Page 69 of Extreme Romancing in Idaho

“Dadgummit, Remi.” I tugged on my helmet, more to hide my flaming face than for protection.

Remi burst out laughing. “Don’t you dadgum me,” he said in between his guffaws. “You’re adorable when you’re upset.”

I didn’t bother to respond and latched my strap around my chin. I, after all, was the grown-up in this relationship. Finding my goggles, chest padding, elbow and knee pads, and my pair of gloves, I hoisted my leg over the blue and black vinyl seat. Two solid kicks, and my bike roared to life. The handlebars were bent, so I aimed the tire in the right direction and rocketed forward, my back tire spitting gravel and dirt behind me.

Chapter 27

Remi

Ipushedthewoodenfarmhouse door open and stepped into the foyer. The lamp on the side table illuminated the piles of stacked mail, its green lampshade casting a garish hue on the papers. Without central air, the house had begun to warm with the rising afternoon temperatures.

Dust gathered in the corners, and seldom-used coats fell from the overloaded hooks onto the white shoe bench. Shoes, which had been stuffed under the bench spilled into the walkway, the dirt clods clinging to irrigation boots haphazardly dropped on the floor. Opposite the professionally cleaned house I’d grown up in, as sterile emotionally as it’d been clean, this place had become more of a home for me than the big house.

Voices echoed down the hall to me. Tony and Nora must not have heard the door. I tiptoed closer to better hear what they were saying.

“… should speak to him …” Nora’s worry carried into her voice.

“Out of options … Angie … love won’t …” Tony’s words rose and fell in and out of my hearing.

“What about Angie?”

“She’ll have to accept his offer,” Tony said, more adamantly this time, making it easy for me to hear him.

They both fell silent. The mantle clock next to the lamp ticked in the quiet.

Offer? What offer?

My mind immediately went to the conversation Smoot had with me about his plans for proposing. Plus, he kept showing up in the evenings and watching movies with her late into the night. Had she slept with him?

After the way she’d kissed me, how could she be placated by Smoot? I couldn’t stop thinking about our escapade in the mountains. It came with me everywhere—the shower, the grocery store. Memories of our kiss edged their way into my mind even when I was hanging out with the guys.

Myles hadn’t asked about the bike ride, and I hadn’t offered any information to him. How could I tell him I was screwing up our dreams by screwing around with the farmer’s daughter?

I threaded a hand through my hair. Smoot must have proposed. Angie had been working for a serious, committed partner, what I promised to help her accomplish. I should be elated. This meant I was one step closer to the freedom I’d fought for, yet it made me about as comfortable as a pimp at confession.

Tony apparently didn’t think she loved Smoot, but in the end it didn’t matter. Obviously, her parents thought she needed someone to take care of her after Tony was gone. Both monetarily and emotionally.

But they both underestimated their daughter. While it’d be nice for her to have companionship after her parents passed, she didn’t need anyone. Even if she got stuck in hell, she’d kick the devil out and tell him what was what.

Sneaking back to the front door, I opened it and closed it, loudly this time.

“I’m back,” I called into the home, a bit less enthusiastic than usual after overhearing their conversation.

“We’re still in the kitchen.” Nora’s voice echoed down the hall into the entryway. “Did the hardware store have all the parts we need?”

“Yep,” I called.

The pipes under the kitchen sink had started leaking, and under Tony’s guidance, I was fixing them.

The scent of fresh bread drew me down the hallway, through the living room, and on into the kitchen. Two hours had passed since lunch, and with my new workload, that meant I needed another meal. The heat of the ovens made the back of the house more unbearable than the front.

Papers, opened envelopes, Farm Frenzy and Skip-Bo playing cards piled on the table in front of Tony, where he’d parked his wheelchair. He scanned a piece of mail as I passed him, heading to the sink. Though he tried to disguise his discouragement, it was clear what he read wasn’t good news.

“You know anything about this Smoot fellow who keeps coming around here?” Tony asked.

Bitter gall burned my throat. They really had been talking about Smoot and Angie. “Not really,” I lied. I knew far too much about him. “He comes to our guys’ nights sometimes. Nice enough, I guess, but I don’t really trust him.”

For some reason, my answer had both Tony and Nora fighting smiles.

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