Page 19 of Small Town Firsts
And here I was babying twelve batches of mash to make the perfect cider. I had six buckets already fermenting. I could add more flavors to the base on the back end, but I was experimenting with a mix of the apples from the freezers for a little something more special.
Using frozen fruit accelerated some of the process, and the scorching heat of July made for an extra variable. The one nice thing about a lab was the temperature control aspect. This was an earthier and more back to basics situation, which made my blood hum and my brain whirl with the possibilities.
I lifted the top on one of my buckets and swore at the sludge inside.
“Fuck.”
But there were also more mistakes. Something must have happened to the seal or it had been a shitty batch of apples. I lifted the bucket and the handle snapped off, dropping with athunk on the floor, splashing the contents on me from crotch to neck.
“Motherfucker.”
I bent at the knees and lifted the whole damn thing up, hugging it to my applesauce-and-shredded-apple skin-covered chest before I hauled it out the door.
Thank God I’d opened the huge barn doors for some cross breeze. I was ten feet from the compost pile when the bucket slipped out of my hold again, splattering across the stone path, leaking into my boots, and pooling around my feet.
I stared up in defeat. “Fucker.”
The sun was high in the sky and blazing down on the entire mess, bringing out the bugs to add to the shit show. A sticky film congealed on every part of me.
I looked around for anything to help and suddenly a shot of cold water hit me square in the back.
I whirled around and Kira stood there with the hose dripping. She’d been watering the plants in the seating areas and had her hand over her mouth. She lowered her hand and I could hear the laughter bubbling up. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
I stalked toward her and she turned it back on, thankfully this time at a lower setting. But not by much. “I don’t want you to get stung. It’s for your own good, Ronan. There were bees.”
She ducked around the massive planter as I headed for her.
“Bees, huh?”
She nodded and held up the sprayer like a weapon. “Stay back.”
I swiped the water off my face as she backed up the walk. “You were just helping, right?” My voice was cajoling as I stripped off my dripping tank. My heavy Celtic cross stuck to my chest hair with the sticky, now soaking wet apple mash clinging to me.
“Right.” Her huge amber eyes were bright with laughter. “Absolutely.” She scratched at her cheek lightly. “You got something…”
I had a lot of something all over me. I pushed a chair out of my way and she squeaked, letting the water jets go on full blast at my chest. When the stream headed south, I managed to grab the hose and turn the blast upward, getting both of us in the process.
She shrieked and the threadbare cropped T-shirt she was wearing went nearly translucent as water dripped from our faces and chests.
After the initial shock, the water felt damn good. The hose was kinked and only let out a dribble of a stream between us. She looked up at me, her dark hair hanging in a wet hank along her makeup-free face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were gonna kill me.
Bronze colored now and dilated with the shock of the water and how close we were.
Her nipples beaded up as my fingers dug into the loops of her cutoff jeans, locking her in place.
It was just so she wouldn’t hit me with the hose again.
Bullshit.
I couldn’t resist the slice of skin above her jeans. My thumb slid across the silky flesh. It was tight with surprising muscles. She was lush and solid in ways that made me want to put her on my bench and see how strong those thighs really were.
Around my neck.
Around my hips.
I didn’t really care.
Her skin was wet and warm and now she was as sticky as I was. My knee slid between her legs as we lined up perfectly. I was a big guy and not used to women actually fitting against me.
