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Chapter Six
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In . . . two . . .three . . .
She held the slowly inhaled breath for several beats, attempting to focus on the still air, thick with the day’s heat, and the encroaching twilight. The sun had blazed across the sky for a second afternoon, giving a perfect excuse for the little slip dress she wore, probably too revealing for the workplace, she considered, once again thankful for the lack of an HR department, but easily overlooked with the balmy weather. It hadnothingto do with the farm’s evening visitor.
Out . . . two . . . three . . .
“What are you still hanging around for? I can give you a lift if you’re having car trouble?”
The sky was a wash of violet, thready fingers of pale pink slowly receding as the sun sank into the trees. Brogan’s hulking form cast a wide shadow in the dying light, completely engulfing the outline of her own on the gravel.
She turned, giving the big minotaur a smile before shaking her head. “No, I’m not stranded . . . but thank you.”
“Working late?”
"I . . . need to talk with Cal. I booked a last-minute wedding today and it’s coming up fast, so it might be all hands on deck getting things ready for a few days."
As soon as the words were out, Callum's voice rose stridently, cutting across the distant field and interrupting the serene chirping of the crickets. This was the fourth or fifth time he'd done so, and she could only imagine the aggravation with which the terse centaur argued his point, whatever it may have been. The low hum of Merrick's deep voice could not be heard from this distance, and she suspected that even if he deigned to shout back at the centaur, which she couldn't imagine the soft-spoken moth doing, the sound would still be too low to hear.
Behind her, Brogan snorted. “Can’t imagine he’s going to be in a chatty mood after this. These lab types always think they know more than anyone else . . . What are we going to need for this, the hall barn? I’ll have a few of the boys empty it out first thing in the morning, shouldn’t take too long. The banquet tables are still in there, you just need to tell them what you want left. Are you going to want the floors rewaxed?”
Grace breathed a small sigh of relief, turning to her big co-worker with a smile. They had all been somewhat perplexed when she’d started, unsure of what her role would be and if it would mean changes for everyone, and it had, to some extent. Everyone’s position became somewhat public-facing as she booked in school tours and bus trips, agri-tourism being a growing sector of the burgeoning lifestyle business. They’d had to hire more employees, had requisitioned one of the barns as a rental hall, a construction project that extended it and made it gleam, comfortably able to hold a medium-sized wedding reception. The existing farm employees had to learn to keep their cursing restricted to areas where guests would not hear them, and they’d all become actors, in some small measure . . . and they’d all embraced it, eager to smile and wave to school children and explain their jobs to busloads of seniors, there to tour the facilities and have a farm-to-table lunch.
“That would be amazing, thank you. Yeah, we’ll probably need to wax. Let’s see, it’s a guestlist of one hundred and fifty, so that’s seven tables, one for the bridal party, two for catering . . . let’s leave out fourteen just to be safe.”
“Sounds good, they’ll get it done in the morning. I hate leaving you out here in the dark. I could wait, if you want to get a drink or someth—”
"I have plans,” she interrupted quickly. “If they’re not wrapped up in a few, I’ll probably get going myself . . . see you tomorrow, yeah? And thanks again."
The big bull cocked his head curiously, hesitating before saying goodnight, and she turned back to face the field, listening for the crunching gravel signifying his retreat. Co-workers were tricky, and she’d not spoil the delicate fabric of her life at Saddlethorne. Brogan had already expressed hisappreciationfor her dress, sidling up to her table as he passed to pointedly remind her that he had no intention of being unprofessional at work, but if she should feel inclined to meet him at the storage barn in the back field for an off-the-clock lunch break, he’d show her just how appreciative he was.
“It’s a waste to spend the whole day sitting under this umbrella,” he’d breezed, leaning on the shovel he carried. “You ought to take a walk, get away from the table for a bit. Find a bit of shade in the storage barn.”
“I have shade under my umbrella,” she’d pointed out as he’d chuckled. “No sense in working up a sweat traipsing across the fields.”
“There are better ways we can work up a sweat, Grace. That far away, you could moan as loud as you want, no one would hear you.”
It was somewhat galling to admit to herself that two short weeks ago, the temptation of being railed by her barrel-chested co-worker in the middle of the day, far enough from the main part of the farm that no one would hear her screams of pleasure, might have been too great to ignore.Too horny to think . . .
“I’m not wearing my traipsing shoes today. And besides, you need to get a move on if you’re going to be back from break before Cal wants to have his meeting.” When he’d cocked his head questioningly, she’d given him a beatific smile. “What if there’s a backup at the milking place? You want to give them time to drain every last drop.”
His chuckle had bounced off the interior of her umbrella, trapping her in its rumble. "Oh don't you worry, there's no danger of a dairy shortage here." She held her breath as he adjusted himself, lifting his huge testicles from where they were confined in his snug jeans. Squeezing her thighs together, she tried to look unaffected. "You need to have a glass sometime, Grace. This milk does a body good."
The sound of his pickup rumbling to life now silenced the crickets one more, leaving her alone in the still, growing darkness. Despite the fact that she was practically holding her breath in an effort to hear the two men out in the field, the resumed night chorus of crickets and frogs was all that met her. When a light at Callum’s house flared to life in the distant darkness, she realized their meeting was over.He left. He left without even saying hello or goodbye.
She’d been signing up a couple for the CSA program when Merrick arrived that evening. Callum had met him at the visitor’s table before she’d had a chance to breakaway, although from across the wide concrete pad she’d watched the tall centaur assess the equally tall moth. To his credit, Merrick seemed unfazed by Cal’s brusqueness, meeting his outstretched hand coolly before the two had trooped off to an outer field without a backwards glance.
The text message had come shortly after the couple had left her table, happy with their new produce subscription and heading off to the farmstand shop at her encouragement. When she saw Tris's name, her stomach swooped, expecting something about the community contract she wanted so badly. She'd not expected it to be about the tall, bashful moth man she was seeing that night.
I don't know if you ever heard from your new friend
But he's had five different addresses in the last four years
Here for a good time, but not a long time
Who cares if he's trash, I say make the most of it
