No More Secrets: A Small Town Love Story (The Pierce Brothers Book 1) (12 page)

He heard the quiet intake of breath, watched her part her lips. Saw her eyes zero in on his mouth. An invitation. An anticipation.

But if he kissed her now, he wouldn’t stop. And that wasn’t what he brought her here to do.

“Wait here. I’ll saddle the horses.”

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T
hey were the sexiest words ever uttered to Summer in her twenty-six years of living.
Wait here. I’ll saddle the horses.
She had almost kissed him, twice now. She had wanted to, desperately. But he had backed off.

And now she was on the back of the dainty Charcoal, plodding into the dusky evening behind Carter on his big bay, Romeo.

She was an emotional disaster tonight. Trying to do too many things to the point where everything felt like an emergency. And Carter’s simple declaration.
I’ll keep you safe.

He couldn’t. Not from what really threatened her. No one could. But somehow the words still loosened something in her chest.

Carter turned in the saddle to look at her. Without speaking, he pointed to the right where three deer strolled through the meadow. She shifted to get a better look. “They’re so small,” she whispered, not wanting to startle them. Charcoal’s ears twitched at her voice.

Carter nodded. “A mom with twins.”

In the dimming light she could just make out the spots. Fawns. She had never actually seen fawns in real life, just in cute email forwards.

She followed Carter past the white fence that divided pasture from crops and wound around a copse of trees. The leafy branches stretched and reached toward the full, orange moon hovering just beyond. The sky was layered with colors that had never touched the Manhattan skyline.

Crickets and fireflies sang and danced in the dusky light.

She followed Carter over a low, rolling hill. He stopped and Charcoal drew up next to Romeo. The creek bubbled below them, reflecting the colors of the sky as the sun began to set across the fields and woods.

“Wow,” Summer whispered.

Carter smiled. “Yeah.”

Charcoal shifted under her and Summer realized she had actually ridden here. On a horse. Without falling off and getting trampled. She was sitting on a horse watching an incredible sunset with a man who gave her butterflies. In the city she would have been working late most likely. Maybe heading out to a reception or a cocktail party. Or holed up in her apartment poring over blog stats.

This was better. This was perfect.

She reached over and touched Carter’s hand. He opened it and she interlaced her fingers with his. And together they watched the sun sink as the moon rose.

S
ummer had collected eggs — and gotten flopped by a chicken — boxed 250 shares of spring vegetables, and ridden shotgun on the fertilizer run for the acres and acres of corn. Her manicure was shot, and she was in bed by ten every night. Except the other night when Carter had taken her out for ice cream.

He hadn’t even let her change. They went into town and stood in line for the ice cream truck. She had been startled to note that most of the other patrons were in various states of undress, too, giving the line waiting experience the festiveness of a slumber party.

And yet, somehow, there was something stirring inside her. A contentment, a sense of security that made absolutely no sense to her. She was excited to wake up every morning. She couldn’t wait to get downstairs and see Carter. To walk the land with him, to watch him move through his world.

“I don’t know, Niko,” Summer sighed into the phone. “I feel like I’m missing the puzzle piece on this article. I can’t articulate the appeal of this place.”

“Maybe there is no appeal,” he yawned.

“Very funny. Although how anyone can live without fresh bagel and coffee delivery is beyond me,” she said, crouching down to examine a weed. “Sorry for waking you. I just had a break and forgot what it’s like to be human and sleep past six.”

“No, it’s fine. I have an early shoot at the museum. Romero’s in town for his exhibit’s opening and I have the pleasure of doing the meet and greet and a couple publicity shots. Where are you by the way?”

Summer stood up and looked around. Rolling hills, a hulking silhouette of the huge stone barn, and a tree line whispering with the warm breeze. “I’m in the middle of a soybean field.”

“Sounds horrible.”

“It’s really kind of beautiful. You’re going to love shooting out here.”

“Are you drunk on raw goat’s milk?”

“Very funny, smart ass.”

Nikolai yawned again in her ear. “How are you feeling otherwise? Are you taking it easy or being an idiot and pushing yourself too hard?”

