“It wouldn’t start this morning. I had it towed to the shop.”

“So—” She finally looked daunted by something. “—I’m stuck here with you now?”

Did she have to remind him? “Just until Sam fixes your radiator and whatever else you busted on my fence post.” He led her over to the pigs, pointing out their feed and showing her where the hose was. “Whatever you do, make sure you latch the gate all the way, or the pigs will destroy my crops.”

He gave her some simple instructions on how to muck out the pigs, then left her in her fancy jeans and inappropriate shoes to deal with the dirtiest animals on earth.

Chapter Seven

After growing up with six brothers, Lori knew her way around mud and dirt, and wasn’t particularly squeamish about it. Still, as she surveyed the pigs from outside the fence, she had to admit that she’d never seen a mess quite like the one in the pigpen.

She knew Grayson had chosen this task to see whether she’d get all girly about it and quit, and now a part of her wondered if he had already been out here this morning watering everything down so that the pigpen would be extra wet and squishy. But at breakfast he’d been covered in wood chips, not mud, so she knew that was just her lingering frustration with his little sermon on silence at breakfast.

Grunting. That’s what his last farmhand had done rather than speak. And Grayson had liked it that way.

Frankly, she was glad that she could get down and dirty with the pigs this morning, if for no other reason than to let off a little steam. She’d always worked out her frustrations by dancing before. Today, she’d just have to work them out with some stinky, snorting pigs instead.

She opened the gate and took a careful step inside. Of course her ballet slipper sank nearly all the way into the mud. After carefully latching the gate, she turned back to the crew of pigs facing her, a half dozen or so in the large pen. They were actually pretty cute, but bigger than she’d realized. Fortunately, they didn’t look the least bit threatening. Maybe a little curious about who the stranger was, however.

She figured she’d get them their water and feed and then when they were busy chowing down, she’d work on mucking out their stalls. Moving slowly through the mud, she was halfway across the pen when she stepped in a particularly slippery spot and her feet almost slipped out from under her.

Years of needing to stay on her feet no matter what had her quickly righting herself and widening her stance to make sure she wouldn’t fall again. She was just about to start heading forward when she looked up and saw one of the pigs making a beeline toward her, much more quickly than she could have ever believed possible for such a stocky animal. Its little hooves were powering through the mud and its curly tail was wagging.

The next thing she knew it was pushing between her legs and lifting her up off the ground. “Hey!” she exclaimed as the pig kept on moving through the mud with her stuck to its broad back. “What are you doing?”

But she already knew, didn’t she? The pig was having a fabulous time carrying her off through the pen...with all of its friends watching with eager eyes, probably vying for who would be next to mess with the total greenhorn.

And then, just as quickly as she’d been hoisted off the ground and onto the pig’s broad back, she was unceremoniously dumped on her rear in the mud with a hard splat.

She sat in the mud for several moments as she worked to get her breath back from where the ground—and the very mischievous pig—had knocked it out of her. Only, when she looked down at herself completely covered with mud, and thought about just how ridiculous she must have looked riding bareback on a pig, instead of getting upset she started to laugh.

Who knew working on a farm could be so crazy? So full of mishaps? Or that a bunch of stinky, unruly pigs would be the ones to get her laughing again? It reminded her of when she and her brother Gabe and twin sister Sophie would go out and make mud pies in the backyard after a storm when they were kids.

The sad truth was that Lori hadn’t felt like a kid in a very long time. Not until today, when the pigs had made any chance at being anything but a messy, muddy buddy of theirs an impossibility.

Of course, getting down to the pigs’ level only made her more interesting to them, especially to one of the babies who had started snuffling around at her face.

“Hey, cutie,” she told him, “maybe when you’re a little bigger you could sweep me off my feet, too.” She stroked his snout. “I have always loved a guy in pink with a little facial hair.”

She could have sworn he gave her a grin as she slipped and slid while getting back up on her feet. And as she went about her duties while singing a pop song that the pigs seemed to like despite her horribly out-of-tune voice, she made sure to keep her legs close together to stave off any more impromptu pig-riding trips around the pen.

* * *

Grayson could easily have spent the rest of the day focused on the new roof he was putting on the cottage, but he needed to check up on Lori. Not, he told himself, because he missed seeing her since breakfast, but because letting her work on his farm was like keeping a box of fireworks next to a roaring fire—you never knew when one little spark was going to light off the whole damned thing.

That was why he’d told her to work in the pigpen. How much damage could she possibly do there?

As he approached the pigpen from a distance, he couldn’t miss that she was covered in mud. Even though he figured that should have been the last straw for her, he could hear her singing in a godawful voice as she petted one of the pigs, her little bottom wiggling back and forth as she all but danced around in the mud.

He’d never met anyone like her before in his life—a city girl who would sing and dance in the mud with the pigs, rather than bailing on the hard, dirty work. With every passing second that she remained on his farm, he could feel her not just getting under his skin, but going even deeper. Just as she had the previous night when he’d heard her crying in bed.

