Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

JESS

A t eighteen, I'd had my sights set on building myself a little cottage somewhere on farm, but twelve years later, I still slept in my parents' house. It turned out building a cottage was expensive even if you already had the land to build it on and that it was time-consuming as well.

Try as I might, I'd never managed to save enough money for the raw materials. I'd also never had the time to build it. I'd hung onto the idea for a year or two, but I'd long since let it go.

As a result, I still lived in the same bedroom I'd moved into when I'd turned three and my mom had decided to turn the nursery back into her sewing room. Living with my parents at my age and never having left home wasn't ideal, but it was just the way it was for now.

There had been a time in my mid-twenties when I'd thought about converting the hayloft in the barn into a suite for myself, but we just hadn't had the funds or the resources to do that either.

The oil on the property might change all of that though. If we get the money for it, and right now, that seems to be a big if.

Not that I minded living with my parents. It was hard to miss something you'd never had and I'd never had a place of my own. This was home and I loved it, but sometimes, I thought about how nice it would be to have some space of my own.

I was sure my parents would appreciate it too. They'd rarely had so much as a night alone since Austin had been born thirty-four years ago.

It would be a dream come true to have my own place. Just something small to really make my own.

As I daydreamed about the money we stood to make from the oil, my mind drifted away from my own and my parents' comfort, wandering to the farm itself. There were so many things around here that needed replacement or serious attention. So many things we could do to make the land more profitable, but we'd never been able to afford any of it.

Being able to turn the farm into everything it could be was the only thing I really, desperately wanted in this life. For years now, Merrick Meadows had barely survived from one season to the next and it'd caused my parents untold stress.

While I could think of a lot of things that would be nice—even a little place of my own included—seeing the farm reach its full potential? That was life-goals level stuff.

The oil could make it happen for us, but then I thought about everything standing between us and the money we so desperately needed. Which started me thinking about Slate and everything he'd said earlier.

Although it should've been obvious, thinking about him made me become very aware of the fact that he was just down the hall. I would have let him go to the motel, but Mom had refused, and sure, the place really was a fleatrap, but having him here made me feel self-conscious.

Especially after I'd seen that suite he'd stayed in the night of the wedding. I wonder what he thinks of me. Of our home.

Did he think I was a hick? Had he even recognized me at first as the bridesmaid he'd hooked up with two months ago?

I definitely looked different in my overalls compared to the gorgeous dress Mira had picked out for her wedding.

Meh . I shrugged off the self-centric thoughts. So what if he recognized me when he first walked in? So what if he thinks I'm a hick?

He was here to help us navigate things, and soon, he'd be out of my hair and things would go back to normal.

Or not.

There was a chance they would be better than normal. My dad might finally be able to retire properly and I'd be able to hire some experienced farm hands.

We badly needed help with all the cows. Two people just weren't enough to sustain the workload of our farm.

My mother had also always wanted to travel. Maybe my parents would even be able to take a trip somewhere or go on a cruise. Mom had been talking for years about how otherworldly the open ocean must look.

All my life, my parents had put everything they had into this farm—all their time and all their money—and while I knew they'd do it all over again if they could, I could just picture the look on Mom's face if they got to go on a cruise.

She was happy here. Honestly. But that didn't mean she was blind to the fact that there was a great big world out there. I knew she'd never want to give up the farm or move away, but going away for a few days or even a week at a time would certainly be a well-deserved break for her. For both of them.

That was all I wanted for them—a peaceful retirement after spending their lives rising with the sun and working hard all day. They never went on vacation. Never took a break on the weekend. They hadn't even gone on a honeymoon.

Gosh, how great would it be if she got to see the beauty of the open ocean for their wedding anniversary this year?

The thought made me grin so hard, my cheeks hurt, but the more I thought about the ocean, the more I thought about Slate. He'd lived on the rigs for so many years, and while he'd shared some tidbits with my parents at dinner, I wondered if the job was as dangerous or as frightening as I imagined it to be.

Mira had told me some things about rigs in the past that had made my hair stand on end. My boots belonged firmly in the soil. Nothing could ever get me onto one of those open-water monstrosities.

I blinked at the ceiling, trying to shake the mental images of Slate on an oil rig out of my head, but my brain kept throwing them at me, refusing to stop thinking about him with the wind in his hair. The salt from the waves below glistening on his skin. His shirt undone as he leaned on the railing, looking like he belonged on the cover of a book.

I shook my head at myself. Okay, so maybe ocean rigs and Slate together is kinda hot.

I squirmed a little as acknowledgment of that fact tossed my thoughts into overdrive. Suddenly, the Slate in my mind was shirtless and flexing, and even though I had no idea what he would be doing on the deck at sunset without a shirt, making his muscles bulge as the sky behind him was painted in shades of orange and pink, I had to admit that it was a sexy sight to imagine.

When his hands dropped to the somehow already open button of his jeans, I groaned and rolled over. Enough .

Unfortunately, my libido had taken over from logic, and every time I closed my eyes, Imaginary Slate tugged the zipper of those jeans down a little lower. Restless and unable to sleep if I couldn't close my darn eyes without seeing him naked, I finally got up and padded softly over the wooden floors in my bedroom to my door.

I opened it slowly so it wouldn't creak. Then I tiptoed out, navigating the hall in the dark. I knew every creaky floorboard and I avoided them without incident, skipping the loud step when I reached the staircase.

At the bottom of the stairs, I turned to the kitchen and walked smack into a wall. If walls had strong arms that wrapped around me instantly, encasing me in warmth and causing my heart to skip a beat. No wall I'd ever met smelled like clean soap and something masculine, though.

So no. It's not a wall. It's Slate.

After making sure I was steady on my feet, he released me. "I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there."

"I ran into you," I said as I tilted my head back to look up at him. "I should be the one apologizing."

As always, Mom had left the light on in the kitchen and the glow of it emanated from down the hall, washing Slate's sharp features in soft orange and dancing shadows. Although his hair was a bit disheveled from sleep, he somehow looked just about as put together and handsome as he had earlier in the day.

Just minus the suit, but I preferred him in a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt. It made him seem more real. More like the guy I'd had so much fun with rather than a potential gold-digger who was just doing this for another fancy watch.

"What are you doing down here?" I asked quietly.

He shrugged. "I couldn't sleep. Tossed and turned for a while before I gave up and figured I'd come get a drink of water. You?"

"Same."

We had a brief standoff, both of us staring deeply into each other's eyes without saying another word. Neither of us admitting that we'd been thinking about the other, but both wondering if perhaps the other had been thinking of them too.

At least, I was ninety percent sure that was what was going on. I sure had been thinking about him and the way he was looking at me made me suspect I was the reason he'd been tossing and turning too. There was just too much emotion in his eyes suddenly for it not to be true, like there were a hundred things he wanted to say and yet he didn't know if now was the time to put them out there.

It wasn't.

At some point, he and I would have to talk. I wanted to find out why he'd really come and ask him to keep what had happened between us quiet. I didn't know what was on his mind, but there was definitely something.

Now just wasn't the time to get into any of it. I was still reeling from having him show up here so unexpectedly and I needed to work through my own conflicting feelings about him being here before I confronted him about it.

"Good night, Slate," I murmured. "You should try to get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be another big day and the rooster crows at five."

"Are you shitting me?" he asked, mouth dropping open.

I smirked and finally broke eye contact, starting toward the kitchen. "Nope. Buckle up, City Boy. You're a farmer now."