The Mighty Quinns: Dermot. Kate HoffmannЧитать онлайн книгу.
FARM offered Dermot a chance to find out a little more about his beautiful new boss. Her widowed father had died the previous year and she’d come home three months before his death to help care for him. She had two older brothers and an older sister and had worked as an artist in Chicago.
When she pulled off the road and into a driveway, Dermot’s attention turned to his new home. Clover Meadow Farm was right out of the movies with its red barn, fieldstone silo and white clapboard house. The old Victorian sat back from the road, surrounded by a grove of tall maple trees. A smaller stone house stood behind it, a ramshackle porch running the length of the facade.
An old man sat on the porch of the stone house, his wrinkled brow furrowed, his dark eyes observant. A small black goat sat on his lap, also watching warily.
“This is it,” Rachel said as she hopped out of the truck.
Dermot grabbed his bag from the back of the pickup before following her across the yard. He felt something tug on his leg and glanced down to find the little goat nibbling at the bottom of his jeans.
He stepped away, but the goat was undeterred. “Hey, cut that out.”
“Benny, shoo,” Rachel said. She looked at the old man on the porch. “Do not let that goat in the house again, you hear me?”
The old man slowly stood. “I hear you. Who is this?”
“Uncle Eddie, this is Dermot Quinn. I just hired him to help out on the farm. He’s got six weeks with nothing to do. I figure we can get him to help us finish some of the repair work around here.”
The frown on the old man’s face grew deeper. “Dermot Quinn? What kind of name is that?”
“It’s Irish,” Dermot said.
“Lemme see your hands.”
Dermot dropped his bag and approached, holding his hands out, then flipping them palms up. “I’m a hard worker. I’m strong and I’m not afraid to get dirty.”
“Can you milk a goat?”
Dermot gasped. “No. But I’m sure I could learn if you showed me how.”
“Don’t worry,” Rachel said. “We don’t milk by hand. We have machines for that.” She smiled at her uncle. “Eddie, I’d like our new worker to take the bedroom upstairs in your house. Do you have any objections?”
Dermot shook his head. “Hey, I don’t want to put you out. I can sleep in the barn if—”
“No problem,” Eddie said. “I’ll be able to keep an eye on him. You step out of line, mister, and I’ll run you off with a load of buckshot in your behind. I’ve done it before, don’t think I haven’t.”
“Come on,” Rachel said, walking up the steps. “I’ll show you your room.”
She held open the screen door and Dermot followed her inside. They climbed a narrow staircase to the second floor and she pointed to a door on the left.
“Has he really shot someone?” Dermot asked.
“Yes. Shot at someone. He wasn’t aiming to hit him. Just chase him off.”
Dermot frowned. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. But as he followed Rachel up the stairs, his gaze fixed on her backside, enhanced by a pair of jeans that hugged her curves. No, he’d definitely made the right choice.
“This is the original farmhouse,” Rachel explained. “It was built in 1870 by my great-great-grandparents.”
She opened the bedroom door to reveal an old iron bed, covered by a colorful quilt. An overstuffed chair sat in the corner, its upholstery worn, and the wall above the bed was covered with old pictures from the turn of the century. Faded flowered wallpaper covered all four walls. An old chest of drawers and a vanity sat near each of two windows.
“My great-grandparents lived here, too, before they built the big house. My grandparents lived here after my parents took over the farm. My grandfather was born in this room.” She drew a deep breath. “It’s nothing fancy. No air-conditioning, but I’ll bring you a fan from the house.”
“I don’t need anything fancy,” he said. “This is really quite nice.” He’d always heard that farmers’ daughters were supposed to be beautiful, but he hadn’t expected this.
Though she wore faded jeans and a tattered shirt, Rachel Howe was a stunner. Her honey-blond hair was pulled up into a crooked ponytail and tied with a scarf and she wore absolutely no makeup. Yet, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. And obviously farming was good exercise because she had a body that any trainer would be proud of.
“There’s a bathroom downstairs,” she said. “Just off the kitchen. No shower, just a tub. There are showers in the barn. Probably better to use those rather than upset Eddie’s routine.”
“He doesn’t seem to like me much,” Dermot said.
Rachel laughed. “He’s not so bad, once you get to know him. And a word of warning. Don’t let him talk you into helping him get rid of the skunk living under the corncrib. He’s got some kind of vendetta going on, and the last time he got sprayed, he stunk for a week.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dermot said.
“I’ll just open a window and get some fresh air in here.”
Rachel managed to get one sash up, but struggled with the other. Dermot crossed the room and reached around her to offer his help. But the moment their bodies brushed against each other, he realized how close they actually were. The window flew up and Rachel fell back against him.
Holding on to her shoulders, he turned her around. Their gazes locked for what seemed like an eternity. Though he knew it was probably a mistake, Dermot’s instincts took over and he bent close and brushed a kiss across her lips. When she gasped, he quickly stepped back, cursing his impetuous move.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m… I shouldn’t have done that.” He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “Shit. I don’t usually—”
“I liked it,” Rachel interrupted.
“What?”
“Don’t be sorry. I wanted you to kiss me.” Her cheeks flushed and she smiled nervously. “A single woman living on a goat farm doesn’t often get the opportunity to kiss an attractive single man.” She paused. “You are single, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely,” he said.
She gave him a dubious stare. “Really?”
Dermot held his hand to his heart. “I swear.”
“Oh, my God, why?” she asked. “A guy as good-looking as you could have any woman he wanted.”
“I guess I just haven’t found the right woman yet.”
“Well, you’ve come to the wrong place,” she said with a laugh. “Mapleton, Wisconsin, is not exactly crawling with beautiful women.”
“I found one already,” Dermot replied. “And I’ve only been here a few hours.”
This brought a deeper blush to her cheeks. “You have the job. You don’t have to flatter the boss to keep it.”
“You’re beautiful, I’m charming. I think we’ll get along just fine.”
Rachel seemed to enjoy the back-and-forth banter between the two of them and Dermot realized that being stuck in Mapleton, Wisconsin, might not be the worst thing in the world. He had a roof over his head and a sexy woman to occupy his thoughts. If the food were decent, he’d be set.
“Well, I’ll let you settle in. We’ve got a few hours before we start milking. We milk the goats twice a day, 5:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m.”
“Right,” he said warily. “I suppose they don’t milk themselves.”