If he had his way, when she was done with her work for the day, she’d head into town...and keep going.
“Wait,” she said suddenly as she looked down the drive, “where’s my car?”
“It wouldn’t start this morning. I had it towed to the shop.”
“So—” She finally looked daunted by something. “—I’m stuck here with you now?”
Did she have to remind him? “Just until Sam fixes your radiator and whatever else you busted on my fence post.” He led her over to the pigs, pointing out their feed and showing her where the hose was. “Whatever you do, make sure you latch the gate all the way, or the pigs will destroy my crops.”
He gave her some simple instructions on how to muck out the pigs, then left her in her fancy jeans and inappropriate shoes to deal with the dirtiest animals on earth.
Chapter Seven
After growing up with six brothers, Lori knew her way around mud and dirt, and wasn’t particularly squeamish about it. Still, as she surveyed the pigs from outside the fence, she had to admit that she’d never seen a mess quite like the one in the pigpen.
She knew Grayson had chosen this task to see whether she’d get all girly about it and quit, and now a part of her wondered if he had already been out here this morning watering everything down so that the pigpen would be extra wet and squishy. But at breakfast he’d been covered in wood chips, not mud, so she knew that was just her lingering frustration with his little sermon on silence at breakfast.
Grunting. That’s what his last farmhand had done rather than speak. And Grayson had liked it that way.
Frankly, she was glad that she could get down and dirty with the pigs this morning, if for no other reason than to let off a little steam. She’d always worked out her frustrations by dancing before. Today, she’d just have to work them out with some stinky, snorting pigs instead.
She opened the gate and took a careful step inside. Of course her ballet slipper sank nearly all the way into the mud. After carefully latching the gate, she turned back to the crew of pigs facing her, a half dozen or so in the large pen. They were actually pretty cute, but bigger than she’d realized. Fortunately, they didn’t look the least bit threatening. Maybe a little curious about who the stranger was, however.
She figured she’d get them their water and feed and then when they were busy chowing down, she’d work on mucking out their stalls. Moving slowly through the mud, she was halfway across the pen when she stepped in a particularly slippery spot and her feet almost slipped out from under her.
Years of needing to stay on her feet no matter what had her quickly righting herself and widening her stance to make sure she wouldn’t fall again. She was just about to start heading forward when she looked up and saw one of the pigs making a beeline toward her, much more quickly than she could have ever believed possible for such a stocky animal. Its little hooves were powering through the mud and its curly tail was wagging.
The next thing she knew it was pushing between her legs and lifting her up off the ground. “Hey!” she exclaimed as the pig kept on moving through the mud with her stuck to its broad back. “What are you doing?”
But she already knew, didn’t she? The pig was having a fabulous time carrying her off through the pen...with all of its friends watching with eager eyes, probably vying for who would be next to mess with the total greenhorn.
And then, just as quickly as she’d been hoisted off the ground and onto the pig’s broad back, she was unceremoniously dumped on her rear in the mud with a hard splat.
She sat in the mud for several moments as she worked to get her breath back from where the ground—and the very mischievous pig—had knocked it out of her. Only, when she looked down at herself completely covered with mud, and thought about just how ridiculous she must have looked riding bareback on a pig, instead of getting upset she started to laugh.
Who knew working on a farm could be so crazy? So full of mishaps? Or that a bunch of stinky, unruly pigs would be the ones to get her laughing again? It reminded her of when she and her brother Gabe and twin sister Sophie would go out and make mud pies in the backyard after a storm when they were kids.
The sad truth was that Lori hadn’t felt like a kid in a very long time. Not until today, when the pigs had made any chance at being anything but a messy, muddy buddy of theirs an impossibility.
Of course, getting down to the pigs’ level only made her more interesting to them, especially to one of the babies who had started snuffling around at her face.
“Hey, cutie,” she told him, “maybe when you’re a little bigger you could sweep me off my feet, too.” She stroked his snout. “I have always loved a guy in pink with a little facial hair.”
She could have sworn he gave her a grin as she slipped and slid while getting back up on her feet. And as she went about her duties while singing a pop song that the pigs seemed to like despite her horribly out-of-tune voice, she made sure to keep her legs close together to stave off any more impromptu pig-riding trips around the pen.
* * *
Grayson could easily have spent the rest of the day focused on the new roof he was putting on the cottage, but he needed to check up on Lori. Not, he told himself, because he missed seeing her since breakfast, but because letting her work on his farm was like keeping a box of fireworks next to a roaring fire—you never knew when one little spark was going to light off the whole damned thing.
That was why he’d told her to work in the pigpen. How much damage could she possibly do there?
As he approached the pigpen from a distance, he couldn’t miss that she was covered in mud. Even though he figured that should have been the last straw for her, he could hear her singing in a godawful voice as she petted one of the pigs, her little bottom wiggling back and forth as she all but danced around in the mud.
He’d never met anyone like her before in his life—a city girl who would sing and dance in the mud with the pigs, rather than bailing on the hard, dirty work. With every passing second that she remained on his farm, he could feel her not just getting under his skin, but going even deeper. Just as she had the previous night when he’d heard her crying in bed.
God, he hoped she didn’t cry again tonight. Because if she did, he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to keep from going to her and pulling her into his arms and kissing away those tears.
Grayson was about a hundred feet away from the pigpen when he saw something big and pink out of the corner of his eye down by his strawberry patch.