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As they crossed the yard, he kept a respectful distance. But when they got past the barn to the path out to the west pasture, he grabbed her hand and tucked it in his. Rachel smiled to herself. Maybe he was having a hard time keeping his hands off her.
She tried her best to explain the basics of the dairy, the breeds of the goats, the process for pasteurizing the milk, and the small artisanal-cheese maker who bought the milk from her.
“It’s a beautiful place,” Dermot said.
“It is,” she agreed. “But it’s so difficult to make a go of it. We’re always scrambling to pay the bills. My sister and brothers want to sell, but I’m just not ready for that yet. I made a promise to my dad to keep the farm in the family. I don’t want my generation to be the last generation of Howes to live at Clover Meadow.”
As they walked, Dermot continued to question her. Rachel was surprised at how much he was able to absorb about the business aspects of farming. He was exactly the kind of person she needed here on the farm—for so many reasons beyond just sexual.
When they reached the gate of the pasture, Rachel stood on the bottom rung and unwrapped a leather lead from the post. “Watch,” she said. She put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. The herd all turned in her direction and started moving toward her.
“Wow, that’s amazing. They’re like dogs.”
“They’re really, really smart,” she said. She handed him the lead, then opened the gate. “Clip this onto the goat with the bell. That’s Lady. She’s kind of the queen of the dairy. The oldest goat. I took her to the State Fair my senior year of high school. Blue ribbon. We’re very old friends.”
“Do they bite?” he asked, observing the herd warily.
“Sometimes. But just walk in there like you know what you’re doing. Show them who is boss.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said.
“Charm them like you charmed me,” Rachel suggested.
“And how did I charm you?” he asked, leaning closer.
“Talk sweet to them. Soft. Smile a little.”
Rachel ushered him inside the gate, then closed it behind him. The goats surrounded him and he held up his arms as they nudged at his legs. When he spotted Lady, Dermot gradually worked his way over to her and clipped the lead on her collar. “All right, now what?”
“Now lead her to the gate and the rest of the goats will follow.”
He did as he was told, and before long they were walking down the lane between the paddocks, chatting about his first success as a dairyman.
“Why do they follow?” he asked.
“They know they’re going to get fed.”
“Haven’t they been eating all day?”
“Yeah, but they get the good stuff in the barn.”
“Steak and potatoes?”
“Corn and some pellet feed.”
“Yum,” Dermot said. “Are we having the same for dinner?”
“I think I can scratch up something a little better. But we still have a lot of work to do before we eat.”
“I can handle it,” he said. “I’ve got Lady following me. How much harder can it get?”
DERMOT COULDN’T remember the last time he’d been so exhausted. Once the goats got into the milking shed, the work was nonstop for three solid hours. He barely had a chance to take a breath before Rachel or Eddie was showing him something else that had to be done. Benny, the little black goat, was constantly underfoot, nibbling on Dermot’s jeans and the hem of his T-shirt.
Rachel explained that it normally took her four hours to do the milking on her own, but once he got up to speed, she expected they’d be able to do the entire herd in about two hours between the three of them.
Completely spent, he sat down in a rocking chair on the back porch of the house while Rachel was inside taking a shower. He’d grabbed a quick shower in the barn after the chores were done, then found a beer in Rachel’s refrigerator.
Dermot took a long drink and closed his eyes. He’d known her for less than a day and she was already the most amazing woman he’d ever met. The work it took to keep the farm running seemed overwhelming and yet she never once complained.
“You put in a good day of work.”
He opened his eyes to find Eddie watching him from the bottom of the steps, Benny standing at his side. “Thanks,” Dermot said, leaning forward in the chair. “And thanks for showing me the ropes. I appreciate it.”
The old man nodded curtly. “Tell Rachel I’m heading into town for dinner. They got bingo at the fire-house tonight and I got some money burning a hole in my pocket.”
“You’re not having dinner with us?”
Eddie shook his head. “I expect you can manage to eat on your own.” He nodded, then put his battered John Deere cap on his head and walked toward the truck, Benny at his heels. A moment later, Eddie and the goat drove out of the yard, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.
“I didn’t know that goats played bingo,” Dermot murmured.
He stood and stretched, then walked into the kitchen. The least he could do was help Rachel with dinner. He opened the fridge and began to pick through the contents. A salad would be a good start. She’d pulled three steaks from the fridge and they were sitting on the counter near the sink.
