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Josie hadn’t left the property since she’d arrived two months ago, courtesy of a kindly bus driver who’d agreed to drop her off closer to her destination. She’d only been able to afford the bus fare when one of her mother’s elderly tenants slipped her the funds after hearing Josie argue with her mom. For that matter, Mrs. Gonzalez had been the one who’d helped her find Hailey Decker’s ad for a caretaker, emailing her the link to the job. As soon as Josie had received her first paycheck, she’d sent the money back to Mrs. Gonzalez. She’d been saving the rest, and appreciated the extra cash Everett was letting her keep from picking Hailey’s peaches.
Seeing the farmhouse now as they wove down the back road toward the property, she remembered how she’d felt to see the place that first time. Like a homecoming. Or how you wished it felt to have a homecoming. With its sprawl of porches on all sides, the white clapboard house sat between two big hickory trees that kept it shaded. Chimneys and gables dotted the gray slate rooflines of additions that must have housed bigger generations of Ramseys in bygone eras. While not as old as the historic Virgil Ramsey homestead next door—a property that bore the year 1856 on a cornerstone—the farmhouse was over a hundred years old, and was traditionally used as a residence for the oldest Ramsey son since running Rough Hollow was a family business.
To Josie’s eyes, though, the place just said home. She could imagine it decorated for the holidays in red bows and green boughs. Or with Indian corn and hay bales at harvest time. It was a house that called for a tire swing and Popsicles, with a yard full of kids.
“It must have been great growing up here,” she said wistfully, remembering the way her mother’s Jacksonville apartment had felt like a big upgrade from the rickety one-bedroom house in Central Florida where she’d spent her first ten years.
She and her mom had a hardscrabble life when her mom worked in the citrus groves for very little pay, leaving Josie alone for long stretches of time. But then her mom had inherited the apartment building from an aunt who’d died without any children, and to Josie, having her own bedroom had made up for a lot of other things she didn’t like about living in a city. Her mother had told her then they’d only gotten the building by luck, and their luck could run out anytime if they weren’t careful. Josie had taken her at her word, and—not wanting to return to the citrus groves—she’d spent the next thirteen years doing everything she could to make sure they kept the building running. She blinked away the memories when Cal spoke again, trying to ignore the knot in her belly that thinking about her life in Florida always brought these days.
“Things were good when we lived here,” Cal admitted as he drove past the house toward the garage in back. He didn’t pull inside, however, leaving it halfway between the main house and the garage apartment. “It was only when my father dragged us all to the mini-mansion on the east side of town that my family went to hell.”
He stepped from the car with the same athletic grace that marked his every movement. Josie felt like a dusty, sweaty mess in comparison after poking at plants and earth all day, but she followed him out of the vehicle.
“If this was my house, nothing would pry me out of it,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried to the side entrance and let the dogs out. The three barked happy greetings before tearing off into the thicket behind one of the barns, and she noticed that Cal still leaned on the front fender of his car. Phone in hand, his thumbs moved over the screen.
She didn’t wish to pry about his family, but she also found it tough to turn away from him if he wanted to talk. So she strode back down to the garden to flip on the sprinklers while she admired the backyard with most of the garden weeded.
There was the converted pole barn with the entertaining space where she liked to read in the evenings. She’d forgotten to switch the overhead fan off last night and it spun on low, now, stirring the wind chimes that hung near the entrance.
The potting shed had been painted white with stencils of bright flowers twining around the green door. A wheelbarrow leaned up against one wall and a silver watering can rested on the stone steps.
With the gentle hiss of the sprinklers watering the garden, she found her attention drawn back to Cal. She walked closer to him, curious why he hadn’t disappeared into his apartment yet.
Maybe he wondered the same thing about her. And the truth was she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t taken cover indoors at the first opportunity. Maybe she felt grateful to him for including her in the trip today, giving her a chance to make an impression on his grandfather or somehow make herself useful to the farm. She really needed more seed money before she could leave here and start over somewhere new.
“I messaged Gramp about the bees,” Cal informed her, his phone out of sight and his focus on her. “He gave the idea the green light and said to give you whatever you need to make it happen.”
“That’s great.” Surprised at Cal’s easy agreement to her proposal, she hadn’t expected him to act on it so quickly. “I can take five hives over, but I’ll need a truck to transport them.”
She stopped a few feet away from him.
“And someone to help you,” he reminded her, straightening from where he’d been leaning on the fender. Shrinking the space between them with just that one movement.
Something about the way he said it sent a shiver of awareness through her. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her.
“Right.” She nodded, heart speeding, feeling every inch the awkward girl she’d always been. She was better when they were sparring and circling each other, gloves at the ready. “Maybe one of the farm hands I talked to today—”
“I’ll help you.” He loomed over her because he was so very tall.
But backing away seemed too much like slinking, and she would not let herself slink. He was far too attractive.
And very, very…fit.
“Sure.” She nodded again, and suspected she looked like a bobble-head doll. She forced herself to be still. “Just let me know when you get a truck—”
“I’m free tomorrow morning.” His gaze dipped to her mouth. Just for a moment. Then his eyes locked on hers again. “Why don’t you let me make you dinner and we’ll work out the logistics?”
And that’s when she knew he was playing her. The dinner invitation was too much. Was he used to women falling at his feet? Defenses snapped back into place as she saw through his game.
“No, thank you.” She released a pent-up breath, grateful to have escaped the seductive spell he could weave around her too fast. Surely she was wiser than that now. “I’ve got a mixed berry salad calling to me from the fridge.”
This time, she did step away, and it didn’t feel at all like slinking. It felt like reclaiming her dignity, even if a hint of regret smoked through her at the thought that flirtation might be a reflex for him, and didn’t have anything to do with her.
“Care to share it with me?” He lifted a dark eyebrow, his charm still potent even when she realized what he was doing.
“Actually no,” she told him honestly, unwilling to be taken in by him. “I might have gone for dinner if I thought for a second you were actually interested in discussing bees or the farm, but I’m not inclined to fall for Casanova moves just because I happen to be single and living next door.”
He frowned, folding his arms across his broad, gorgeous chest. “I’m pretty sure I was talking about bees, wasn’t I?”
