Page 62 of Extreme Romancing in Idaho

“Yes.”

I believed her answer about as far as I could spit. “Sure, you do. Sounds more like a prison to me.”

“Not all of us have the luxury of being a nomad with a helmet on our backpack.”

I paced toward the tractor but then spun back to face her, ready to call her on her bluff. “If you’re so satisfied with your life, why did you lie to Smoot?”

Her mouth opened and closed without any words coming out. I had her in checkmate.

“And you’re the expert in honesty, huh?”

So, she wanted to go down that road.Okay, Angie. I’ll see your argument and raise you one.“And you’re looking for meaningless sex? I’m sure there are a lot of guys around here you could put a lot less effort into, and they’d give you what you want.”

“You’re awful.” She left me by the tractor and marched back to the truck.

But I wasn’t about to let her off that easily. “What about my tractor lesson? You can forget about dirt biking …”

She stopped. I had her trapped. In a few more weeks, I’d have her maneuvered into a corner, begging me to buy her land. This thought didn’t give me the pleasure it should have. Tearing Angie’s entire life apart was never my intention. Would I be willing to destroy her to make my dreams come true?

“Fine.” She shoved me toward the tractor. “Get in.”

I climbed into the cab. Dirt puffed into the air as I sat on the cloth seat.

“Make sure that level is pulled to the N—that means neutral.”

I laughed. I’d driven a Formula One race car, and here I was being told what the big N meant on the gear shifter. Angie continued to describe all the nobs and symbols to me, taking pleasure in treating me like my brain was a piece of leather not even big enough to saddle a flea.

But when she sat in the small cab on the armrest next to me, I couldn’t focus on anything but my arm grazing her thigh anytime the tractor bounced. Doing her best to avoid all contact, she was coiled as tight as a rattler about to strike. Formula One or not, I kept mixing up the forward and back pedals, giving us both whiplash.

My abysmal driving couldn’t be blamed on me; it was Angie’s fault. Her and her distracting softness, smell-goodness—her absolute lack of patience. She wouldn’t stop talking. Telling me to watch out for this and watch out for that. We traveled at a breakneck speed of five miles per hour, in danger of premature death.

She told me about her expectations of how the tractor was to be parked. Bucket flat on the ground. Gear in neutral. Implement lever on zero. Key off. Words constantly spilled from Angie’s mouth, a habit I’d become accustomed to. Usually, it indicated she was uncomfortable. I took my hand off the wheel, brushing it across her thigh in the process of reaching for the lever that lifted the attachment being drug behind the tractor.

Instead of slowing down her instructions, more words poured from her. “… you’ll want to be comfortable raising the implements behind the tractor while you keep forward progress. The more you keep the tractor moving ahead, the more you get done in a day. I always listen to the radio or something while I’m doing tractor work. Of course, you don’t have to … You can do what you want. As long as it’s not reading … we don’t have those radar automatic …”

She spoke ten words a second with gusts up to fifty. Yet another piece of the Angie puzzle I’d figured out. The tractor bumped back and forth, causing my hand to shift to a higher position on her thigh.

She jerked from me, and our heads cracked together in a particular jostling turn.

“I think I’m done.” Angie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Shut it off.”

I rubbed the side of my head, which had connected with her forehead. I cut the engine and lifted Angie’s chin to see if I’d caused another wound on her eye, praying at the same time there wouldn’t be blood. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Why did I feel like I’d be saying that again on a much grander scale? The hard edges around her eyes softened under my scrutiny. I carefully shifted her hair from her eyebrow, checking the cut and for any other damage. My rough, tan fingers stood out against her porcelain skin, near flawless in complexion.

The cab grew smaller as I ran my fingers along her forehead and down her cheek. The pulse in her neck picked up pace. It was all I could do not to tilt her head back and … her breaths shortening into smaller gasps gave her away, no matter how she tried to pretend she wasn’t affected by me, no matter how much she pretended to be pissed at me.

Her mouth dropped open, and I couldn’t resist the pull between us any longer. I tugged her close to me and dipped my lips toward her.

But she stopped me with a hand to my chest. “Remi. I … uh … I …” She stammered but didn’t attempt to move.

My lips hovered an inch from hers. Her breath fluttered against my skin. “Am I good to help with cutting the hayfield next week?” I whispered.

“Oh.” She shoved me against the opposite window, snatched the keys, and climbed out of the cab.

“I take that as a yes!” I hollered after her, laughing as she ignored me and stomped the entire way to her truck. Guess I’d be walking back to the house again.

Chapter 24

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