Chapter Seventeen
Lottie
When Easton pulls into the barnyard, shock jolts me. What is Anthony doing with him?
“Look who I found lost in the fields,” Easton crows as they both amble out of the barn a moment later. Anthony smacks him on the arm, but my brother only grins. I’m confused.
“Is he serious?”
Anthony shakes his head, a smile on his face. “No. I came out earlier, and we ran out of gas. I waited at the truck.”
I glare at Easton. “You didn’t tell me that.” I had barely parked for another day of farm help when he jogged into the yard, needing gas.
A shrug is his only reply. “A man has his secrets. Come on, Anthony. Let me show you the barn.”
I catch up with them as Easton leads my neighbor into the heart of the massive barn. “We make most of our income from crops and steers, but I also keep some milking cows. Like the treacherous one you escaped from yesterday.” In response to Easton’s wink, Anthony only huffs.
“We live and learn.” Isn’t he the epitome of humility? He’s not even flinching at the stench that permeates the barn.
“Want to muck the stalls?” Easton asks before I intervene.
“Don’t be mean, East,” I say, stepping in between them. “Anthony’s been through enough.”
Anthony puts a hand on my shoulder, a soft look on his face that makes my heart go to mush. “Thanks, Lottie, but I think I’m learning to hold my own with your brother.” He lifts his eyes past me. “That would be a no, Easton. You go ahead without me.”
I lead Anthony to a pile of hay bales where one of the barn cats created a home for her kittens.
“Felicity is in love with these kittens.” I gesture at the fluffy pile, and Anthony squats down, making little clicking tongue sounds. The mama cat only meows deep in her throat, a warning to back off.
“Not much of a cat charmer, are you? About as good as with cows.” I expect a glare, but his eyes shine with something like joy. “You okay, Anthony?”
“Yes. Never better.” He tilts his head, studying me. I resist the urge to run my hand through my hair.
“What?”
“Nothing. Or…something. I’m not sure yet.”
“Easton,” I holler as I see my brother walking down the middle aisle of the barn. “Did Anthony hit his head on something while you were out this morning?”
Laughter fills the barn, echoing and ricocheting back and forth. “Oh, Lottie,” my brother says loudly, “only God knows what happened while I was gone getting gas this morning.”
I look at Anthony, but he appears miles away, something like peace on his face.
“Anthony?” I touch his arm, and he snaps out of his trance. When he lowers his head, a touch of vulnerability creeps into his face.
“Sorry. I had a…a God moment out in the field this morning. It was really special.”
My throat is thick. Anthony seems totally different today, in the best way. He was already good. Now he’s even better. And that’s not fair.
“Can I get a little help over here?” My brother ruins the moment, and Anthony takes off toward the opposite end of the barn where Easton keeps his smaller tractors. The big ones are under a portico behind the barn.
When we get close enough, I see that Easton is trying to hook up his manure spreader. A pile of manure from yesterday mires the cement floor of the barn, and Anthony is headed straight toward it.
“Anthony?” I raise my voice. “You might want to go around that.” I point at the offending refuse, but he only gives me a patient smile.
“A little mud never hurt anyone.” One foot steps into the pile, sinking ankle-deep.
“Yeah,” I say, “but that’s not mud.” His second foot has entered the fray, and Anthony freezes, looking down in horror.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you’re standing in a pile o’ poop right now, Suits.”
Easton comes around his trailer and cracks up. “How’s that for fancy, eh Fancy Pants?”
Anthony looks about to vomit. He glares at me like I’ve betrayed him. “Why didn’t you stop me?”
“I tried.” I spy a clump of fresh mud on the ground. I know the difference. “You don’t like to listen, though.” I let the mud fly, and it hits him on the chest. He looks stunned.
“You did not just throw poop at me!” Without waiting for confirmation, he bends over, scoops manure with his bare hand, and flings it at me. It hits me with a splatter, spewing all over my jeans.
I shriek. “Anthony Lucio! That was mud, you moron. But you threw manure!”
He looks at his hand, revulsion on his face, then shrugs and grabs some more, pelting me with it until I’m running.
“Take this fight out of my barn, you two delinquents!” Easton thunders behind us, and I’m all too happy to comply. I sprint straight for the hose at the side of my mom’s house. Anthony arrives as I turn the spigot, his hands lifted in surrender, one of them a disgusting shade of brown.
“Truce,” he begs. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
I point the hose at him and douse him. He blinks and sputters but lets me spray him down, then does the same for me.
“I can’t believe you did that.” We stand facing each other, dripping and soaked. “What would your fancy Atlanta coworkers say?”
He doesn’t say a word, only gazes at me. His dark eyes are trying to tell me something, but I’ve always been linguistically challenged. Ask my Spanish teacher from high school.
Anthony takes a step toward me, and my stomach starts sloshing. He holds me by both shoulders and walks me backward until my back grazes the wall of the house.
“I stink, Anthony,” I say in a whisper as he plants his wet hands on either side of my head.
“Oh, I know. But since that’s my fault, I’m going to kiss you anyway.” And he does, dropping his lips to mine with a sweetness I’ve been longing for since his last kiss. I melt, all my doubts washing away with one desire, to be in his arms.
His kiss is gentle and unassuming. Almost an unspoken apology. For the manure fight? No. For hurting me and leaving me? I want to say yes.
I return the kiss, with my own message.
I’m glad you came back.
I angle my mouth, giving more.
I like being on the farm with you.
I sigh as his nose nuzzles mine, and he drops kisses onto my closed eyelids.
Don’t leave me again.
He eases back, and I crack my eyes to find him looking at me. His gaze is tender, as if I hold the key to his heart.
Maybe I do.
I struggle to breathe. “What are you doing?” I force myself to ask. I can’t do this kiss-and-leave thing again and again with him.
A look of steel flashes across his face, only inches from mine. “I’m doing something. Will you go on a date with me? A real date.”
I should say no. I have very good reasons. The same reasons I’ve had all along. But the money is beginning to matter to me less and less. And this man to matter more and more.
So I lift my chin and say, “Yes.”