Page 3 of Cider Kissed By the Mountain Man
“Did you just call me clumsy?” That eyebrow arch should’ve come with a warning label. It was the look women gave when they were about to destroy you with a smile.
“If the face-plant fits.”
Her eyes narrowed, and I swear I saw her cataloging my weaknesses like a military strategist in yoga pants.
“Oh, you absolute—” She caught herself and took a deep breath. “You know what? Fine. Maybe I am clumsy. Maybe I do trip over my own feet more often than I care to admit. But I also have a master’s degree in education, five years of experience keeping small humans alive, and enough determination to make your life miserable until you cooperate.”
Make my life miserable.Miserable didn’t usually come with perfume and a smile that made my spine buzz. She didn’t even have to touch me to mess with my day—just stood there like a walking, talking change in the weather. “Is that a threat, Ms. Foster?”
“It’s a promise.” She smiled sweetly. “I’ll be here every day next week learning everything I need to know about this place. You can either help me or watch me stumble around and probably break something expensive. Your choice.”
Leaves rustled in the silence between us, and it felt like the orchard itself was holding its breath. I didn’t know if I wanted to argue, kiss her, or bolt for the shed. Probably all three.
The smart play was to send her packing. But my body wasn’t interested in smart. My body wanted her everywhere she didn’t belong—knees in the dirt, mouth on mine, wearing one of my flannel shirts and nothing else.
I was going to regret this. I already knew it.
“Fine,” I heard myself say. “One week. But you follow my rules, do what I tell you, and the first time you become more trouble than you’re worth, you’re gone.”
The smile that spread across her face made my chest tight.
“Deal,” she said, extending her hand.
Her fingers were smaller than mine, warm from the sun, soft from whatever lotion second-grade teachers used. And for one stupid second, I didn’t want to let go. I turned it over and traced the small red lines that marred the smooth surface from her fall. “Make sure you put something on these,” I ordered, dropping her hand and stepping back. “Be here at seven tomorrow. And wear boots.”
She glanced down at her sneakers, then back at me with that challenging look. “Anything else, boss?”
“Yeah. Try not to break your neck on the way to your car.”
She winked. “No promises, boss.”
I watched her walk away, sneakers crunching through gravel and leaves, hips swaying like she knew damn well I couldn’t look away.
And just like that, I was done for.
CHAPTER TWO
Abby
Trent Lawson looked like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than dealing with me for another morning.
I could see it in his posture as I picked my way across the uneven ground toward the main big shed at exactly seven o’clock the next morning. He stood there, shoulders tense, arms crossed, that scowl that could curdle milk already firmly in place. His slightly long dark hair was damp at the ends as if he’d already worked up a sweat—or stepped out of the shower.
That image made my insides flutter, and I stumbled, almost going down again.
I wasn’t usually this uncoordinated. Yes, gravity was my mortal enemy on a good day, but I wasn’t normallythismuch of a disaster. Apparently, devastatingly grumpy orchard owners were hazardous to my already questionable coordination.
And honestly? This wasn’t fair. No man should look that good with damp hair and a worn flannel shirt barely past sunrise. It was like fall had handcrafted him with an apple scent and unreasonable biceps.
“You’re late,” he said as I approached, not moving from his position blocking the door.
I checked my watch. “It’s seven oh-one.”
“I said seven. Not seven oh-one.”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” I stopped in front of him and tilted my head back to meet his eyes. God, he was tall. And broad. Like a sentient pine tree with anger issues and…okay, abs.
Focus, Abby. You’re here for the children. Not the chest.
