Page 31 of Extreme Romancing in Idaho

Angie

Theorangejuiceshookin my hand, and I tried to hide it from my parents, who were both fixated on me. Cold scrambled eggs and a half-eaten piece of sausage remained on my plate. They often made breakfast for me for dinner since that was the real start of my day. I wanted nothing more than to crawl back into my bed and sleep for a week.

Medical bills kept arriving in the mail. We would drown in them. Papa had taken the risk of not insuring himself or my mother. He’d kept Jared and I insured while we were kids, and as an adult, I had coverage through the hospital. Of course, after the initial hit of his diagnosis, he’d gotten health insurance, but we still had to foot sixty percent of the cost.

If we didn’t have a good harvest this year, we’d go bankrupt. It was the rhinoceros in the room we never discussed. I picked at the peeling, light-orange finish on our round oak table, a product of the early nineties. Like most of our furnishings in our hundred-year-old farmhouse; it was ‘antique.’

“We’re worried about you, dear,” Mama said, continuing a conversation we had started before my nap. “You can’t keep going like this. Let Remi help you more. Having him feed the chickens is great, but that’s something I can manage.”

She and I both knew she couldn’t do anything aside from care for Papa. She’d given up running the grocery store, turning it over to one of her managers until she found a buyer. If she could make sacrifices, so could I. As independent as Papa desired to be, he couldn’t be left alone.

Remi had proven to be my challenge the entire week and a half since he’d entered my life. He’d managed to let the cows out twice, given the pigs the chicken scratch and the chickens the pig feed, bent the truck’s tailgate when hooking up the cow trailer,andhe’d sunk the four-wheeler in the creek.

Even with me having to stop and save Remi from himself, I’d managed to get the last of the fields planted except the corn field. And not a moment too soon, as water was due to start running in a few days. Thankfully, corn didn’t need watering for at least the first month it was in the ground. The hay and winter wheat had been planted last fall. Seed and fertilizer costs exceeded my expectations, but I didn’t have any choice.

With all this on my shoulders, it was no wonder I hadn’t had time to worry about my date with Dan. It was tomorrow, and I hadn’t even had time to practice throwing axes. I got three hours of sleep on the days I worked at the hospital. In the mornings, I planted the fields, then I’d come in for a late lunch and nap before my shift at seven … which didn’t leave much time to do anything else.

“Would they let you go down to part-time, just during the farming season?” Papa asked.

He’d eaten less than usual tonight. Even with the fire raging, he wore his red flannel fleece. I missed Papa’s large belly, as his willowy form seemed out of place at our table of two robust women. The red fabric drowned him. It had holes in it from burning weeds and snags from barbed wire, yet he wouldn’t let us buy him a new one. The jacket was so old, I remembered holding onto it as a little girl while I trailed behind him moving pipe. I treasured those days.

“I’m sure they would, but we need the money.” I stifled a yawn and waited to speak until it passed. “I’m doing okay. I wouldn’t risk my patients’ lives if I thought I was a hazard.”

Mama stood and started clearing the table. “Okay. As long as you promise to take care of yourself, we’ll let you keep working.”

I ground my teeth together.Letme work.Although my parents’ hearts were in the right place, they made comments like this all the time, as if I wasn’t a grown woman. I only lived here with them because Papa needed my help to run the farm—and now I was the one running the whole crap-tastic operation. I threw the rest of the orange juice back down my throat, but it didn’t burn like I wanted it to.

“Mama. What was the point of me going back to school if I don’t work as a nurse?” Walking to the sink, I rinsed my cup and put it in the dishwasher. I started to do the same with my plate and froze.

“Here. Let me do that. I don’t know where we would be without you, Angie darling.” Mama grabbed the plate, but I didn’t let it go.

My focus had shifted to the backyard, where Remi swung the splitting maul high above his head and slammed it down. The log split in two, and he retrieved the pieces, placing them back onto the stump.

The problem was—or possibly as luck would have it—he was doing this … shirtless. The day had been atypically hot for early April. My jaw sagged as the water continued to flow in the sink.

“What are you lookin’ at?” Mama bumped me over so she could see out the small window above the sink too. “Oh.” She shut off the faucet but kept her eyes glued on Remi. “Holy bats.” Mama’s expletive exited her mouth with a soft rush of air, almost inaudible.

I raised her holy bats to holy guacamole … then to a full-on holyshit. This guy actually worked for me? Cords of muscles flexed in unison with Remi’s repeated motion. He surprised me by being proficient at splitting wood since he’d struggled with other simple chores on my list.

His skin glistened in the evening sun, and his muscles were as glorious as Thor’s. If possible, he was even more beautiful than another hot Chris, Chris Hemsworth. Remi was real and in front of me—something I could touch, not just an over-the-top celebrity crush. Heaven only knew I had plenty of those.

I’d already determined Remi, and I could never have a future together with his distaste for marriage and how much he irritated me, but while I was stuck with him, I could still appreciate the view. As much as I hated to admit it, I’d come to admire far more than his looks. First: I respected his dogged determination. Second: his sense of humor, as I doubted he was ever serious. Third—Gah! He even had me making lists in my head.

I stood on my tiptoes to get as close to the window as possible. “Do you suppose I should tell him we have a hydraulic log splitter?”

Mama shook her head with wide eyes. “Why would we do a silly thing like that?”

Remi paused, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, and glanced in our direction. We ducked to either side of the window, the plate crashing into the sink, cracking in two.

“What was that?” Papa asked from the table.

“Nothing,” I said.

“I dropped a plate,” Mama called to him at the same time.

And then we both peeked out the window at Remi one last time. He’d leaned the splitting maul against the stump, and much to my disappointment, he’d slipped back into his T-shirt. Mama cleaned up the plate while I walked back into the dining room, where Papa was still trying to eat.

He set down his fork and met my gaze. Mama walked into the room, wiping her hands on a towel.

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