Virgin, Barely Legal, and Breeding
Word Count:
8,547
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I was giving myself half a second’s rest under the oak tree, a couple yards away from where a few of the horses were lounging, when I heard the telltale sounds of a truck breaking down a short ways down the road. This part of the state was quiet enough even during the busy time of the year—local folks tended pretty quickly to notice sounds that were out of place, and I’d been here all my life. But this was the slow, lazy season, and we didn’t get a lot of visitors.
Of course, I’d always been told that it was only right to give strangers the same hospitality as an old friend, so I picked up the bag of feed I’d been carrying and hauled it back to the barn before wiping my brow and heading down to the my truck. It was awfully hot this time of summer, and even the cut-off denim shorts that left most of my legs bare and the rolled-up flannel shirt half-unbuttoned didn’t help to do much more than let more of my skin get tanned.
Even though Ma and Pa weren’t around anymore, I still held onto everything they’d taught me growing up. If all those lessons about treating folks kindly and working together were what made my parents run our farm so happily when they were alive, well, they’d darn sure be good enough for me to do the same.
I was a sturdy gal, after all. Just turned twenty, and I’d never even really needed the help the rest of our little county offered after my sister and I ended up on our own. There were offers all the time, mostly from guys I’d known since I was a toddler, telling me they’d be more than happy to lend a hand.
But I was determined to do this on my own.
I don’t know if it was just something I had to prove to myself, or to my Ma and Pa in Heaven.
I brushed some of the curly blonde hair out of my face as I felt my cheeks get hot at the thought of my flighty sister. We’d been left with nothing but each other and this farm, and the moment she turned eighteen, she up and ran off to the big city to do who-knows-what with her savings.
But good riddance, I thought bitterly, she was never much help around here anyway.
Putting a foot up on the metal step, I hoisted myself up into my truck after making sure I’d brought my tools with me, and a moment later, I was pulling out onto the dirt road, driving with a setting summer sun in my eyes.
I glanced at myself in my rear-view mirror to see my own face, framed with my mother’s unbelievably thick and curly locks, and my father’s chestnut eyes, as well as his smattering of freckles across the nose. Sure, I wasn’t too tall, but long hours tending to the farm all on my own left me pretty well-toned. I liked to think I had legs that could kill, but there wasn’t really anybody around to see them, so they weren’t doing me a whole lot of good beyond running me back and forth on the farm.
Something about the afternoon air, though, wouldn’t let me shake the thought that I was awfully lonely on the farm, much as I liked it.
The broken-down truck I’d heard was just down the road. If I’d waited another few minutes, I reckoned, the owner would probably be knocking on my front door.
But I saw him leaning over an open hood instead. He kept his head down until I had pulled up in front of him, and even then, he didn’t turn to look at me ‘until I turned my engine off and stepped out, toolbox in hand.
Well damn, ain’t no locals in Pleasants County who look like that!
His height was what struck me the most, at first—he must have had at least a head or more on me, easily. His dark brown hair spilled down behind his neck, just barely touching his shoulders, pulled back away from his forehead. His chiseled jaw looked mighty strong, but it pointed into a little cleft chin that was so cute I couldn’t help but smile.
His eyes are what kept me far from laughing, though. Those piercing green eyes met me dead-on as I stepped out of the truck and walked towards him, and they told me this stranger was trouble, and he might just be used to getting away with it.
“Howdy there,” I said as I made my way closer, glancing up and down the stranger’s person. He had on worn-out jeans and a simple black shirt that hugged his muscles. He was wiping his hands with an American flag bandana. “Your engine made some awful racket breaking down. Need a hand?”
The stranger laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing back at his exposed engine. The afternoo
n sun glinted off piercings on his eyebrow and nose.
“Guess I’m not really in a place to say ‘no’ to that, huh?”
“No sir,” I chuckled back, stepping up beside him and tearing my eyes away to see what was under the hood. His accent made him a dead giveaway as a non-local. He looked like he’d blown in from Atlanta, and that big truck of his didn’t suit him well. What on earth was he doing all the way out here?
“Where you comin’ in from, stranger? Can’t say we get a lotta visitors around here, but then again, I guess you aren’t really stopping in on purpose, huh?” I leaned over the engine to give it a routine check, and he leaned in beside me.
I’d taken him for a city boy, but you couldn’t tell by the way he was built. He leaned against the car on big, rough hands, and his thick, muscled arms led up to a dragon tattoo that was just barely covered by his sleeve. I caught myself wondering how far into his shirt the tattoo stretched, and I snapped my attention back to the engine.
“Just heading into the city, actually,” he answered, “I’m from just a couple counties over. Got an old friend I’m meeting in town.”
While I was busy in the engine, I suddenly felt his eyes on me, and I realized that I was leaning over the engine with my ass sticking way farther out than I’d noticed.
“Can’t imagine people avoid this place, with such friendly locals around,” he smiled as I felt myself blushing furiously and scooting upright, trying to be subtle about it.