“Rachel? Rachel Howe?”
Rachel stopped and turned, frowning at first before a wide smile broke across her face. “Danny! Oh, my gosh. Look at you!”
“Look at you,” he said.
The man stepped from behind the counter and held out his arms. Dermot felt a surge of jealousy and watched warily as they greeted each other.
“What are you doing here?”
“Business,” he said. “I’ve got a solar-heating and wind-power operation I run out of Janesville.” He grabbed a brochure and handed it to her.
Rachel flipped through it, nodding approvingly. “Gosh, I haven’t seen you since high school.”
“I barely recognized you. I wouldn’t have except for that smile. I could never forget that smile. Are you back for a visit?”
“I’m running my parents’ farm now. We’ve got our goats over at the 4-H petting zoo.” She turned to Dermot. “This is my—my friend Dermot Quinn. He works at the farm. He’s visiting from Seattle.”
Danny held out his hand. “Danny Mathison,” he said, introducing himself. “Seattle. Great city. I’ve been there a couple of times.”
“Nice to meet you,” Dermot said, trying to sound friendly. He didn’t like the way Danny was looking at Rachel.
Danny quickly turned his attention back to her. “So, you’re living in the area. That’s good. And you’re still single?”
“Yes,” she said, a pretty blush staining her cheeks.
“Me, too. Hey, we should get together some night. Get some dinner and maybe catch a movie. Maybe play a little saxophone?”
“That would be great,” Rachel said with a laugh. “Everything except for the saxophone.”
“Then I’ll give you a call,” he said. Danny leaned close and kissed her cheek. “It was really great seeing you again. You’re in the book?”
“Right where I’ve always been,” she said.
“Good.” He grinned. “Great.”
Rachel said goodbye and she and Dermot continued on toward the parking lot. “‘That would be great’?” Dermot parroted. “‘Hey, we should get together some night.’ You know what he meant, don’t you? We should get together?”
“I think he wants to go out for dinner and a movie,” Rachel said.
“No, that’s not what he’s got on his mind. He’s thinking you’re all alone on the farm and he’s going to swoop in and show you a good time and he’s going to get some.”
Rachel laughed out loud. “Get some? Like you’ve been getting some?”
“No, not like that. With us, it’s a mutual thing.”
“And what makes you think it wouldn’t be a mutual thing with him?” Rachel asked, her eyebrow cocked up quizzically.
“So you want to go out with him?”
“Maybe. He’s an old friend, he’s kind of cute and he’s got a good job. And he is geographically available, unlike you.”
“I’m here.”
“But you won’t be in another month,” she said. “Am I supposed to live like a nun after you leave?”
“Yes,” Dermot said. “That would be exactly how you should live.”
“You’re jealous,” she said.
“Damn right I am.”
Rachel shook her head. “You don’t have to be. I’m not going to go out with Danny. I’m kind of having a little fling with this farmhand. And he takes up all my time and energy.”
Dermot grinned. “All right. That’s better. And what was that stuff about playing the saxophone? What did he mean by that?”
“We used to sit next to each other in band,” Rachel explained. She slipped her arm around his. “Gosh, I went an entire year without a single guy even noticing me and now I’ve got two interested. I don’t know what to do with myself.”
DARK CLOUDS ROLLED IN right after breakfast, and the rain came down in sheets. Rachel had hoped to bale hay now that she had someone to work the wagon. But with the rain, it would be at least another week before the cut alfalfa would be dry enough to bale.
Dermot had been out in the barn, trying to repair a broken gate, and she’d been tempted to join him. But they’d spent so much time together that she was beginning to find it hard to think about anything but him.
He’d been at the farm for three weeks and yet it seemed as if they’d already spent a lifetime together. She’d grown so accustomed to having him around, grown to depend on him when things seemed to get impossible.
But if the days were good, the nights were even better. Once the sun went down, they lived in a sexy, delicious dream in which Dermot Quinn turned her into a wild, wanton woman. A month ago, she’d fantasized about a man who’d pull her into his arms and kiss her without a second thought, but never, in all her dreams had she actually expected it to happen.
And though the sex wasn’t strange or kinky, it was powerfully addictive. When he touched her, there was always an earth-shattering reaction. She wanted him to brush aside her clothes and kiss her naked skin, to pull her to the bed and seduce her until she trembled at his touch. Until desire bubbled up inside of her and she begged him to continue. Until she was completely and utterly spent, rid of every last bit of need.
How could she possibly live without him? She stared down at her accounting book, then slammed it shut. Why couldn’t she just enjoy Dermot while he was here? Why did her thoughts always turn to the future?
“Forget it,” she muttered. The last thing she needed in her life was another complication. Though sleeping with Dermot was very pleasant and more than satisfying, it wouldn’t be wise to succumb to such a powerful addiction. She’d just have to keep her emotions in check. Falling in love with him would be the biggest mistake she could ever make.
Rachel reached out and grabbed the recipe for goat’s milk soap that Dermot had found on the internet. She stared at it for a long moment. He’d gone out and purchased all the ingredients, but left it to her to decide what she wanted to do.
She pushed back from the table and found her sketch pad on the counter. Her box of colored pencils sat next to it and she retrieved them both, then sat back down. She ought to work on her greeting cards, since she’d fallen behind on the publisher’s schedule. But she’d been toying with an idea for a label, yet was reluctant to put it to paper.
Was it worth the time? She hadn’t even decided to stay on the farm and this was a project that would require a complete commitment to a future at Clover Meadow. But then, doing a drawing wasn’t exactly going to cost her anything.
She bent over her sketchbook and began, focusing on the perfect balance of text, graphics and illustration. She wasn’t aware of the time, but when she was finished, she glanced up at the clock. She’d done the entire label in less than fifteen minutes.
“Nice,” she murmured.
Rachel found a bar of hand soap under the sink and wrapped the new label around it. Her parents would have loved the idea. Her mother might have enjoyed making the soap herself and her father would have been tickled to know that goat’s milk could be used in a new way.
The screen door squeaked and she glanced over her shoulder to see Dermot standing in the doorway. He was soaking wet, water dripping off his hair and puddling