“I feel ... good.” She really did. She was exhausted every night, but it was a satisfying fatigue that came from using her body. “There might be something to be said about not sitting at a desk ten hours a day.”

“Just make sure you’re not overdoing it.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I miss your face,” he told her. “Don’t fall for a farmer and forget to come home, okay?”

She thought of the other night. Of holding Carter’s hand in the moonlight. “I’ll do my best.”

Summer tucked her phone back into her jeans and finished her crop inspection before heading toward the little barn. Her job on this warm and bright Saturday — because apparently farmers didn’t take the weekend off — was to help Phoebe distribute the first shares of produce to their subscribers.

All 250 of them.

Phoebe had beaten her to the barn and was already double-checking the alphabetical list of subscribers against the contents of their crates.

“Good morning,” Summer called to her. “How’s Franklin?”

Phoebe pinked up and smiled. “Oh, he’s just wonderful. Thanks for asking. How are my boys doing with it all?”

“I think they’ll be okay,” Summer said evasively. They would be eventually. “Carter doesn’t seem to have any issues with him.”

“Carter doesn’t have any issues with anyone,” Phoebe said, checking off another box. “It’s the other two I’m worried about.”

“They’ll come around. They love you.”

“And I love them. Even when they act like fools. So I hear our Joey slapped the crap out of Jax.”

“She didn’t seem to appreciate his greeting,” Summer said, sliding the big barn door open to let in the sunshine.

“Those two are meant for each other,” Phoebe said, shaking her head. “They just don’t know it yet.”

“Maybe the Beautification Committee will work their magic,” Summer suggested.

“I hear they have someone else in their sights,” Phoebe winked.

“Can’t you set them straight? I mean, they have to understand that I’m only here for a few days. And in a professional capacity. I can’t just date the people I write about.” Summer crossed her arms in exasperation. “Why didn’t they pick someone from town?”

“Because my son doesn’t look at the girls in town like he looks at you,” Phoebe said, smiling at her clipboard. “If I were you, I wouldn’t fight the Beautification Committee. They usually know what they’re doing. Nice boots, by the way.”

Summer glanced down at her feet. She was happy to put them on every day and when she looked at them, she thought of Carter. And her heart did a little flip flop every time those gray eyes met hers.

“Here comes our first customer,” Phoebe nodded toward the pick-up that pulled up to the barn. “Let the games begin.”

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I
t was exhausting work, but Summer enjoyed it. People filtered in and out all day. Some in beat-up pick-ups, others in leather-seated SUVs. All, however, knew the Pierce family.

Blue Moon was an extension of that family, Summer saw, as Phoebe and then Jax greeted friends and doled out boxes of leafy greens and fresh produce. The residents were abuzz with the return of Jackson Pierce. The welcome was much warmer than the one Joey had given him.

Summer caught more than a few “innocent” questions about where Joey was and was she happy to have him back? With a lifetime of experience avoiding personal questions, Jax skillfully evaded even the most persistent visitors.

They were into their last hour of pick-up when a Mrs. Elvira Eustace popped by in her Prius.

“It’s a shame about Carson, isn’t it?” she whispered conspiratorially to Phoebe.

“What trouble has he gotten himself into now?” Phoebe asked, rearranging the last few crates.

“He broke his leg yesterday being a damn fool,” Elvira sighed, studying a radish. “He was trying to clean the gutter on his front porch and off of that ladder he fell. Right into the hydrangeas.”

“That stubborn-headed farmer. He’s what? Eighty years old?”

“Eighty-one last February,” Elvira corrected, smoothing down her salt and pepper curls. “Eighty-one and still climbing around on ladders. I guess that’s what happens when your kids grow up and move away.”

“Who’s going to help him out on the farm?” Phoebe frowned.

“He’s got a son and a nephew flying in next week. He was planning to harvest this weekend. I’m afraid he’s going to try to get it done himself with that big ol’ cast.”

Phoebe turned to Summer. “Summer, do me a favor and track down Carter, will you?”

Summer hurried off in search of the man who had been conspicuously absent from the day.

She found him taking soil samples of the cornfield.

“Are you hiding out here?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t see Willa or the Berkowiczes today.”

