IMAGINING THE PATCHOULI-WEARING GRANOLA eater with theGive Peas a ChanceandCoexistbumper stickers, Liam raised his fist to knock on the door. It was a shame really, but he should have known when he found out about Sourwood Farm that it would be run by someone with a skewed view of reality. He just prayed they didn’t let their bias bleed over onto the veterans they were supposed to be serving. It was hard enough coming home after the things they’d seen. They didn’t need some kind of tree-hugging hipster spouting off nonsense about the wages of war.
Even the guy’s name bugged him.Andy.Like the kid inToy Story. Dude probably had one of those man buns. And tribal tattoos. Nothing screamed overcompensating louder than a white guy with indigenous ink.
Before his hand hit the door, it opened, revealing a petite dark-haired woman with hazel eyes that shifted from green to gold and back again in the light. He’d bet money she wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup, but with her inky-dark lashes and the blush coloring her cheeks, she was so beautiful, he sucked in his breath and had to remind himself to let it out again.Hell, the man bun dude had spectacular taste.Andy was a lucky son of a bitch. Unless she was just visiting the farm.Please, let her just be visiting.
Not that he was interested. Despite the fact that the Southerlands—first his client and now his boss—seemed to run eyes wide-open toward true love, it wasn’t for him. He wasn’t a Southerland and the last thing he was interested in was some kind of fairy tale. He just hated to think of a woman like the one staring back at him wasted on the kind of guy who drove a bumper sticker-covered station wagon.
The woman looked at him like she was trying to work out whether he was dangerous or not. He should say something.Talking would be good. Words and shit.
“Can I help you?” she asked while he did his best mime impersonation.
Images of all the things she could help him with flooded his mind and he clenched his fist to fight the delicious onslaught. From the wary expression on her face, it didn’t look like that helped his effort to appear harmless.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m here to see Jake Minton,” he said, deliberately relaxing his hand and aiming for what he hoped was a friendly smile and not a scary sneer. Christ, it wasn’t like him to get twisted up in front of a woman. “I’d like to talk to the owner, Andy, too, if he’s available.”May as well make sure the guy wasn’t doing anything to make things harder for Jake.He could tell from the email, his buddy was still wrestling demons. He sure as hell didn’t need someone feeding them. Or judging him for doing his duty, for doing things that others were unwilling or unable to do to keep the civilized world safe.
“I’m the owner,” she said, sticking out her hand. “Andy Stuart. It’s too soon to tell if it’s nice to meet you or not.”
Well, damn.That’s not at all how he expected this day to go. The pictures on the farm’s website had all been of the gardens and goats. It never occurred to him Andy might be a woman. He intended to keep that bit of misogyny all to himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking her offered hand and doing his damnedest to ignore for a moment how good her smaller hand felt in his. The calluses on her palm scraped against his, but juxtaposed against her decidedly feminine slender fingers, they only added to her appeal. “I shouldn’t have assumed. I’m Liam Rogers. Jake contacted me.”
He wanted to say something about how getting to know each other would be a pleasure—he’d make sure of it—but he still felt tongue-tied. His buddy Gabe would know exactly what to say to the beautiful chestnut-haired woman with the great curves and even better eyes. He’d find a way to turn it around so she was laughing and looking at him with interest instead of like he was something unpleasant left on her back porch.
There was no way in hell he’d admit it to anyone, but Liam had envied his friend a lot of things over the years: his easy life, his time in college chasing co-eds while he’d been hunting down extremists, his nightmare-free sleep. He’d never envied Gabe’s way with women—not really. His friend was a player, or had been until he met Berlin and she knocked him sideways.
But Liam never had trouble attracting female attention. The muscles and brooding demeanor were like catnip to women. Hell, even the scar bisecting his eyebrow seemed to help. Women built their own story about his tortured past without him having to say a thing. And then set about trying to heal him—usually with their lips. Which worked fine for a night or two and by then he was ready to move on. He could tell by looking at the woman pinning him with her too-perceptive gaze, none of the normal bullshit would work. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t interested in anything more than the occasional good time. Long-term relationships were filled with landmines, and he learned a long time ago to avoid them whenever possible.
“Don’t leave the nice man standing in the doorway all day.” An older woman with a face that appeared lined from years of smiling reached around Andy and grabbed his arm with her surprisingly strong grip.
She tugged on him, determined to get him into the room. He could have held steady, but her purpose matched his. He also didn’t mind the fact that it forced the younger woman to move and seemed to make her uncomfortable. He wasn’t about to look at why, but he liked the idea of throwing her off-balance.
“You come on in here. I’ve got zucchini bread and there’s a fresh pot of coffee,” she said, steering him to a chair at the head of the worn farm table. Despite her stooped form, the woman was a force of nature. He’d hate to pit himself against her. And he liked zucchini bread.
“Millie, he came to see Jake, not visit with us.” Andy hovered around, clearly not comfortable at the table with him. The other options, helping Millie with the coffee or standing in the middle of the room, didn’t seem to suit her any better.
“Don’t be silly. Everyone has time for a cup of coffee.” She set a big chunk of dark, moist bread in front of him, and he breathed in the warm, spicy scent. “Let him eat and then you can run him out to the back pasture. What do you take in your coffee, darling?”
Liam glanced up at the older woman and met her smile with his own. He didn’t normally like being mothered, but for people who were still hurting, he definitely got the appeal. And he could absolutely get used to the attention.
“Just black, please,” he said and watched her forehead crease in a scowl. She shook her head and went to fill a mug.
“What did I do wrong?” he asked when Andy circled closer to the table. He pushed out one of the chairs with his foot and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when she sat.
“Millie thinks if you don’t take milk in your coffee, you’re doing it wrong.”
“Well, you are,” said the older woman, setting a thick, white mug of black coffee in front of each of them. “Both of you.” The tone of her voice sounded like she was scolding them, but she couldn’t hide the crease of a smile curving her thin lips.
The older woman took a chair opposite and kept her gaze glued on him until he started to feel like one of those bugs stuck to the foam core at the Natural History Museum. He finally broke off a chunk of zucchini bread and popped it in his mouth so he’d have something to do with his hands. The sweet, spicy taste hit his tongue and he bit back a groan of pleasure. When he glanced back up, the older woman grinned at him, her smile turning her wrinkled cheeks into smooth round apples.
“You like it,” she said, telling him instead of asking. “Good. Finish up and Andy can run you back to meet your friend. Then both of you come back here for lunch.”
He didn’t even consider protesting. He doubted the old woman cared what he had to say and whatever she had on the stove smelled too good to pass up. Besides, he wanted a chance to get to know Andy better. He’d been planning on talking Jake into taking off to go fishing for a few days—maybe a couple of weeks if his friend needed it. It wouldn’t hurt him to slow down long enough to eat lunch.
“Yes ma’am,” he said, chasing the delicious bread with a swallow of coffee.
Either she’d eaten her slice earlier, or Andy was one of those women who thought they looked better when they tried to live on lettuce and air. He really hoped it was the former. Chronic dieters were exhausting. He’d much rather share a pizza and beer with a woman than have her watch him eat. And he liked them in almost every form they came in, from naturally skinny to generous curves. Although he had to admit, Andy’s lean muscled shape might be his favorite.
“Ready?” she asked, looking at him like he’d gone off the rails somewhere.
