Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“I love it here.”
I cupped her cheek, and she turned, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Especially now,” she added, her voice warm and soft.
“I want you happy. I want you to stay. Let me do this. Trust me enough to allow me to help.”
“Okay.”
Bending forward, I kissed her. Softly. I let her feel what I was feeling in that moment.
Then Abby ran in.
“Eww…again?” She scrambled up on her chair. “Can we have cobbler, or are you gonna keep kissing?”
I grinned against Quinn’s mouth. “Both, I hope.”
She pulled back, touching my bottom lip. “I’d say your chances were good, Farmer John.”
“Excellent.”
The days passed, somehow more quickly than before. My life seemed busier. Fuller. I realized it was because of the addition of two special people. Quinn and Abby were a constant now. I would drop by the restaurant for lunch. Go to Quinn’s place in the evening, or she would come to the farmhouse. We saw each other most days. The ones we didn’t seemed lonelier somehow. The more time we spent together, the closer we became. Quinn was more relaxed, the smile on her face now reaching her eyes. She was adjusting to her new life and seemed to love small-town living. Her friend Cathy came to see her, and I met her, seemingly getting her approval. We made plans to have dinner together with her and her husband one night. I knew the two women spoke on the phone often, and I was glad Quinn had a friend close by.
Abby resembled all the other kids her age. Running around, her feet dirty, hair mussed, and enjoying the freedom of summer and living a life without the boundaries her father had constantly placed on them. Her childish laughter rang out all the time. She was affectionate and open.
When I said so to Quinn, she had winked at me. “You’re pretty affectionate and open, too.”
She was right. Since the day she had kissed me at the restaurant, I’d had no issues pulling her in for a hug when I would see her. Kiss her tempting lips. Run my hand through her silky hair if I had the chance. She often laughed as I hauled her by the straps of the denim overalls she loved to wear to get her close enough to kiss, regardless of who was watching. At first, people seemed shocked, but now, they barely looked. It was the same with Abby. Anytime she saw me, I was greeted as if I’d been gone for months instead of a day, at times, even a matter of hours. They each made me feel special for different reasons.
And they made me smile more than I could recall doing my entire life.
My only complaint was the private time I got to spend with Quinn was rare. A few stolen hours after Abby fell asleep. The occasional late afternoon when Quinn was finished working and Abby was at a playdate. I couldn’t get enough of being with Quinn. Touching her soft skin. Tasting her. Being buried inside her. Hearing her whispers, the low gasps of delight, the long moans, and the way she breathed out my name as she climaxed.
I was addicted.
But I knew I had to be patient. She was still finding her feet after her horrible marriage, and I grappled with trust at times. We knew we needed to allow time to heal and find our footing together in this relationship.
Some days were harder than others.
Summer heat began to build, and the fields needed extra attention. I was preparing the new land for a crop of fall rye. It was the right location on the property, and the produce had lots of usage. Quinn and Laura had worked the old garden, and I had rebuilt the fence around it to keep the animals out. Vegetables were growing, the plants once again thriving. My gramps would be thrilled to see it.
Watching Quinn work in the garden brought back so many memories. My grandmother tending the plants with Gramps beside her. My mom in the garden, helping. Me learning so much.
I wiped my forehead, peering up at the relentless sun. I turned the hose to my head, letting the cold water run over my scalp and face. It felt good. My shirt was soaked when I shook my head, the water scattering huge drops everywhere. The sun would dry it soon enough. It had been a solid week without a break in the high temperatures. Shading my eyes, I looked over the fields, worried about the water usage, the crops surviving, and work we needed to do to ensure it. I looked back at the garden beds, wishing a hose and a few moments of water worked the same on the large acreage, then shook my head at the thoughts.
If wishes were horses…was a saying my gramps would mutter when a neighbor wished for rain, for more sun, for whatever they needed at the moment. The truth was, all a farmer could do was keep working, tending, and praying. I knew that all too well.