“I promise to show you a really good time.” At that moment, she was ready to promise Dermot anything. She was blissfully happy with life on the farm, and the way she looked at it, life would only get better.
4
THE GOATS FROM Clover Meadow Farm were one of the biggest attractions at the county fair. Dermot and Rachel delivered six nannies and three kids safely to a pen designed by the local 4-H group and staffed by friendly high school students.
Dermot leaned up against the fence and watched as Rachel spoke with a young boy, showing him how to feed one of the kids a handful of corn. She smiled and laughed as the goat nudged the little boy’s hip, looking for more treats in his pocket.
They’d been together for just over a week and his desire for her hadn’t cooled. After their first time at the creek, they’d indulged at least once a day, sometimes twice, finding a private hour or two outside of the workday.
Either Uncle Eddie had been too distracted to notice what was going on or he didn’t care. But Dermot was beginning to think that Eddie might be holding out hopes that Dermot would choose to stay at the end of his six-week term. He’d found more time to train Benny the goat to do little tricks.
Rachel glanced up at him and he winked at her. She looked so pretty, dressed in a pale blue sundress and a wide-brimmed straw hat. He’d come into her world here at the fair, a world that he was completely unfamiliar with, and he’d seen the respect the children and teenagers had for her.
Rachel wasn’t the typical farmer. In truth, she was probably a role model for many of the girls, a single woman trying to make it on a farm all by herself. One of the girls walked over to her and Rachel put an arm around her as they spoke. She laughed and Dermot smiled to himself. She was the prettiest woman at the fair, that much was certain.
“So, I’m done here,” she said. “We have the rest of the afternoon to ourselves. What would you like to see first?”
“I’ve kind of liked watching you,” he said, taking hold of her hand. “You’re pretty amazing.”
“Thanks,” she said. “But you see me every day. I think we should start with food. Funnel cakes first, then cream puffs.”
“What is a funnel cake?”
“You’ll see,” she said. She unlatched the gate on the pen and slipped out, one of the goats nipping at her skirt as she left.
They walked hand in hand down a long aisle of food trucks. There was fresh lemonade and deep-fried cheese and corn dogs and cotton candy. Every trailer they passed had something that Dermot wanted to eat. When they reached the stand for the funnel cakes, he looked at the picture and wrinkled his nose.
“What is this?”
“It’s really good,” she said. “You’ll like it, I promise.”
“It looks like a pile of poo. What are you going to make me eat?”
“It’s deep-fried batter. Kind of like a donut only shaped like a little mountain. And they cover it with powdered sugar and you eat it while it’s—”
“I think we need to go back to that place with the deep-fried cheese. I’ve developed a real fondness for cheese.”
Rachel ordered a funnel cake, then held it out to him. Dermot reluctantly took a bite. The dough was hot and crispy and it melted in his mouth. “Oh, God, that’s, like, the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
She looked at him and giggled. “You have powdered sugar all over your face.”
“Do I?” Dermot grinned. “Kiss it off.”
Rachel grabbed a napkin and wiped his face. “You behave yourself,” she warned. “Or I’ll have to take you home early and put you to bed.”
They sat down on a picnic table on one of the covered patios and continued to pick at the funnel cake. “I found something that I want to show you,” he said.
Rachel glanced over at him. “What is it?”
“An idea. I know it’s really not my place, but I’ll just mention it and you can do what you want with it.”
She watched him warily. “All right. What is it?”
He reached into his pocket and withdrew the bar of soap, setting it in front of her. “This is goat’s milk soap. They’re selling these at a booth for five dollars a bar. They make the soap with pretty ordinary ingredients. It’s not difficult. You could do it in your kitchen.”
“You want me to make soap?”
“Not necessarily. I think you could market soap. It could bring in some extra money for the farm. Maybe make things a little easier.”
“What’s the difference between selling it and marketing it?”
“The soap could be made somewhere else. But you could design the packaging and then market it to natural-food stores and bath boutiques using the farm’s name. It’s really all about the packaging and you could do a nice job with that.” He shrugged. “I guess, if you’re interested, I could do some research for you. See if it would be profitable?”
She stared down at the bar of soap, turning it over and over in her hands. “I—I don’t know. It is a really good idea. I—I just don’t know if it’s right… for me.”
“I just thought if you were going to stay, this might be something that…” He forced a smile, then reached out and took her hand. “I want to help you, Rachel. I want you to be happy.”
Rachel nodded, then stood, smoothing her hands over her skirt. “I think we should see a little more of the fair.”
Dermot tried to read her mood. She seemed open to his suggestion, but at the same time, she looked sad… or worried. He wasn’t sure which. It wouldn’t have to mean more work for her. Maybe he hadn’t explained it the right way.
Her mood lightened as they ate their way up one side and down the other side of the food area. By the time they finished, Dermot was stuffed. Though he enjoyed fine dining in some of Seattle’s best restaurants, he had to admit that this was one of the best meals he’d ever eaten. Considering the company, he wasn’t surprised.
“Exhibits next or rides?” Rachel asked.
“Not rides,” he said. “I need to give myself some time to digest.”
She laughed. “I’ve never seen anyone eat so much.”
“I wanted to try everything,” he said.
“We haven’t even started with the brats and sweet corn yet.”
Dermot draped his arm around her shoulders. “What I’d really like is to go home. I’d like to take off all my clothes and turn on the fans and lie down on your bed and spend the rest of the day… digesting. Oh, wait, I meant to say kissing you.”
“One more thing,” she said, taking his hand.
They finished their day with a ride on the Ferris wheel, enjoying a rare moment of quiet together as they were swept up above the crowd and then back down into the bustle. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head.
“This was a good day,” he murmured, Rachel tucked in the crook of his arm.
“It was,” she said.
“I think I tasted everything.”
“We didn’t even get to the baked potatoes. And there are chocolate éclairs and barbecued chicken and grilled cheese sandwiches and—”
Dermot groaned as he put his hand over her mouth.
“Stop.”
Rachel