AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’ve been needing to clear a patch over there,” I said, pointing to some overgrown grass and weeds. “Eight by eight, for a flower garden. You’ll need the scythe and the shovel, maybe the hoe,” I said as I lead him towards the storage barn. “Everything you need is in here.” I opened it up, showing all the hoes and shovels and tools we used, all of them past their prime.
He took just a moment to look over the area, then the tools, then nodded.
“You got it,” he said, as he stripped off his leather jacket, and I got a look at his guns. No, it weren’t the kind of guns Marcus was worried about, I’m talkin’ ‘bout his big, bulgin’ biceps. Ain’t never seen a pair so big in my life. And those forearms? Geez! Bigger’n Marcus’ bicep and forearms put together, bulgin’ with veins.
But more’n all that, he sported tattoos all up and down his arms. Curious symbols I didn’t recognize, ‘cept for one with a sickle in it, that I took to mean he had farm experience.
Without a word, Asher went to the tools, and selected what he needed. First and foremost, he knew enough to fence off an area after measuring it, then got to work. Even though the tools were old and rubbish, he put his substantial strength into it, undaunted by the summer sun as he began to tear up the old shrubs and grass, and clear that plot of land through raw brawn.
I was trying to look a bit busy, like I wasn’t going to sit back, drink a lemonade, and watch him work, though that’s what I wanted to do. I just figured after a while it’d be awkward, so I went into the barn under the guise of feedin’ the cattle, but really it was so that I could peek through this little knot in the wood in the loft. I could see everything from there, hidden from him.
And watching him work was magnificent. Beautiful. He was precise and careful, each swing containing such power like I’d never seen.
Even pa didn’t quite match up to this guy’s strength, though pa had more practice and finesse with farm tools than him. It was clear, despite the one tattoo, that Asher weren’t a pro at farm work, but he weren’t a slouch and nor were he an idiot, he knew what he was doin’.
It wasn’t long before the top came off though, and he tugged that grey tank over his head, showin’ off such a slammin’ hot body. Thick pecs and abs, glistenin’ in the sun with their tattoos dark and prominent upon them. He was a hardened lookin’ man, and he did the task without a fuss nor complaint.
Which was nice. Sometimes you get the big guys that think they’re too good to do anything else. But him...
Well, he was a real treat. My eyes were scanning over his body, trying to make sense of all the tattoos, my eyes wandering. Sure, he was almost twice my age, and he didn’t look like the kind of guy you should bring home to momma, but she wasn’t gonna know the difference anyways. And it was hard to care for her all on my own, keep her and the farm running smoothly.
As he was nearing finished, I went down, hoping to look like I was just inspecting his work, and that I hadn’t been spying for so long.
Seein’ me comin’, he lifted a hoe up over his shoulder, and I realized he’d not only cleared the patch but finished tillin’ the soil for me too. I was so distracted with the show that I didn’t notice the finer details like that, I’ll confess.
“If you’re lookin’ for a flower garden, I reckon you’ll want me to put up a fence ‘round it too. Don’t want no animals wanderin’ in and messin’ it up,” he said to me matter of factly, unabashed about his near nudity, even as his jeans hung so darn low on his waist I felt like I was half an inch from seein’ somethin’ naughty. “Somethin’ nice and pretty, a white lil’ picket thing maybe,” he said.
I blinked, begging my mind to pay attention to his words and not that treasure trail leading to...
Well, I knew, in theory, but I ain’t never seen one in the flesh. Can’t blame a girl for getting curious.
“Yea, a fence,” I muttered absently before looking at the supply barn. “There’s probably some wood in there, not sure if it’d be good enough.”
He cocked a brow at me quizzically.
“So does that mean I have the job?” he asked in that deep, husky voice of his. The sort of voice I only knew from TV and movies, the kind that makes a gal wanna cream her jeans. “‘Cause we should probably talk pay and all that. Maybe even exchange names,” he tacked on with some dry humour, a slight smirk on those full lips of his.
Of course, I knew his name,
but I wasn’t going to admit that, or how I’d found out by askin’ Mr. Fennel. I put my hands in my jean shorts back pocket, thrusting my chest out a bit and daring him to look at me again. I knew I was being brazen, but my body was tingling with need.
“I suppose. You wanna come in and I’ll get you some water? We ain’t got much, but we need a farmhand sure as anything.”
He gave me a firm nod and started to tread upon the earth with his heavy footsteps.
“Name’s Asher, by the way,” he said as he walked on by, and did the slightest of thing. A brief touch of his hard, calloused hand upon my arm. It was a strong grip, but a light touch, and easy to tell he was no regular city boy. He clearly knew how to work with that feel of his palm.
Though more immediate, was the tight cheeks that were hugged by his jeans as he headed on towards the farmhouse and laid the hoe to rest by the door.
“Shelby,” I said as I followed after him, unashamed about how my eyes wandered over his firm ass, the little indents just above his cheeks.
“You sure got a lot of tattoos, Asher.”
That remark got little more than a grunt from him, and I realized quickly that I weren’t gonna be gettin’ a lot of detailed answers about this mystery man’s past so easy as that. It’d take more diggin’ than scuffin’ about the topsoil.
We went on into the farm house, and there was sight nor sound of ma, which weren’t surprisin’. She spent most of her day knittin’ in the rockin’ chair upstairs, for no particular reason.
So I went to fetch us both a tall glass of water, as I turned and looked to the tall drink of water that really interested me.
