Chapter Three
Next? She wanted him to tell her what to do next?
Get the hell off his property - and out of his life, taking her laughter with her - that's what he wanted her to do next. At least, it was what he should have wanted.
But, for some strange reason he couldn't understand, Grayson couldn't bring himself to put her back in her car and order her to leave. Plus, after her rough start, she'd actually done a good job with the chickens and he couldn't justify penalizing her for that.
She shut the coop door for the last time, then walked straight over to the hose and washed off her hands before wiping her hands off on her h*ps and turning back to him. Unfortunately, that drew his attention back to her spectacular figure. Not, of course, that his attention had ever wavered from it. His heart would have to stop before he could ignore the fact that he had a live, in the flesh, pin-up girl on his farm.
One who wanted to be his new farmhand.
Damn it, he needed to figure out a way to get her to leave before she could get under his skin any more than she already had. Because even in her ridiculous outfit, streaked now with dirt, she was still heartbreakingly beautiful. And, given what he knew of women, seemed to be shockingly low maintenance when it came to dirt and animals. Why wasn't she losing it over the state of her clothes, her torn stockings, or the fact that her heels were now covered with wet dirt and grass stains? Clearly, something must have gone really wrong in her life for her to think this was a step up.
Unfortunately, it also wasn't difficult to recognize in her an urge to leave her old life behind and start over someplace where no one would ever think to look for her.
Because that was just what he'd done himself after his wife died three years ago. And for the past thirty-six months, his farm in Pescadero had been his refuge from the past, from ever having to think about what had happened to his wife...or his role in it.
Damn it, he didn't want this woman to think he cared, but he needed to know. "Are you in any danger?"
"Danger?" She looked at him as though it was the strangest question in the world.
"Are you hiding from someone who's trying to hurt you? Is that why you're here?"
A flash of emotion crossed her face before she masked it with a smile that he didn't buy for a second. "No, of course not."
She moved like a prima ballerina even while chasing chickens, but obviously wasn't an actress because she couldn't lie worth a damn.
"Then should I be expecting an angry husband or boyfriend to show up with his shotgun loaded, demanding to know what I'm doing with his woman?"
"No." She all but yelled the word at him before taking a deep breath - one that made it hard for him to keep his gaze from dropping to her chest. "I'm not in trouble. No one is after me. I just want a job working on your farm."
"Why?"
This time she didn't so much as hesitate before saying, "Because it looks like fun."
Okay, so she clearly wasn't going to tell him the truth. But while he didn't believe for a minute that working on a farm had been her lifelong dream, at least he felt fairly confident that she didn't have an angry guy on her tail.
Still, she had to go. And he had just the plan to make it happen.
"I need to see how you do with some basic farmhouse chores."
He had to give her credit; even though she had to know exactly the kind of chores he was talking about - ones that included toilet brushes and floor mops - she didn't let her smile waver.
"That sounds great," she said, though it was clearly anything but great, but instead of following him into the house, she added, "And if I do a good job with those chores, you'll give me the job?"
Stubborn didn't even begin to describe this girl. Working not to feel too much respect for her determination, he studied her carefully for a few moments. Her nails were long, and while there was dirt under then now, they were well manicured, and her hands were soft and smooth. He'd bet all one thousand of his acres that she hadn't done a lick of cleaning in her entire life. With those legs, and that body, she'd probably spent it as some rich man's pampered mistress.
"If you make it all the way through the list of farmhouse chores," he said as easily as he could around the twisting in his gut at the thought of Lori in another man's bed, na**d and breathless as she came for him, "you can have the job on probation." He turned away before she could see the reaction he was having to her.
"Probation?"
He shot her a look over his shoulder. "One hour at a time, Lori. That's how we'll take it before I know whether or not I can count on you."
"You can count on me," she said in a firm voice as she suddenly blew past him and into his living room. And then, suddenly, she was making a happy little surprised sound.
"Oh, look at her." Lori rushed over to his mangy, ratty old former barn cat who was nearly done with her ninth life. "She's beautiful!"
"Are you sure we're looking at the same cat?" Frankly, he was amazed Lori had even been able to tell the thing was female.
"She can hear you, you know," she said in a chiding tone, and then, "What's her name?"
He wanted to remind Lori that she was gunning for the role of farmhand, not new best friend who would chat with him all day long. He liked his solitude, damn it. Still, he'd already figured out that not answering one of her pointless questions wouldn't make her stop asking them.
"Mo."
She raised an eyebrow. "Your cat's name is Mo?"
"That's right."
