Chapter Six

So much for everything looking better in the morning.

Because even though Grayson had let her sleep in past sunrise, when Lori got out of bed to deal with the call of nature she was shocked by how much everything hurt. She'd danced for hours every day for nearly her entire life, yet she still ached from the cleaning and stooping and kneeling on the floor. All for someone who didn't appreciate any of it, and who clearly had never uttered the words "thank you" before.

Why had she ever thought it was a good idea to start over in Pescadero? Instead of renting a car at the airport and driving into the boonies, she could have hopped onto another plane and headed off to Hawaii. She could be lying on the beach right now sipping drinks under an umbrella with the sound of soothing waves lulling away her sadness.

Only, she'd always hated lying around on the beach. Besides, she would have gone absolutely crazy in Hawaii with all of those happy couples on their honeymoons and anniversaries walking hand in hand and kissing in the moonlight.

She hadn't bothered to blow-dry her hair last night after her bath. She could jump into another quick bath and blow-dry, but why should she when she was just going to get all dirty and sweaty again cleaning and cooking and dealing with chickens? It was much easier just to run a brush through her hair and pull it back into a ponytail. She gave another thought to pulling her makeup bag out of her suitcase, but what was the point of that, either? The farm animals wouldn't care what she looked like.

And she certainly wasn't trying to attract Grayson. In fact, it would be better if she didn't look pretty. That way, he wouldn't get the wrong idea about her and actually start looking at her as a woman, rather than a farmhand.

Still, it was weird to forgo makeup, considering that even when her brothers had dragged her out camping a couple of times, she'd brought the basics with her. But as Lori studied herself in the mirror, she was surprised to realize that she didn't look half bad with a perfectly clean face, apart from the fact that her eyes were still a little puffy and red around the edges.

She still couldn't believe she'd cried last night - that she'd actually lain in the guest bed and sobbed into the pillow to make sure the sound didn't carry to the rest of the house. Her twin sister Sophie had always been the crier - over sad books or when someone got hurt or even when one of their brothers did something really great like win the World Series or an Oscar - but never Lori.

She'd rather hug or kiss or dance. Anything but cry.

She tried to tell herself that they had been angry tears. Frustrated tears. Exhausted tears. But it was no use, not when she knew there had been plenty of self-pitying tears mixed in, too. And those were the ones that she absolutely wouldn't stand for.

Lori Sullivan wasn't someone who felt sorry for herself. She didn't have time for that nonsense.

Moving quickly, she pulled on her jeans and T-shirt from last night and looked through the shoes in her bags. Mostly heels. The closest she had to farm-appropriate shoes was a pair of ballet flats. She sighed at the thought of just how quickly they were sure to get ruined in the dirt and mud and grass, but slipped them on anyway. Just then, she finally looked out her bedroom window and her breath caught at the view of Grayson's land in the morning light.

My God, it was beautiful here. She'd noticed the beauty yesterday, of course, but every moment since she'd gotten on the plane in Chicago had felt like such a battle, and she'd been so tired that she hadn't really seen Pescadero clearly.

With wonder, she drank in the open sky, grass so green it almost hurt her eyes, and -

Oh my. Grayson was working without his shirt on, sweat gleaming on his incredible muscles as he chopped wood like a man possessed.

The natural beauty of his farm was breathtaking, but once she caught sight of him, she couldn't pull her gaze away. Not when he had to be the most perfectly built man she'd ever seen. Which was saying a lot, considering that as a choreographer and dancer she worked with amazingly chiseled men on a daily basis.

And then, suddenly, he paused and turned his face toward her window, catching her with her mouth watering and her body reacting to him even from a distance.

Normally, she would have thought being stuck with a gorgeous man was a plus. But now, instead of being a bonus, Grayson's looks were a huge negative. Thank God he had such a gruff personality, or she'd really be in trouble.

In any case, she decided as she forced herself to turn away from the window, she was determined to be positive from here on out. No more self-pity. No more wallowing in how bad her decisions had been over the past year or so, especially those that had involved Victor. She was going to charge full speed into the fresh start she'd decided on yesterday.

Starving again, when she walked into the kitchen and didn't see any evidence that Grayson had eaten yet, she decided to make them both breakfast. When the bacon was nearly crisp and the eggs were almost ready to slide out of the frying pan, she opened the front door and yelled, "Breakfast!" the same way she had her whole childhood when it was time for her brothers and sister to come to the table.