“Potatoes,” he said. He found some in a mesh bag beneath the sink. By the time Rachel wandered back into the kitchen, the salad was made, the potatoes were washed and the oven was heating, and he’d poured her a glass of wine.
He handed her the wine, taking in the sight of her. Her hair was still wet, long and loose and curling around her face. She wore a cotton dress, cut deep at the neck. Her feet were bare and she smelled of soap.
“Thanks,” she said, glancing at the table. “You’ve been busy.”
“I’ve decided to make myself invaluable. I am a pretty good cook when it comes to meat and potatoes.”
“I’m glad to hear that. There are nights that I’m just too exhausted to cook and this is one of them.” Rachel crossed to the fridge then pulled out a package of cheese and found a bag of crackers. “This is some of the cheese made from our goats’ milk,” she said, arranging the cheese and crackers on a plate.
They headed back out onto the porch and sat down together in the porch swing. “This is my favorite time of the day,” she said. “After everything is done and the sun is going down and it’s so quiet that you wonder if anyone is still alive in the world.”
“I live on the water in Seattle, so it’s never completely quiet.”
“Do you have a beach house?”
Dermot shook his head. “A houseboat. It’s not actually a boat because you can’t take it out on the water. Although my family has a boat. Actually we have three. We build boats.”
“That’s what you do?”
“I don’t build them myself. I sell them.”
“Motorboats?”
“No. Luxury sailing yachts.”
She frowned. “Why are you here?”
“Because my grandfather decided that my brothers and I weren’t given a chance to follow our dreams when we were kids. He gave us a hundred dollars, a credit card and a bus ticket and I ended up here. I’m supposed to live a different life for six weeks and then figure out if I like it better than my old life.”
“If you have a credit card, why do you need to work?”
“Because he canceled the credit cards once we all got on the bus. I think he wanted us to work rather than lounge around for six weeks. When I landed in Mapleton, I had exactly six cents to my name. I was lucky to meet you.”
“I think I’m the lucky one,” she said with a smile.
They stared out at the sunset, watching as it turned pink and then orange and then purple. “Do you ever get lonely out here?” Dermot asked.
“All the time,” she said. “But I’ve kind of gotten used to it. I just can’t let this place go yet.”
“Why?” he said.
“Because it’s all I have left of my parents,” she said. “It was always the three of us. I’d help my dad with the chores and we’d raise and show our goats at the county fair. And I’d help my mom in the kitchen. She taught me how to bake and sew and keep house. We shopped for antiques and collected quilts. This is who I am, this place. It’s my home and it will be my home until I’m ready to let it go. Does that make sense?”
Dermot remembered how difficult it was for him to let go of his parents, to come to grips with the idea that they were really dead. There were still times when he caught himself wondering if they were alive, stranded on some tiny island in the Pacific, waiting for rescue.
She glanced over at him, and for the second time that day, he decided to kiss her. He leaned forward, waiting for a sign that she’d welcome a kiss. Her gaze fixed on his mouth and her lips parted slightly. As they met, her eyes closed and she sighed softly.
He’d kissed a lot of women for a lot of reasons, but there was something about kissing Rachel that was so perfect. Though they spent hours chatting, they seemed to communicate just as well through their desire. He was learning more about her life, but as she kissed him, he was exploring her heart and soul.
She slipped her hand around his nape as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into the warmth of her mouth. She tasted like red wine and hidden need and Dermot wondered how far he could go before she stopped him. He didn’t want to take advantage and he knew she’d been alone on the farm for a long time.
His hands spanned her waist and he pulled her closer, anxious to feel her body against his. Rachel seemed just as anxious to touch him and she began to unbutton his shirt. When she’d pushed the fabric aside, she pressed a kiss to the center of his chest.
For a long moment, she didn’t move, and Dermot was sure she was going to call an end to the seduction. But then she looked up at him with wide eyes. “Take me to bed,” she said. “Right now.”
Dermot sucked in a sharp breath, not sure that he’d heard her right. “What?”
“Don’t make me say it again, because I’m not sure I’ll be able to.”
“A-all right.”
“And don’t ask if I’m sure, because I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”
“Your place or mine?”