God, he hoped she didn’t cry again tonight. Because if she did, he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to keep from going to her and pulling her into his arms and kissing away those tears.

Grayson was about a hundred feet away from the pigpen when he saw something big and pink out of the corner of his eye down by his strawberry patch.

Oh no, had she left the gate open? One instruction—to make sure it latched securely—was the only thing she needed to follow. But had she done that?

He ran over to the big sow, hollering at her to get out of his strawberries, but the pig was too busy mowing down the neat and flourishing rows of fruit to look up in his direction. It was as if a rototiller had been driven over his strawberry plants, the very ones he’d been planning to load into boxes this week for his customers. It was a sweaty and difficult job corralling the sow, but ten minutes later he had her back where she belonged.

Lori was working with the hose, spraying down the pens, and clearly didn’t hear much above the sound of the water and her singing until he’d pushed the sow back into the pen.

When she finally caught sight of him, she was so surprised that she blasted him with the freezing cold water straight in the chest. The clear fury in his gaze had her quickly trying to turn it off, but her hands were muddy enough that it took her more than a few tries to finally get it. By then, Grayson wasn’t only pissed as hell, he was soaked, too.

“Sorry about that! You surprised me.” She looked down at herself, her clothes and skin liberally covered with mud. “If you want to turn the hose on me to make us even, that probably wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

She reached out to hand him the hose and he batted it out of her hand so that it landed in the mud with a splat.

“I knew you were trouble when you drove like a maniac up my driveway.” He pointed to his obliterated strawberry crop. “I told you to shut the goddamned gate. Look at what happened because you can’t be trusted to do even one little thing right.” Somewhere in the back of his mind he could hear how harsh he was being, but Lori didn’t even flinch.

Instead she came right back at him with, “I did shut it!” She moved across the muddy pen with surprising grace and reached behind him to shut the gate again with a frown. “I did it just like this.”

She slipped just enough in the mud for her hip to push the gate, and as she reached out to steady herself the latch began to wobble. She pushed a little harder and it came completely loose so that the gate popped open.

“See?” She turned to him, her beautiful face full of righteous indignation. “I told you I closed it.”

Feeling like a total ass, he waited for her to demand an apology from him. But she didn’t, which only made things worse. Probably because she didn’t think he was capable of making one.

And she was right. He couldn’t seem to find the words he should be saying to her. Instead, he told her, “I need something from the hardware store. Go wash up and I’ll take you into town to pick up some boots.”

“New shoes?”

Her eyes were wide with surprise and when he nodded, she smiled up at him. Even covered nearly head to toe in mud, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever been near.

Her smile grew even bigger as she told him, “You’re forgiven.”

And that was when Grayson realized he was sunk.

Because if he wasn’t really, really careful, Lori Sullivan was just going to keep stealing his heart one sentence, one meal, one smile at time.

“There’s an outdoor shower on the other side of the barn. Go use it.”

With that he turned his focus to fixing the gate of the pigpen...and not on what Lori must look like naked and soapy in the outdoor shower on the other side of the barn.

Chapter Eight

It was amazing what a hot shower and some soap could do for a person. Lori felt like a new woman in clean skinny black pants and a red shirt. Knowing they were actually going into town, she’d pulled her makeup bag out and swiped on some mascara, blush, and lip gloss. The only clean shoes she had left were heels, so she picked a red and black pair with three-inch heels, slung her purse over her arm, and headed back out the porch to see if Grayson was ready to go.

He took one look at her and his scowl deepened. She would have scowled back, but she guessed it would irritate him more if she smiled instead.

She might have forgiven him for being a total jerk out there with the pigs, but it still smarted that he’d immediately jumped to conclusions and treated her as if she were a few brain cells short of a full set and couldn’t even manage her way around the simplest thing. She’d gone to dance school in California, but she’d turned down several Ivy League schools to do it.

Without saying a word to her, he headed for his truck. She shot an evil grin at his broad back. The trip to the General Store from his farm took about fifteen minutes, and she figured a quarter hour was easily long enough to get a little revenge for the way he’d acted in the pigpen.

As they headed down his long drive, she let herself study his profile. His cowboy hat was pulled down over his slightly long, dark hair and with the dark stubble already growing back in across his tanned jaw, he looked more gorgeous than ever.

Not to mention extremely unhappy to be stuck with her as his passenger.

Facing him rather than the beautiful view of the sweeping green fields outside, she asked, “Were you related to the people you bought the farm from?”

His jaw tightened, but he must have realized he was well and truly trapped with her in his truck because he said, “No.”

“Did you own a different farm somewhere else before you got this one?”

“No.”

She was tempted to pull a piece of paper and pen out of her bag to keep track of how many words he answered with during the next fifteen minutes. So far, she’d have a grand total of two.

“But you grew up in Pescadero, right?”