Page 11 of Extreme Romancing in Idaho

“I’d like to take the job,” I said, even though she hadn’t said anything about a position being available.

She eyed me up and down. “You?” she asked. Then she laughed again.

I frowned and tugged at the end of my jacket. Maybe Agnes, Mitch, and Joe had led me astray with my wardrobe. Did I not look the part?

“I’m sorry.” She covered her mouth.

“Look. Even though I currently live in Dallas, I’ve worked on land my whole life.” I stuck to the truth even though I’d stretched it like a snake sunnin’ on a rock. I’d worked on purchasing and developing land since childhood, not actually ever putting a shovel into dirt. “But still, I want to experience Idaho farm life while I’m here. I’ll work for free.”

Nora waved her hand again. “We don’t accept any charity. You’ll be paid a fair wage. Ten dollars an hour.”

I didn’t react to that number. I hadn’t made so little since elementary school. Obviously, coming up with a wage of any kind would be a sacrifice for them. “Sounds good.”

“Angie’s out in the field,” Nora said, pointing through the front window, where a tractor kicked up dust in the broody weather. “Why don’t you head out there? Use our truck. The keys are in it.”

“Thanks, Ms. Nora.”

“Nora’s fine. Angie’s going to love this.”

Her laughter gained strength as I opened the door and stepped outside.

Chapter 4

Angie

Iwasburiedina cowpie up to my neck, and the only way I could get out of it was to lie my ass off. But then that kept me securely in the manure. Countless people lied when they dated online, yet I’d never actively participated in catfishing.

That was what I was: a filthy, bottom-dwelling catfish. When I’d told Lili, Gabby, and Ryan on shift at the hospital, they’d busted a gut and instructed me to lighten up. It was easy for my friends to get entertainment out of this situation when they weren’t the ones performing fabrication acrobatics.

My tractor hit a rock, and my head bounced into the ceiling.

“Ouch!” I yelled over Garth Brook’s voice coming from the speakers.

Smoot knew his stuff. Apparently, he and his buddies were BASE-jumping fools. He also paraglided, rock climbed, rock-crawled, sky-dived, kite-boarded—whatever the hell that was—and zip-lined in the rainforest. He’d even rappelled down Lincoln’s face at Mount Rushmore during his stint as a park ranger.

Currently working as a skydive instructor, he lived and breathed extreme sports. He also owned a cabin in Pine. Smart. Motivated. Successful. More than ready to settle down. These were all things I’d been searching for in a prospective partner, so I couldn’t let one teensy thing, like my fear of anything remotely dangerous involving heights, ruin our potential future.

Far out of my comfort zone, I couldn’t keep pretending much longer, either. I didn’t know the lingo, the necessary gear, and, most importantly, I didn’t have the experiences to back up my lie. Normally, I’d ghost him. But what if he wasthe one, and I let him go because I was a coward?

Old Angie would back away. New Angie did research and talked about barrel racing and rounding up the cows as much as possible. He found that fascinating, but already he was asking to FaceTime. Could I be this fabricated woman without the aid of Google?

Remi, the guy from the airport, popped into my mind. The helmet strapped to his backpack and his carefree attitude said it all. He lived for extreme sports … and women. I still couldn’t stop memories of his tight body, and the way he’d helped my parents, from sneaking into my thoughts.

Why would I waste time thinking about him? His true colors shined as bright as a neon sign. All those texts from different women? I stuck out my tongue and made a puking sound. Men like him who toyed with women, who used them solely to satiate their needs, were the scum of the Earth.

It was like two different men resided within him. The kind man who helped the elderly, and the devilish douchebag sitting in the car next to me. The caring man had to be fake as a plastic plant.

Shoving Remington James the Third out of my thoughts, I neared the end of the row and slowed the tractor. The bouncing tires jolted my seat. In one sweeping motion, I U-turned, dragging the plow in the opposite direction. A giant cloud of dust billowed behind me like I was vacuuming the field.

The water was going to be turned on in a couple of weeks. My favorite day of the year was when the canals filled. With it, the valley shook off the dust of winter and sparked back to life.

Yet before the floodgates opened, the plowing, fertilizing, and planting in all our fields needed to be finished. I’d be working the farm every minute I wasn’t at the hospital. Then watering would begin, and I’d disappear into fricking early mornings, working until long after the sun dipped below the horizon.

How was I going to do this without Papa? And keep up with my nursing job?

At first, I’d gone into nursing to help Papa when he was first diagnosed with cancer four years ago. But when the time came to pick my specialty, I couldn’t work on the cancer floor. Day in and day out, watching patients live through what I was going through at home. No. Emotionally and mentally, I’d break.

So, I’d picked babies—fresh, new lives full of endless possibilities. Of course, I also knew a hell of a lot about cancer, especially the colon kind. Colostomy bags and chemo—weight loss—pain—we’d been through it all, and now it was back.

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