Page 19 of Extreme Romancing in Idaho

The sun sank low in the sky. Pastures, still cloaked in the yellowing leftovers of winter, contrasted with the freshly plowed fields adjacent to the neighborhood. I hugged my sweatshirt closer to my body in the cool air. This was my paradise—the one secure place in the world where I could be myself without judgment. Maybe that was why Remi’s presence here made me so uncomfortable. Remi was the alien invading my home planet.

A gust of wind carried the scent of the sprinkling we’d gotten this morning. Not enough rain to make me happy, but at least it was something to fill up the reservoirs and keep our canals running. I rubbed at my upper arms, trying to keep myself warm in the chill air.

“You cold?” Remi scooted next to me, set one of the slop buckets on to the ground, and started taking off his crisp jacket.

Detergent and fabric softener permeated the air every time he came close to me. He must have washed it after rolling in cow crap yesterday morning. I glimpsed well-toned muscles under his shirt. Once again, he’d worn another tight, white T-shirt. Had he bought those shirts in bulk when he’d applied for this job?

Taking a step back, I said, “I’m good.” But I couldn’t help softening a little toward him. In all my online and real-life dating, I couldn’t think of one time a man offered me his jacket.

Remi hung his coat on the fence. “Oh, I wasn’t giving it to you. I’m just starting to break a sweat.” He picked up the slop bucket, stepped past me, and dumped it for the pigs.

Scratch that. What a cocky son of a camel.

His immature behavior gave me more drive to break him. He’d do all the dirtiest, most strenuous jobs while I took my joyous time sitting in the tractor, listening to audiobooks while I prepped the fields for planting. He’d spent most of the day clearing the furrows in our gravity-irrigated fields, not a super difficult job if you had a tractor. But, of course, I made him do it without one.

Bracing his hands on the top board, Remi leaned over the panels of the pig pen and watched them eat.

“Don’t get too close to Ham, Pork Chop, and the Bacon Bits.” I pressed close to his side. “A couple years back, old man Peterson passed out in his pig pen. They ate him, bones and all.” I gave him a push toward the pigs.

Though he tried to hide it, he flinched and jerked back from the pen. I bent over and placed my hands on my knees, laughing at him. Hashtag: worth it. This was too easy.

“Go on.” I leaned against the wood-paneled fence. “Dump the other slop bucket in.”

Stepping forward, he tipped the bucket’s contents to the pigs, glaring at me the whole time. “I don’t believe you.”

I wiped tears of laughter from my eyes and moved into the barn. The crunching gravel behind indicated Remi stayed close.

“Fine, don’t believe me. Ask Google. The story made national news.” I glanced over my shoulder at him and strolled to my favorite outbuilding.

Four wood and wrought-iron stable doors stretched above my head to the left and right of me. All were empty save one, the one with Mae in it, my quarter horse mare. We’d sold the rest of the horses to cover some of Papa’s medical bills, but I couldn’t bear to part with her. Her stable connected to the green pasture, so she could choose to go in and out as she pleased.

Remi’s cell rang at the entrance. Despite the glow from his phone screen, a shadow passed over his features. “I’ve got to take this. Be right back.”

He strode a good distance from me, well away from the pigs. He kept his eyes trained on me. I stayed in sight for a bit, but then I moved into the dark interior, acting like I was straightening the harnesses. Once inside, I traipsed through Mae’s stable, shushing her on my way past. She plodded alongside me until we came to her pasture’s gate.

“Sorry, girl.” I slid through the opened gate, then closed it behind me, cringing at the small clanking noise the latch made.

I sprinted through the grass until I heard Remi’s low voice. With his back turned to me, his shoulders rounded over his phone like he created a cave of protection around his traitorous smart device. He turned in my direction, and I ducked behind a post.

“… quarterly dividends … profit margin …” His voice drifted through the wind. “… fair market … Yeah … great ROI … Don’t go there. Matthew will loop you in …”

Leftover rain droplets blew off the fence and smacked my skin. The edge in the stiff breeze should have frozen me, yet I broke into a sweat. Who the hell was he talking to? What was he talking about?

“… too aggressive of a timeline … I’m having to square the circle on this one …”

Curiouser and curiouser. Not one of the snippets I caught between the gusts computed with the man Remi presented himself as. He was hiding something from me. Maybe his presence had something to do with the companies circling like vultures around my land. Could Remi be a corporate spy?

I shook my head.

My latest psychological thriller audiobook must be going to my head. Corporate spies exist in a glittering world far too fancy for my farm. But if not espionage, then what could he be doing here? Why my farm? Why now? I was so lost in puzzling over him that I almost missed Remi ending the call and pivoting toward the doorway—my last known location.

I bolted to the barn.

Managing to race back to the bridle wall just as Remi meandered inside, I hefted Mae’s saddle from the bench to disguise the reason for my heavy breathing.

“Here. Let me.” Remi jogged to me and took the saddle. Its weight didn’t even cause him to strain. “Sorry about that. It was one of my exes.”

Without responding verbally, I gestured to the rack on the wall, afraid if I said anything, I’d accuse him of lying to me. In this case, my best play would be to stay silent, gather more evidence, and then confront him.

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