Page 5 of Stalked By the Farmer

"Should be fine." He nudges a stray weed with his boot. "You've been putting in a lot of hours. Don't overdo it."

"I'm fine." The words come out too quickly, too sharply. I soften my tone. "I appreciate the concern, but I can handle it."

"You don't have to prove anything to anyone." His gaze locks on mine, seeing too much. "You're already one of the hardest workers I know."

A flush of pleasure wars with my irritation. I stare at the weeds, wrestling inwardly. Part of me craves his praise—the other loathes being treated like some delicate flower in need of coddling.

Before I can respond, he adds, "Well, I should head back. Let me know if you change your mind about helping with the alfalfa."

I give a jerky nod, unable to meet his eyes. As his footsteps recede, I sag against the fence post, equal parts relieved and bereft at his leaving.

Why does he have to make everything so complicated? My feelings for Conner are a tangled mess, as unruly as the weeds I'm trying to contain. But some things can't be rooted out so easily. And the truth is, I'm not sure I want them to be.

* * *

Nightfall finds me in my garden, sweat cooling on my skin as I kneel amid the dirt and dying light. I've been out here for hours, attacking weeds and pruning vines and rearranging trellises, trying to lose myself in the work.

It's not enough. My thoughts keep straying to Conner, replaying our conversation on a loop. The concern in his voice. The intensity of his gaze. The way my pulse leapt at his praise, hungry and ashamed all at once.

With a sigh, I sit back on my heels and wipe the dirt from my hands. The air is soft and scented, filled with the chirps of crickets awakening in the dusk. My little patch of earth is as tidy as I can make it. There's nothing left to distract me from the turmoil inside.

I imagine what it would be like to tell Conner the truth. To confess this aching desire I carry for him, secret and deep as the roots that anchor these plants. A tremor runs through me, equal parts longing and fear.

What if he felt the same? We could build something real and lasting, nourish it through the seasons like I do this garden. But if he didn't...if I laid my heart bare, only to have him recoil...it would lay waste to everything we have. Our friendship. The solace I find in him. The hope I cling to on lonely nights like this.

The risk is too great. Better to keep my love banked and hidden, a seedling suppressed. Conner can never know. I hug my arms around myself as shadows gather, alone under the darkening sky.

CHAPTERTHREE

Conner

The air crackleswith electricity and laughter, the scent of fried dough and hot dogs filling my nostrils. Crowds swarm around makeshift stalls and spinning rides, their excited shrieks drowned out by upbeat pop music blaring from towering speakers.

Ever since we were kids, Misty and I have come to the county fair together. It's just another excuse to spend time together, so I'll take it.

Misty bumps my shoulder, a wide grin splitting her face. "Want to give the water guns another go?"

Heat floods my cheeks at her touch. I shove my hands in my pockets, scanning the row of carnival games. "Nah, let's try something else. I'm still drying out from last time."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh come on, I went easy on you."

"Is that right?" I nudge her toward the ring toss. "How about we make a little wager on this one then?"

Misty smirks, cracking her knuckles. "You're on. Loser buys the winner a funnel cake."

My pulse thrums as I fork over a handful of tickets to the attendant. I already know I'm going to toss the game just to make her happy and buy her dessert.

We each grab a set of rings, sizing up our targets. Misty lines up her first shot, tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth. My cock hardens in my jeans, imaging what that tongue can do.

Jesus.

The ring glides through the air in a perfect arc, landing square on the neck of a milk bottle.

Misty fists pumps the air, spinning to face me. "Your turn, Mitchell. Think you can do better?"

I laugh. God, I love seeing her happy like this. Then, I send my ring flying. It bounces off the rim of a bottle, clattering to the ground.

Misty's laughter shines, light and teasing. "Better luck next time!" She hip-checks me playfully. "Now, about that funnel cake..."

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