Page 29 of Forever with the Farmer's Daughter
I lift my head from where it rests against his chest and look up at him. “I’d love to.”
Cameron leads me from behind the counter out to a small area near the old jukebox. He drops a quarter in the slot and makes a selection. Seconds later Kenny Rogers’s voice gently breaks the silence with one word. Lady. Cameron holds out his hand and I place mine in his. Drawing me into his arms he tucks my hand against his chest, and we begin to sway to the music.
When the music ends, Cameron continues to hold me, still moving as if the music still plays in the dimly lit room. My head still resting against his chest, I smile. “People are going to talk if we keep dancing without music.”
“Nah, besides, we’re the only ones here.”
Startled by his statement I raise my head and look around to confirm we truly are the only ones remaining. “Huh, when did that happen?”
Cameron chuckles. “The fellas at the bar left after we got our sundaes. Captain and Mrs. Lawrence left while I was showing you the ice cream machine.”
“How did I miss that, but you didn’t?”
Cameron shrugs, his arms now loosely holding me. “The Army trained me to be observant. Your back was to them; they placed the key on the bar and left quietly. We can go, if you’d like.”
I smile, shake my head and step closer to him. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like another dance or two.”
He reaches out and tenderly caresses my cheek. “Yeah, I think that can be arranged.”
The extra dances I requested, turned into another hour of being in Cameron’s arms. I wasn’t complaining by any means, it had been a long time since I felt cherished. Cameron had planned a night I would never forget, and maybe, if I allowed it, there would be many more.
Cameron
Ipull Uncle Ken’s truckalongside the white fence separating the dairy barn from the farmhouse and shift into park. I pick up the box holding three jars of pickles Aunt Jane insisted I deliver to Mrs. Kincaid, although I do sense she has an ulterior motive. Subtlety has never been one of Aunt Jane’s specialties.
After our date Friday, Samantha and I went out again Saturday night and Sunday after church she invited me over for dinner with her family. Monday morning, we began harvesting cucumbers, and though we’ve talked either on the phone or through text, I haven’t seen her in a few days.
As I walk toward the house, the sound of metal striking metal followed by a frustrated growl fills the air. I halt all forward motion and turn to see Samantha’s denim-covered backside as she stands on the front tire of the tractor bent over the engine. Enticing images flood my mind, but I tamp them down, so I don’t embarrass myself.
I sit the box of pickles down on the porch step and change directions. I wait until I’m within earshot before speaking to not startle her. One more whack from the wrench in her hand has me feeling sorry for the old Ford. “What did that tractor ever do to you?”
Failing at not startling her, Samantha jumps hitting her head on the engine cover while losing her footing. My arm wraps around her waist as I catch her and set her on the ground.
Eyes the color of topaz find mine as she rubs the back of her head. “Cameron, what are you doing here?”
I look down and shuffle my feet. “Well, I was trying not to scare you, but that didn’t work out so well.” I lift my hand to check her head but reconsider and lower it back to my side. “Are you okay? Want me to take a look?”
Samantha flashes me a quick smile, “It’s fine. It’s just a bump, no blood,” she says as she pulls her hand away and shows me. “See?”
“Good, but you should still put some ice on it.”
“I will, promise. You didn’t answer my question, what are you doing here?”
I swing my gaze back to the porch and point to the box sitting on the step, “Aunt Jane and Aubrey have been canning pickles all day, they asked me to drop off a few jars to you all.”
She smiles. “How sweet of them, tell them thank you for me.”
“I will. I apologize again for scaring you,” I say as I gesture toward the tractor. “I thought I may be able to help you out or at least save the tractor from another beating.”
Her cheeks flush. “I’m trying to replace a hose, but the bolt holding it in place is stuck.”
“Did you try WD-40?”
Samantha pops her hip as she glares at me. “Yes.”
I chuckle. “Sorry, I should have known that would’ve been the first thing you tried.” I hold my hand out for the wrench, “May I?”
“Be my guest,” she says, placing the wrench in my hand. “I’ve been working on this tractor most of my life, you’d think she’d help a girl out. I got one side off but this one wouldn’t move.”