“Mine,” she said. She stood and held out her hand, and when he took it, Dermot followed her back inside. She led him up the stairs to a spacious bedroom decorated in blue and yellow. The windows were open and lace curtains fluttered with the evening breeze.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and Dermot sat beside her. He grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to her wrist. He felt nervous, wondering just how he ought to approach her. Reaching out, he cupped her chin in his hand and brought her gaze to his.
A soft sigh escaped her lips and then she smiled. He felt his nerves ease a bit, and when he kissed her, she surrendered without hesitation. As they fell back onto the bed, he realized that none of the women he’d bedded in the past had meant anything. And yet, this sweet, sexy farm girl had captured his desire in less than a day.
“Bewitched,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers.
“What?”
Dermot drew back. “I’m Irish. We believe in all sorts of magical creatures. And I do believe you’ve bewitched me, Rachel Howe.”
“There’s no magic at work here,” she said. Hooking her fingers through his, she drew his hand to her breast, then pressed it against the soft warmth of her flesh. She wasn’t wearing a bra and the thin cotton of her summer dress barely hid what was beneath.
With a soft growl, Dermot stretched out beside her. “How long has it been for you?” he asked.
“Too long,” she said. “What about you?”
“I think I’ve been waiting for you my whole life,” he said. He’d always known what to say to seduce a woman. But with Rachel, he didn’t want to hand her some cheesy line. He wanted to be completely honest. “Actually, I’m a little nervous.”
“You are?” She crawled on top of him and kissed him, lingering over his mouth and tracing the crease of his lips with her tongue. “We’ll just go very slowly.”
She leaned forward and the front of her dress gaped, giving him a perfect view of her breasts. “That sounds like a good idea. I think maybe I should start with your neck.” He pressed his lips to the spot below her ear.
He’d never had so much fun kissing a woman as he did kissing Rachel. They laughed and whispered and rolled around on the bed until they found a comfortable spot, their arms wrapped around each other. But suddenly, she sat up and wrinkled her nose.
“Do you smell something burn—” She groaned. “I left the pie in the oven—”
“And I turned the oven on to bake the potatoes,” he said.
Rachel jumped out of the bed and ran for the bedroom door, then turned and pointed to him. “Stay here. Do not move. I’ll be right back.”
Dermot rolled onto his back and threw his arm over his eyes. A pleasant exhaustion settled over him and he let his thoughts drift. He’d spent last night on a bus somewhere in the Dakotas. He’d jumped off the bus and almost immediately loaded a pallet of feed into Rachel’s truck. Then he’d dried dishes, milked a herd of goats and prepared a salad, all the while trying to stop thinking about grabbing Rachel and carrying her to the bedroom. No wonder he was tired.
The next thing he knew, she was beside him again. The room was dark. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her body against his.
“You fell asleep,” she whispered.
“I didn’t,” Dermot said. “Did you save the pie?”
“It’s pretty much inedible. But I’ll make another tomorrow.”
“Sorry. I didn’t think to look inside the oven before I turned it on.”
“Close your eyes,” she murmured. “You need your sleep. We have to get up in six hours.”
Dermot turned his face into her soft hair and inhaled the scent of her. Making love to her would wait. It was enough to lie next to her, to run his hands over her body and kiss her silken skin.
When his grandfather had sent him off, he’d expected to find a little bit of himself along the way. He’d never thought that he’d find a woman, as well. Rachel needed him, and for the next six weeks, he’d do what he could to make her life easier. And if the compensation included sharing her bed, he’d consider the job a success.
3
RACHEL OPENED HER EYES and looked around her bedroom. Frowning, she glanced down to see that she was still wearing her clothes. How had she—
Memories of the night before came rushing into her head. Dermot. They’d fallen asleep in her bed. She rolled over to find his half of the mattress empty. A sick feeling came into her stomach as she considered the possibilities.
Had he left sometime before dawn to return to the stone cottage? Had he gathered his belongings and sneaked away in the dark of night, finished with farm work and the woman who pretended to be his boss? Or maybe he was just an early riser, she mused.
Pushing up on her elbow, she picked up the alarm clock and squinted at the time. “Six-fifteen?” With a cry, Rachel bolted upright and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She’d overslept! How had she overslept? The alarm was set for four-thirty. She always woke up before it rang.