With eight kids, everyone in her family'd had a chore. She'd been in charge of cooking breakfast, getting everyone to the table, and cleaning up the kitchen afterward. That skill set had come in handy many, many times as an adult. Not only for overnight guests, but also when out on the road with a troupe of dancers. She refused to let anyone who danced for her starve themselves when she needed them at their very best and she had wooed more than one figure-conscious performer with her signature blueberry and lemon pancakes.

She was just pouring freshly squeezed orange juice into glasses when Grayson walked in. He was sweaty and had wood chips stuck in his hair and to his clothes, but at least he'd put his shirt on, thank God. She didn't think she could handle another close-up shot of all that male perfection - not before getting some sustenance in her to build up some resistance, anyway.

He didn't say anything, not "Good morning" or "Thanks for breakfast," just sat down and started to eat. With a roll of her eyes, she followed suit.

Last night their silent meal had been perfectly fine with her. She'd been tired and in no mood to chat. But she'd go crazy having silent meals forever. Clearly, if she wanted to start a new mealtime trend, she was going to have to make the first move.

"I'd love to know more about your farm."

He ignored her and kept eating, but Lori had grown up with six older brothers. She wasn't the least bit daunted by being ignored.

"What do you specialize in?"

He took a long glug of orange juice before answering her. "I run a CSA."

"I was reading an article about Community Supported Agriculture on the airplane yesterday." He gave her another look that had her realizing she'd accidentally said too much. "A couple of my siblings are members of CSAs. So people come here once a week to pick up their fruits and veggies?"

"No one comes here."

Wow, that sounded a little ominous. No one comes here. Geez, he acted like they were in some gothic novel. She worked to shake off a little shiver at the darkness in his tone. Certain that it had come out more strongly than he had to mean it, she asked, "Then how does everyone get their food?"

By now he was looking more than a little irritated with her endless questions, but if she was going to work with him she'd have to understand how his business operated.

"Eric picks up the boxes. People go to his farm once a week to pick up their food."

"But in the article I read," Lori said with honest confusion, "it sounded like the farmers sell directly from their own farms, and most of them even have barn stores where people can drop in throughout the week if they need something extra."

"That's not how I do things."

But Lori was already two steps ahead as an exciting idea hit her. No doubt Grayson was simply too busy running the farm and producing the food for his CSA to find those extra hours for the weekly community pick-ups. But she could change all of that for him.

"Now that I'm here, I could run the pick-up days so you don't have to have your friend do it on his farm." She instantly loved the idea of it, getting to meet everyone in town. It was how her life and house had always been - an open door for friends and family. Maybe she'd been wrong about life on a farm being so isolating. "I could even open a farm store for you!"

Grayson's eyes were cold as he pinned her with them. "I said, that's not how I do things."

This time his words were loud enough - and hard enough - for her not to miss them, or their intent. He wasn't doing things this way because he was too busy. He'd set it up specifically so that he wouldn't have to deal with anyone else.

"Do you have agoraphobia?" The words popped out of her mouth before she could shove them back inside.

"No." He shoved away from the kitchen table, his plate in his hands. "I just don't like people."

She was torn between wincing and laughing. What kind of person didn't like people? She just couldn't understand it. Which was why, even though every inch of his body language was telling her to back off, she had to ask, "Why?"

* * *

She asked too many questions, damn it. Worse than that, though, was that despite himself, Grayson wanted to ask her just as many. Where had she come from? What did she do for a living when she wasn't trying to masquerade as a farmhand? And how the hell was she able to make the best damned breakfast he'd ever eaten...so good that he'd almost embarrassed himself when he'd started eating it?

"Do you want to hear about my last farmhand?"

She looked a little wary at the unexpected question. "Something tells me this is a trick question. But if you're finally feeling all chatty, go ahead."

No question about it, she wasn't just pretty, she was smart, too. And sassy as hell, despite the pithy one-word answers he'd growled at her throughout breakfast.

"He was twenty-two, young enough and strong enough to work circles around me. He couldn't cook, but he could chop wood, herd cows, shear sheep, bale hay, harvest the crops, and do construction. But his best quality was that he didn't speak. At all. He just grunted when he was hungry or needed help with something."

Lori blinked up at him with wide eyes, at least a thousand times too pretty for his peace of mind this morning. He hadn't been able to sleep just a wall away from her and had finally given up and gone outside to chop firewood.

Good. Maybe he'd finally gotten through to her. If she wanted to stick around for much longer, she needed to zip it.

"Wow," she said in a tone that had him being the wary one this time, "I don't think you've said that many words in total to me since yesterday."