She turned back to the cat and cooed as she stroked it. "How could anyone call such a pretty little girl such an ugly boy's name." She scowled up at him. "One of the Three Stooges, no less!" Again, she focused on the cat. "You were waiting for me to come here, weren't you, so that I could give you love...and a good name."
Love. The word hit him hard right in the center of his solar plexus, knocking the air from his lungs. He thought he'd known about love once upon a time, but he hadn't known a damn thing about what love really was. The only thing he knew for sure now was that his life was better off without it.
His voice was fiercer than it needed to be as he said, "You're not going to rename my cat."
But it was as though she couldn't hear him...even though he knew she had because he was only a handful of feet away from her and the cat.
"I've got the perfect new name for you!" She looked so excited that the cat actually raised its tired head and blinked at her. "Sweetpea."
Grayson refused to think any of this was cute. "Mo," he repeated. "Its name is Mo."
"It is a she. And her name is Sweetpea." She bent over to press kisses to the cat's head, then promptly started sneezing.
"You're allergic to cats." The statement came out as an accusation. He told himself he didn't care if he was being too harsh with her. He didn't want her here anyway.
"No, I'm not." She sneezed again, but continued petting the cat. "Your house must be dusty."
It wasn't, but he said, "Good thing cleaning it is part of my farmhand's job description, then, isn't it? I'll show you where the cleaning supplies are so you can get started."
She seemed to deflate a little bit at the housecleaning reminder, but instead of leaving the cat's side, she said, "How old is she?"
He'd worked with bulls for long enough to know that sometimes it was easier to wait for them to come to him than it was to try to shove them into the breeding chute. He leaned against the doorjamb and tried not to notice how pretty Lori looked sitting cross-legged on the floor petting the cat. When the sun streaming in through the window hit her hair just right, the glossy, dark-brown strands held as many shades of red as the leaves on the maple tree in the fall.
"Old."
Her expression didn't change at his terse response. She didn't shrink back, or even look particularly irritated with him. Irrationally, it made him want to see what he could do to get a response out of her.
"How old?"
"I don't know."
"Well, then, when did you get her?"
"I found her in the barn when I bought the place." Since he knew the question was coming, he added, "Three years ago." He looked down at the animal that had purred its way into his heart, even though he'd refused to have one again. "She wouldn't leave."
"You're lucky she stayed with you."
"Lucky?" He had to laugh at that, a rough and jagged sound that held no joy at all. "She'll only eat wet food, she coughs up hairballs the size of tennis balls, and she sheds all over everything."
"I never had a pet."
Lori's pout only served to make her lips look more kissable. Helplessly, he found himself wondering what she would taste like if he ran his tongue all along her full lower lip. What would she do if he bit lightly at the flesh? Would she shiver and moan against his mouth?
He had to forcefully shake the sensual visions out of his head before he could focus on what she was saying. "...Mom always said eight kids were more than enough to contend with."
"You have seven brothers and sisters?"
Crap, he hadn't meant to ask her anything personal, but the question had slipped out in his surprise at what she'd just said. If she had all those brothers, why wasn't one of them out here dragging her back to her real life?
She smiled up at him from where she was sitting, still cuddling his cat, and yet again, he felt the beautiful force of her smile in every cell.
"Seven siblings and a whole bunch more cousins. I've got family pretty much everywhere."
The word family slapped into his heart like she'd let loose a taut rubber band against it, just the way it had when she'd been talking about love.
What the hell was he doing? He couldn't make the mistake of letting her think they were going to be friends. If she managed to make it through the rest of the day, she wasn't going to stay long. As quickly as she'd blown in, she'd blow out again. He couldn't make the mistake of getting attached to her.
Which was why he knew better than to let Lori get attached to anything here, either.
"Mo is going to die soon," he told her in a matter-of-fact tone. "Real soon."
Lori lifted wide eyes to him, then immediately pulled the cat all the way onto her lap, which prompted a fit of rapid-fire sneezes. Of course, good old Mo was so old and tired that the cat barely reacted to the loud sounds as she settled deeper into Lori's arms.
"How can you say that about your own cat? It's like you don't even have a heart."
He preferred it that way. Not having a heart meant nothing could hurt him again.
Grayson didn't care one bit for worrying about this beautiful stranger getting attached to his dying cat...or to him.
"She has leukemia," he said, his voice gentler now simply because, for all that he might want her to think it, he wasn't a monster. "The vet expected her to go months ago. He doesn't know how she's managed to hang on this long."
From out of nowhere, he was struck with the thought that maybe Mo had held on until Lori came - that she'd needed a softhearted woman to make a fuss over her in her final days.
But that was crazy. As totally, completely nuts as Lori actually thinking she could be his farmhand.
He pushed away from the door. "Time to clean."