“Let me make sure I understood what you just said,” she offered as she started deftly washing off the plates, her hands looking too elegant to be so efficient. “You don’t like to talk to or interact with people. And I love both those things, which you find annoying.” She shot him a glance. “Do I have that right so far?” When he just stood there and stared at her, she said, “Do you also agree that it’s doubtful that either of us is going to change anytime soon?” At his continued silence, she said, “No, don’t bother using up one of your precious words. I already know the answers.”

This was it. This was where she was finally going to accept that she needed to leave so he could get a real farmhand. Grayson was sure the relief was going to come any second now. After all, hadn’t that been what he’d been wishing for since the first moment he’d set eyes on her—for her to go?

He had to work like hell to ignore the voice in his head that told him he’d been wishing for a hell of a lot more than that...and that most of his wishes had Lori naked and reaching for him.

“It seems to me,” she said in a considering tone as she turned off the faucet and began wiping the plates dry with a clean dish towel, “that we’ll just have to agree to disagree.” The sunny smile she followed that inane statement with nearly knocked his feet out from under him, giving her enough time to quickly segue into, “So now that I’m almost done washing up, what do you want me to work on first?”

He’d never been a big talker, but that wasn’t why he didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t believe anyone could be this stubborn. Delusional was another good word for it.

Why wasn’t she packing up her things and leaving already? Under any other circumstances, he would have done it for her, but the memory of the way she’d cried in her bed last night was still too fresh in his head.

Somehow he needed to find something for her to do that she couldn’t screw up. Even better, something that would convince her she was not meant for the farming life. Toilet brushes and chickens hadn’t daunted her...so what would?

His lips almost moved up into a smile as he hit on it. “Pigs.”

She couldn’t hide her immediate look of horror. “You have pigs?”

He couldn’t believe how difficult it was to keep the grin off his face. There hadn’t been much cause for smiling these past few years, not until an irritatingly beautiful stranger had shown up and declared herself his new farmhand. Fortunately, he would have bet his farm that she was going to hate dealing with the pigs, with all their mud and mess—and their surprising intelligence.

“They need fresh water and feed.”

“That doesn’t sound so hard.”

It wasn’t, unless the pigs were feeling frisky and the mud was fresh. Maybe it wasn’t fair to have her work in their outdoor enclosure rather than the indoor pig house with the cement floor, but after the rain they’d had a couple of days ago it did need to be cleaned up. “That’s why I’m letting you do it,” he pointed out.

“Didn’t I prove to you that I could handle yesterday’s chores and that I can cook?”

“You cook and clean well,” he agreed, “but I need more than a maid.”

She gritted her teeth as she leaned in across the kitchen island, her hands flat on the wood surface as she snarled, “I can’t wait to feed and water your pigs.”

Never in his life had he met a woman like her, one who didn’t back down from a challenge or from being purposely insulted. She stomped out to the porch and was already heading for the pigpen when he finally saw the shoes she was wearing.

“Those are the shoes you’re going to wear to muck out the pig stalls?”

Her eyes closed for a split second at the word muck, but then she was pushing her shoulders back and saying, “When I’m done with my work for the day, I’ll head into town to pick up some more appropriate shoes.”

If he had his way, when she was done with her work for the day, she’d head into town...and keep going.

“Wait,” she said suddenly as she looked down the drive, “where’s my car?”

“It wouldn’t start this morning. I had it towed to the shop.”

“So—” She finally looked daunted by something. “—I’m stuck here with you now?”

Did she have to remind him? “Just until Sam fixes your radiator and whatever else you busted on my fence post.” He led her over to the pigs, pointing out their feed and showing her where the hose was. “Whatever you do, make sure you latch the gate all the way, or the pigs will destroy my crops.”

He gave her some simple instructions on how to muck out the pigs, then left her in her fancy jeans and inappropriate shoes to deal with the dirtiest animals on earth.

Chapter Seven

After growing up with six brothers, Lori knew her way around mud and dirt, and wasn’t particularly squeamish about it. Still, as she surveyed the pigs from outside the fence, she had to admit that she’d never seen a mess quite like the one in the pigpen.

She knew Grayson had chosen this task to see whether she’d get all girly about it and quit, and now a part of her wondered if he had already been out here this morning watering everything down so that the pigpen would be extra wet and squishy. But at breakfast he’d been covered in wood chips, not mud, so she knew that was just her lingering frustration with his little sermon on silence at breakfast.

Grunting. That’s what his last farmhand had done rather than speak. And Grayson had liked it that way.

Frankly, she was glad that she could get down and dirty with the pigs this morning, if for no other reason than to let off a little steam. She’d always worked out her frustrations by dancing before. Today, she’d just have to work them out with some stinky, snorting pigs instead.

She opened the gate and took a careful step inside. Of course her ballet slipper sank nearly all the way into the mud. After carefully latching the gate, she turned back to the crew of pigs facing her, a half dozen or so in the large pen. They were actually pretty cute, but bigger than she’d realized. Fortunately, they didn’t look the least bit threatening. Maybe a little curious about who the stranger was, however.

She figured she’d get them their water and feed and then when they were busy chowing down, she’d work on mucking out their stalls. Moving slowly through the mud, she was halfway across the pen when she stepped in a particularly slippery spot and her feet almost slipped out from under her.