He turned and started to wash his plate off with hard strokes of the sponge over the porcelain, a string of curse words playing out in his head. He'd been trying to make a point - quite a clear point, he thought. He wasn't interested in conversation, just in getting the work done.

"Hey, that's my job." She shoved in beside him at the sink. "Scoot."

He could wash his own dishes, damn it, but when he felt her hip bump against his to gently push him out of the way, he dropped his plate so fast to put distance between them that he practically shattered it on the bottom of the sink.

Just touching her hand last night when she'd cut her finger had been too much. Knowing anything at all about the feel of her h*ps - that they were toned, yet with a woman's softness - was miles beyond anything his self-control could deal with.

"Let me make sure I understood what you just said," she offered as she started deftly washing off the plates, her hands looking too elegant to be so efficient. "You don't like to talk to or interact with people. And I love both those things, which you find annoying." She shot him a glance. "Do I have that right so far?" When he just stood there and stared at her, she said, "Do you also agree that it's doubtful that either of us is going to change anytime soon?" At his continued silence, she said, "No, don't bother using up one of your precious words. I already know the answers."

This was it. This was where she was finally going to accept that she needed to leave so he could get a real farmhand. Grayson was sure the relief was going to come any second now. After all, hadn't that been what he'd been wishing for since the first moment he'd set eyes on her - for her to go?

He had to work like hell to ignore the voice in his head that told him he'd been wishing for a hell of a lot more than that...and that most of his wishes had Lori na**d and reaching for him.

"It seems to me," she said in a considering tone as she turned off the faucet and began wiping the plates dry with a clean dish towel, "that we'll just have to agree to disagree." The sunny smile she followed that inane statement with nearly knocked his feet out from under him, giving her enough time to quickly segue into, "So now that I'm almost done washing up, what do you want me to work on first?"

He'd never been a big talker, but that wasn't why he didn't answer right away. He couldn't believe anyone could be this stubborn. Delusional was another good word for it.

Why wasn't she packing up her things and leaving already? Under any other circumstances, he would have done it for her, but the memory of the way she'd cried in her bed last night was still too fresh in his head.

Somehow he needed to find something for her to do that she couldn't screw up. Even better, something that would convince her she was not meant for the farming life. Toilet brushes and chickens hadn't daunted her...so what would?

His lips almost moved up into a smile as he hit on it. "Pigs."

She couldn't hide her immediate look of horror. "You have pigs?"

He couldn't believe how difficult it was to keep the grin off his face. There hadn't been much cause for smiling these past few years, not until an irritatingly beautiful stranger had shown up and declared herself his new farmhand. Fortunately, he would have bet his farm that she was going to hate dealing with the pigs, with all their mud and mess - and their surprising intelligence.

"They need fresh water and feed."

"That doesn't sound so hard."

It wasn't, unless the pigs were feeling frisky and the mud was fresh. Maybe it wasn't fair to have her work in their outdoor enclosure rather than the indoor pig house with the cement floor, but after the rain they'd had a couple of days ago it did need to be cleaned up. "That's why I'm letting you do it," he pointed out.

"Didn't I prove to you that I could handle yesterday's chores and that I can cook?"

"You cook and clean well," he agreed, "but I need more than a maid."

She gritted her teeth as she leaned in across the kitchen island, her hands flat on the wood surface as she snarled, "I can't wait to feed and water your pigs."

Never in his life had he met a woman like her, one who didn't back down from a challenge or from being purposely insulted. She stomped out to the porch and was already heading for the pigpen when he finally saw the shoes she was wearing.

"Those are the shoes you're going to wear to muck out the pig stalls?"

Her eyes closed for a split second at the word muck, but then she was pushing her shoulders back and saying, "When I'm done with my work for the day, I'll head into town to pick up some more appropriate shoes."

If he had his way, when she was done with her work for the day, she'd head into town...and keep going.

"Wait," she said suddenly as she looked down the drive, "where's my car?"

"It wouldn't start this morning. I had it towed to the shop."

"So - " She finally looked daunted by something. " - I'm stuck here with you now?"

Did she have to remind him? "Just until Sam fixes your radiator and whatever else you busted on my fence post." He led her over to the pigs, pointing out their feed and showing her where the hose was. "Whatever you do, make sure you latch the gate all the way, or the pigs will destroy my crops."

He gave her some simple instructions on how to muck out the pigs, then left her in her fancy jeans and inappropriate shoes to deal with the dirtiest animals on earth.