“There’s others,” he paused and took a swig from his water bottle. “So what’s up? Are you done already?”

“No, we still have half an hour for pick-ups. But your mom wants you. She’s talking to Elvira about someone named Carson.”

“I heard he broke his leg.”

“How did you hear out here in the middle of a field?”

“I joined that stupid fucking Facebook group.”

Summer snickered. “Come on. You can walk back with me.”

“And set off the town rumor mill? By the way, since I took you for ice cream the other night, they’re predicting a November wedding. You’d better walk ten paces in front of me and pretend you don’t know me.”

They returned to the barn, and it took Carter a good five minutes to work his way through the greetings before he made it to his mother. “This is why I don’t do pick-up day,” he muttered to Summer.

“There’s my favorite son,” Phoebe grinned, tucking her arm through Carter’s. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

B
lue Moon residents mobilized as fast as, if not faster than, the National Guard. They converged on Carson’s property in droves Sunday morning.

Those with strong backs and a working knowledge of farming equipment broke off with the Pierce brothers to tackle the winter wheat harvest. The rest descended on the house. Carson, who was indeed 81 and adorable in a John Deere hat and suspenders, was put in a seat of honor under the great oak in his front yard and waited on hand and foot while his house was cleaned top to bottom.

Summer washed windows and weeded the flowerbeds. She even helped Joey finish cleaning the gutters that Carson had started.

A pack of teenagers mowed the vast expanse of lawn while broken fence posts and loose shingles were replaced. Freezer meals aplenty arrived and were safely tucked away in the kitchen and the basement chest freezer.

Elvira stopped by with eight gallons of lemonade and six pairs of sweatpants with one leg cut off at the knee to accommodate Carson’s cast.

Rainbow Berkowicz popped in to lend a hand with his bill paying for the month while her husband Gordon cheerfully edged the flowerbeds and watered plants. Children chased the barn cats around the front yard and played on the tire swing that had seen more than one generation in its time.

By evening, everyone was tired, dirty, and happy. And Carson was speechless.

Franklin left his restaurant early and showed up on the farm with an SUV full of Italian catering, paper plates, and plastic utensils. A gentleman named Julius drove up in a ying-yang painted delivery van and dropped off a keg, several cases of soda, and even a few boxes of wine “for the ladies.”

A full-blown, town-wide picnic was being set up on the lawn when Carter and the rest of the harvesting crew ambled out of the barn to give Carson an update.

“You’re all set,” Carter said, clapping the farmer on the shoulder. “It’s all in the bins and we’ll come out and check the moisture levels.”

Summer watched Carson’s throat work as he blinked back tears. “I thank ya. I just can’t thank everyone enough.”

He was immediately surrounded by women of all ages fussing over him. Someone brought out a guitar and someone else a harmonica and in no time there was music.

Summer found Beckett sitting on the tailgate of a truck eating a plate full of pasta.

“That’s Franklin’s baked ziti you’re inhaling there,” she warned him.

“Damn it.” Beckett paused. He frowned at his plate, shrugged, and went back to devouring it. “Maybe he’s not totally a horrible human being.”

Phoebe, having the hearing of a mother of three boys, snuck up next to him and kissed him on the cheek. “That’s my favorite son.”

Summer wandered further across the lawn to the edge of the shadows where grass met field. Here she could watch the happenings. Her throat was tight and her heart full.

Community.

That is what she had been missing. With the article and possibly even beyond the words she had been searching for.

There were no strangers here. Only neighbors helping neighbors and having a damn good time doing it.

On impulse, she pulled out her phone and dialed.

Her mother answered cheerfully. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

Annette Lentz’s voice brightened. “Summer! I didn’t have my reading glasses on. I couldn’t see who was calling.”

“How’s Alaska?”

“Breathtaking,” she sighed. “Your father had me up at six this morning to catch a sunrise flight with the bush pilot he’s interviewing.”

“How is Dad?” Summer asked, already feeling the slick mix of guilt and anger churn in her stomach.

“Oh, you know your father,” she said lamely.

Summer certainly did.

“Now, where are you? I see on your blog that you’re on a farm somewhere?”