.
That’ll be incentive enough to behave. I haven’t gotten a new vibe in years. This will be fun.
And anyway, this should be easy. This guy from the sports bar, this alleged cowboy who showed up here in a fucking pocket tee and jeans and boots and a goddamn straw hat, the guy who looks as amazing as he smells, is a bumbling fool who thinks women can’t run a farm. He probably thinks I’m just a nice decoration.
So, Rob 2.0.
“Straighten your hair, Darcy.”
“You’re wearing that? They’ll never take you seriously at work.”
“Try not to talk about redneck or book stuff at the event tonight, okay?”
Nope. Not doing that again.
I will have no need to touch the guy from the sports bar. Excuse me, the cowboy single dad from the sports bar.
God, I forgot about the single dad part. Assumed single.
Despite my inner turmoil, I’m pleased with how well the crew works together. Becca’s willing to work farmers markets with me, and Jake and Caleb are going to live in the cabin. Caleb will go home on the weekends to be closer to his family, but Jake will be here all the time.
It’s a relief to know someone else will be on the property to hear me scream if wild dogs or a murderer come after me. And dimples aside, I can handle the temptation. He’s just another mediocre man, and the last thing I need is to waste any further time with mediocrity.