difference does it make to you?”
“She’s got a nice piece of land there,” Harley told him. “And there are folks that are interested in having that land for themselves. In fact, there’s probably going to be quite a little bidding war if she ever decides to sell.”
“Well, she’s not going to sell,” Dermot said. “So you can let all those interested folks know that they can stop being interested and find themselves something else to do with their time.”
“Seems like you’ve made yourself very… comfortable over at Clover Meadow,” Harley observed. “We’re all taking bets on how long you’ll be staying.”
“Who knows?” Dermot said. “Maybe I’m not going to leave at all.”
He strode back to the pallet on the loading dock and tossed the last three bags of feed into the truck, then jumped down and got behind the wheel. He had dropped Rachel at the post office and they planned to do the grocery shopping after that. But Dermot was beginning to feel that this small town was just a little too small for him.
Maybe it was natural that people were curious about what was going on at Clover Meadow Farm, but he still didn’t care for anyone drawing conclusions about his relationship with Rachel. Yet why should it make him angry? Dermot cursed beneath his breath.
She’d have to live here after he was gone. People would talk, and gossip was never good for a woman’s reputation. Hell, he’d been the one to put all that at risk. Maybe she would have been better off with that Danny guy from the county fair. At least he was geographically available.
Dermot steered the truck toward the main street of Mapleton, his mind going through everything that had happened between Rachel and him. It had seemed so simple that day they met. They were both adults, both curious about the attraction between them, both willing and able. But in retrospect, Dermot hadn’t thought beyond the initial gratification.
If he really cared, then he wouldn’t have been so cavalier about moving into her bedroom. He pulled the truck to a stop in front of the post office and waited, peering at the front door through the passenger window. A pair of older women passed by on the sidewalk, and when they saw him, they immediately turned to each other and began talking.
Frustrated, Dermot pressed on the horn, startling the old biddies and sending them scurrying. A few seconds later, Rachel emerged. She ran down the front steps and he reached over to open the passenger side door. She settled herself in the seat beside him.
“We need to talk,” he muttered.
“This is from some lawyer that my brothers have hired.” She held up the envelope. “Registered mail. They want to have me removed as executor of my father’s estate. They’re saying I exerted undue influence on him when he wrote his will. They want to force me to sell the farm.”
Dermot gasped. “Jaysus, Rachel. Can they do that?”
“I—I don’t know. I can’t afford to hire a lawyer to find out. Do they think I wanted this? He made me promise, on his deathbed. I love the farm, but I don’t know if I want to spend my life there.” She covered her face with her hands. “Maybe I should just sell. It’s three against two. Eddie and I are the only ones who want to keep the farm in the family.”
He reached over and pulled her into his arms, then noticed the people standing on the street watching them. With a soft curse, he turned the ignition and started the truck.
Once he got out of town, Dermot followed the signs for a small county park that they’d passed a number of times. He headed down a quiet tree-lined drive and pulled the truck off into a parking lot, overlooking a picnic shelter. Reaching for Rachel, he drew her into his embrace.
When the tears suddenly came pouring out, he wasn’t sure what to do. Hell, he wasn’t really sure why she was crying. Was it because of the letter from the lawyer, or was she just so tired that anything would put her over the edge?
He stroked her back and whispered to her, softly telling her what he thought she needed to hear. When she finally quieted, he drew back and looked down into her watery eyes. “It’s going to be all right,” Dermot murmured. “We’ll figure this out, I promise.”
His hands lingered on her hips as his gaze fell to her mouth. Sniffling, Rachel leaned forward and touched her lips to his. “Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For being the only one that seems to care about what I want.”
“Sweetheart, that will never change. No matter what happens, you can always count on me.”
She nodded. “How is it that you’re still single? Why hasn’t some woman married you and made you an honest man?”
“I don’t know,” Dermot said. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right woman yet.”
“When you do, she’s going to be very lucky.”
Dermot slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her body against his. He took his time, focusing on the feel of her lips beneath his, waiting for the silent cues to her need. His lips touched her left eyelid and then her right, kissing away the tears. “Tell me this makes you feel better.”
She sighed deeply as he kissed her temple. “Yes,” Rachel said. “It feels good.”
He hooked his finger beneath her chin and tipped her gaze up to meet his. And then he kissed her again, his tongue teasing at her lips before gently invading her mouth. But this kiss was meant to tempt her, to show her that this wasn’t just about desire. Rachel wrapped her arms around his neck and surrendered, and Dermot felt a familiar rush of heat course through his body as he pushed her back against the passenger door.
His hands slid down her waist to her hips, then circled to smooth over her back. How would he ever do without this? He’d come to crave the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her mouth, the scent of her hair. Dermot knew that he ought to step back, to regain his perspective. But everything about her drew him deeper, until he felt as if she were the only lifeline in a whirlpool of unfamiliar emotions.
He slowly eased away, bracing his hands on either side of her body. Was he falling in love? Everything about this woman made him want to protect her. It wasn’t about his own pleasure anymore, but about her happiness. And yet, Dermot wasn’t even sure he’d know love if it hit him over the head.
He just barely remembered his parents, how they laughed with each other, how they’d share a secret moment when they thought no one was watching. Was that love? Because he had all of that with Rachel.
“You said we needed to talk,” Rachel said at last.
“About what?”
Dermot shook his head. “Nothing. It was… nothing.”
Rachel grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back down on top of her. She reached for the buttons of his work shirt, dropping kisses on each bit of exposed flesh.
There were moments when they couldn’t seem to get close enough. His hand moved to her breast and she moaned softly. Dermot grazed his thumb across her nipple. He watched as she arched against his touch, her breath coming in quick gasps and her lips damp.
He had three
