Secrets At Maple Syrup Farm

With a quick rap on the door, I set my shoulders, pulled my coat tighter and waited. No answer. There was no way he’d hear me with the volume up so high. With a shrug, I opened the front door, and stuck my head inside.

My mouth hung open at the sight before me. Clay was not old. Not weathered. Not wearing overalls.

He stood all six foot something of him, on the top rung of a stepladder, wearing only tight denim jeans, holding a drill. His broad shoulders moved to the beat of the music, his biceps flexing in time. As he turned and leaned I caught sight of his sculpted abs, the grooves and valleys of them, the color of his skin, tanned somehow in wintertime. He was the epitome of the perfect male model. I imagined him nude, and wanted to paint him in explicit detail because it would make such a stunning portrait.

The tight denim jeans accented his butt, and he thrust his hips to the rhythm of the song. That kind of taut, strong body would be a joy to paint. Just watching him made me uncomfortably warm. I had been wanting to capture a man on canvas, their intense lines and lengths, especially one as chiseled as this.

He flicked his dark blond hair back, and turned suddenly, one hand grasping the top rung of the ladder. When he caught sight of me the singing and, sadly, the thrusting stopped abruptly.

I walked to the stereo to turn the music down, before saying, “Hi, nice drill you have there.” Nice drill you have there? I promptly closed my mouth, and hoped my brain would catch up with my voice. In my effort to come across convincing, like I knew what a drill was, I sounded like I was flirting. Or just plain stupid. “What I meant was—”

His expression darkened and he spoke over the top of me. “You lost?”

I tilted my head, confused at the hostility in his voice. “No.” I appraised him—a hot guy with a bad attitude. I’d been expecting to see a middle-aged guy wearing overalls, not someone half-dressed, and mesmerizing from a painting point of view. The fierceness in his eyes—would I capture it?

He jumped down from the ladder, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his abs. From a sofa covered with plastic, he snatched up a crumpled tank top and pulled it over his head.

“No need to get dressed on my account.” I resisted the urge to clap a hand over mouth. “What I mean is, just be as you were…” The words were coming out wrong, in my effort to be someone I was not.

I blushed.

He scowled.

“Can I help you?” He let the drill drop, the cord slipping slowly through his fingers—he didn’t take his eyes off me, before it hit the ground with a clunk. For some reason the gesture seemed highly erotic. But the steely glint in his eyes told a different story.

Thoughts of traipsing back down the driveway, jobless, flashed through my mind. “I’m here about the job.” I raised my chin.

His face cracked into a cynical smile. He snatched a rag from the coffee table and wiped his brow, all the while chuckling to himself. I held his stare, while he gave me a once-over. His eyes were a mesmerizing, deep, dark brown, almost fathomless. I should have changed my outfit before I set off. He couldn’t take me seriously for the job, looking like some kind of bohemian.

“A job?” His mouth twisted. “I don’t think so.” His gaze traveled the length of my body once more and I tried hard not to squirm.

“And why not?” I asked, remembering Becca’s word of warning. Do not take no for an answer.

He sneered. “Do you even know what the job is?”

“Farming, or a farmer, or a farmer’s assistant. Who cares about the title? All you need to know is, I am more than capable of…farming.” Way to go, Lucy, I silently berated myself. Say farmer one more time. He had me on edge with his cool stare. I hoped the desperation wasn’t evident in my voice.

“Who sent you here?”

I tried to hide my smile at his phrasing—it was almost like a line out of a mafia movie. Was this guy for real? “Your cousin Becca. She said you can’t find anyone else.” And now I see why. If I wasn’t so desperate for a job I would have told him exactly what I thought of him and breezed out. But there was also a stubborn side of me that wanted to show him he was wrong about me. I could…farm, as well as anyone else.

He raised an eyebrow. “You think I can’t find anyone?”

“I don’t see people lining up to work for you.” He blanched. If it was a tug of war, I’d just retrieved a bit of the rope. “But I am perfectly able to do the work.”

“Is that so?”

“Sure is.” I pursed my lips.

He took two steps toward me and stood so close I could feel his breath on my face. My pulse quickened—for one second I thought he was going to kiss me. He said, “You think you can handle it?”

Shivers coursed through me. “I can handle anything,” I managed, gulping at his proximity. I didn’t know if he was referring to the job? Or himself? I was in two minds whether I could handle either, but the thought of getting back on a bus and being in the same predicament elsewhere firmed my resolve. There was no chance I’d let a guy like him peg me for a fool. I hadn’t worked my butt off my whole life to be judged on the spot by the likes of him.

“I bet.” He looked so deeply into my eyes I was sure my heart stopped.

I blinked rapidly and said, “I need a job. This job, and I’m not leaving until you say yes.”

A rivulet of sweat ran down his forehead. “Your threats usually work with other people?”

“Yes.” Well technically no. I was never in the position to threaten anyone, always relying on the mercy of managers, or landlords. I wasn’t desperate enough to let anyone hold anything over me, though. My pride wouldn’t allow that.

“Look, I don’t know who you are…”

“I’m Lucy,” I said levelly. If I didn’t find work, I wouldn’t have much more than the bus fare home. The universe wouldn’t provide, and I’d scurry back, tail between my legs, having failed and broken my promise. That would upset Mom. She’d think I did it on purpose because I wanted to be with her. “So what do you say?” I flashed him a smile, hoping it would lighten the tension that hung between us like fog.

“I need someone who can haul logs, and drive a tractor, help tap the maples. Somehow I can’t see you doing that, in your finery.” He flicked a hand toward me. Why the heck didn’t I change clothes? And finery? He was only wearing a pair of jeans when I walked in, in the middle of winter!

“I have other clothes, obviously.”

“Goodbye, Lucy.” He went back to the stereo and turned the music up to an ear-piercing level.

I wanted to shriek at him. Just once, I’d love for one person to give me a break, a chance. Instead, I stomped to the stereo and switched it off.

He spun to me, his eyes blazing. “What’s your problem?” He pressed his lips together.

How dare he! I pushed myself up close and poked a finger into his chest. “You’re my problem. Is this because I’m a girl? What, you don’t think women can work as hard as men?” If there was one thing I’d learned from my mom it was that I could do anything I set my mind to, and I wouldn’t allow a man to tell me otherwise.

The muscle along his jawline pulsed. “Well can you?” he hissed.

“Give me two weeks,” I said. “And if you don’t think I can handle it, I’ll leave.”

“Four weeks,” he muttered and turned the music up, but I could still make out his words. “Don’t think I’m gonna take it easy on you.” He grabbed his drill, and climbed back up the ladder.

My shoulders relaxed. With his back to me, I caught my breath, relieved that in the heat of our exchange I’d come out victorious. I knew he was desperate for help, and that’s the only reason he gave in. But I’d show him. I’d be the best goddamn farmer’s assistant there was.

I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled over the music, “I’ll see you at nine tomorrow.”

“Six,” he yelled without turning.

Did people really wake up that early? My shifts at the diner were always at night, until the early hours of the morning. I’d fall into bed at dawn for a few hours’ sleep before waking later to help Mom. If there was time I’d steal an afternoon nap before my shift started again. The body clock was going to get a shock, that’s for sure.

I left quickly, shutting the door with a click, just in case he changed his mind.

CeeCee said Clay was a loner. She forgot to mention he had a chip on his shoulder so big its missing piece could sink the Titanic. I walked back to town, my footsteps lighter.

I’d done it.

Secured a job in a tiny town and that would take the pressure off for a while at least. I felt like dancing down the street, the weight of the world forgotten for one brief moment.