Misadventures of a Curvy Girl (Misadventures #18)(7)

“So you farm their land?”

Caleb does this very attractive squint thing where he looks out over the Parry fields. It’s so unstudied and honest, and despite the roommate situation, something about it makes my toes curl in my flats, makes my belly clench low. There’s so much strength in it, so little fear of hard work and dirt, and I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s potent as hell.

“It’s a touch more complicated than that, but that’s the gist of it, yeah. I rent the land from them and farm it, since their kids aren’t interested in the business.”

“Is that what you’re here for right now?” I ask, nodding toward the house where we can see Mrs. Parry moving behind the windows. “Farm business?”

More squinting—this time at the storm. “I like to check on them before the big storms roll in. There’s a siren down in Holm,” he says, naming the nearest town about four miles off. “And another at the intersection of the county road and Highway 50. But they can be hard to hear if the wind really gets up, so I like to make sure they have their weather radios and flashlights and fresh batteries. Mrs. Parry has a basement, but Mrs. Harthcock only has a cellar, and she has trouble lifting the door sometimes, so I come by and open it for her. Just in case the storm gets serious.”

I stare at him for a moment, absorbing the fact that Caleb is not only handsome as hell, polite, and endearingly direct, but that he also takes time out of his day to go check on nearby widows. It’s like he came out of some Perfect Man machine.

His roommate is a very lucky man.

Caleb notices me staring at him, and he gives me an easy smile, although his hands are back to that restless flexing again. And that’s the moment Mrs. Parry emerges with a bag of jars, gives me a fond hug as if we’ve known each other for years, and lets Caleb kiss her on the cheek.

“I know the drill, son,” she says as he’s opening his mouth to say something. “I’ve got the weather radio on full volume and an arsenal of flashlights at the ready. Now you go tend to your work and let me tend to mine.”

Caleb gives her a final peck on the cheek, along with a sheepish you got me smile that makes my pulse race, and then heads back for the truck. I’m about to follow when Mrs. Parry catches my wrist.

I stop and turn.

“You would be good for them, you know,” she says softly. I’m about to gently deflect this, to find some way to hint to her that Caleb isn’t interested in a sweetheart because he already has one named Ben, when she says, “It’s more complicated than you think. Just keep an open mind.”

“Mrs. Parry, with all due respect, my mind is plenty open, and I completely understand what’s going on with Caleb.”

The smile she gives me is a little sad and a lot pitying. “You don’t yet. But you will. And I hope that plenty-open mind will stay that way when you do.”





Chapter Four





Caleb





Ireland seems pensive when she finally climbs into the truck. Greta nestles her head in Ireland’s lap without so much as a friendly lick first, and I find myself jealous of a damn dog. I want my head in Ireland’s lap.

I want to give friendly licks.

Lots of them.

Until she screams my name.

I’m both irritated and grateful Mrs. Parry mentioned Ben. Irritated because I wanted to ease Ireland into the idea, because I wanted to seduce her to it slowly. Bracket her with me on one side and Ben on the other and palm her ass again while he kisses the lavender lipstick right off her mouth.

God. That ass.

The moment I caught her tumbling out of my cab with that madness-provoking skirt riding up her thighs…the moment I realized I had my hand on one of her softest, lushest curves—and so close to her most secret place—I nearly lost it. My dick, already thickening from the mere sight of her, went fully erect in less than a second. It was everything I could do to keep myself from pulling her tighter against me and grinding that hot column of flesh into her round cheeks. Everything I could do to keep from sliding my hand from her bottom to the luscious lace-covered lips between her legs.

Especially after that choked-off oh she made.

Especially after she arched against me.

Had it been some other woman, I might have. Because I wouldn’t have cared what happened next. But I did care what happened next because I want more than a cheap grope with Ireland. I want to make her mine—make her ours.

Besides, Ben and I don’t start things apart. Or finish them apart, for that matter. So yes, I was irritated when Ben’s name came up, but I was grateful too, precisely because we don’t do things separately. I needed that reminder, and it was as good a time as any for Ireland to learn there is a man named Ben who I live with.

I do wish I knew what Mrs. Parry said to Ireland before she climbed into the truck, though. She’s very quiet now, and I don’t know her well enough to interpret her silence.

I’m going to do everything I can to change that. Starting now.

“Your car,” I say, giving a final wave to Mrs. Parry as we circle through the short gravel-speckled grass to go back down her driveway. “I can probably get it free now with my truck, but my concern is that it will get stuck in a different part of the road and you’ll be in the same mess. It might be easier if we plan on coming back tomorrow or even the day after.”