No More Secrets: A Small Town Love Story (The Pierce Brothers Book 1) (2 page)

“Carter, your house is beautiful,” she said, examining the staircase with its timeworn treads and steel and cable banister. “It’s like this delicate balance of modern and rustic. You’d never expect it from how traditional the exterior is.”

She turned to him. Without her shoes on, she had to look up, way up. He was watching her wordlessly, his arms crossed, from just inside the door.

“Mind if I look at your kitchen?” She paused and smiled. “I’m sorry, I’m a horrible snoop.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Snoop all you want.”

“You’re going to regret saying that,” she said, arching an eyebrow before she padded down the hallway toward the light-filled kitchen.

Carter followed a few paces behind.

The hallway opened into a bright kitchen attached to an even brighter great room. The wide windows over the stainless apron front sink overlooked a stone barn and what looked like miles of fencing. An island, wide and deep, ran the length of the wall of cabinets and windows, with plenty of space for the six metal barstools.

To the left, the two-story great room housed leather couches, tall bookcases, and a hulking flat screen mounted above a spectacular fireplace. Massive cathedral-like trusses drew the eye overhead and sunlight poured in through the windows and French doors that lined both sides of the room.

Summer whistled. “This room is twice the size of my entire apartment.” She turned back to the kitchen.

“Is it just you here?” The first floor was spacious enough to host thirty with plenty of elbowroom left over.

“Just me.” Carter moved around the island to the refrigerator. He tossed her a bottle of water and took one for himself. He frowned at her inquiring stare. “What?”

“I have so many questions already,” she admitted, twisting off the cap of the bottle.

“Why waste time?” he shrugged. “Shoot.”

Summer took the invitation at face value. She slid onto one of the barstools and clasped her hands daintily in front of her.

“Do you cook? How is your house so clean? Did you design all this? How much land do you have? Do you have help? Do you ever get lonely?”

He was frowning again.

“You’re writing about the farm.”

“You are the farm.”

Carter looked pained. So Summer immediately changed tactics. She waved her hand. “Forget all that. Let’s start with something simple. What do you grow here?”

“We’ve got an orchard for apples in the fall,” Carter began. “We also grow just about anything you’d find in a backyard garden. Lettuce, broccoli, radishes, tomatoes, peppers, and sweet corn.”

Summer nodded, committing the list to memory. “We?”

He was weighing her questions as carefully as she would his answers, both feeling the other out. He was careful, she noted. Not at all interested in sharing about himself, which was a drastic and refreshing change from her usual subjects. But it wouldn’t stand. One look at Carter and his home and she knew there was more than organic apples and acres of sweet corn here.

“I have help,” he said, his tone brusque.

Tiptoeing would be key, she noted. “Sounds like a big job. Do you ever get a day off?”

Carter’s lips quirked at this. “No. How about you?”

She smiled at the glimpse of humanity. “Not really,” she returned. “How many animals do you have on the farm?”

She could see him doing an internal headcount.

“Fourteen, counting the chickens.”

“Is that a lot?”

“No. How many animals do you have in New York?”

“None.” She had never had a pet. Not enough space, too much travel. There wasn’t room in her life for something that needed attention. “I have a plant at the office. It’s tended by the building’s plant service. How many hours a day do you work?”

“Depending on weather, interruptions, and farm catastrophes ... between eight and twenty.”

Summer did laugh then. “What constitutes a farm catastrophe?”

“Anything that has the potential to disrupt the regular schedule for more than a few hours.” He leveled that steely-eyed gaze at her and she knew it was a subtle dig.

“Am I an interruption or a catastrophe?”

Carter eyed her up. “That remains to be seen. I’m leaning toward catastrophe.”

“Nice.” Summer was used to being underestimated. It only motivated her to work harder. She’d change his mind. She wouldn’t get in his way, and she would pry everything out of Carter Pierce that she needed from him. She would just have to be careful and use a little finesse.

“How would you describe Pierce Acres? One word,” she asked, purposely turning her back on him to study the view through the windows. She held her breath.

“Sanctuary,” he said, gruffly. Carter put the water bottle down on the granite with enough force to make her wince.

The unadulterated truth of it echoed in her bones. She didn’t know exactly what he meant, but in that one word Summer knew that the story and this week would be more than she had anticipated.

He rounded the island. “If you’re done with twenty questions, give me your keys. I’ll bring your bags in and show you your room.”

And just like that, sharing time was over. Summer was far from done, but bit her tongue on the thousand questions his simple statement sparked. Instead, she handed over the rental car’s keys. His hand closed over hers, and again she felt that interesting tingle.

Without another word, Carter stalked down the hallway and out the front door. Summer sighed. Usually she was much better at easing people into interviews. His entrance and the fierce frown on that incredible face had thrown her.

One thing was for sure, there was a lot going on in the fine head of Carter Pierce. She would bide her time and find a way to make the weeklong interview more comfortable for him. She would crack him. She always did.

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C
arter popped the trunk on Summer’s car and put the single suitcase and leather bag on the front porch. At least she hadn’t packed her entire wardrobe. It was a point in her favor. He slammed the trunk lid shut and looked around him.

He meant what he said. The farm, with its gentle rolling hills and neatly cordoned pastures and fields, was sanctuary. His sanctuary. One that had just been invaded by a nosy, appealing woman with Dresden blue eyes. The jolt he felt when he shook her hand had gone straight to his chest like a jumpstart to the heart. It was so unexpected he let his fingers linger on hers when he took the keys just to see if it happened again.

It did.

He wasn’t sure if it was just the knee-jerk physical reaction to her or something else. Either way, it was a complication and one he didn’t want to make time for. He had worked hard to get himself to a balanced place and he had a feeling that someone like Summer Lentz could destroy that sweet spot with just a smile from those glossy, full lips.

He’d have to keep his distance there.

Carter decided to buy himself a little more time and distance by moving her car out of the drive and into the garage.

He pushed the start button and the car and its stereo came to life. She had been listening to classical from a playlist on her phone. It struck deep when he realized it was Beethoven’s
Silence
, a personal favorite.

When he had come home from Afghanistan — broken and battered — the wordless symphonies of long-dead greats had soothed and strengthened, restoring his soul as his body healed.

He was a man who believed in signs.

He just didn’t know what to do with this one.

“Y
our phone was still in the car,” Carter said, pulling it out of his pocket and handing it to Summer who was admiring the dining room table his father had made. “I think you got fifteen texts and emails between the car and here.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. “The magazine never sleeps.” She scrolled through her messages. “I can take care of these later.”

“I’ll show you to your room,” Carter said, nodding toward the staircase. He waved her in front of him and they started up the stairs together.

“You’re the first door on the right.”

It had been his room growing up. Overlooking the front yard, the large window and sloped porch roof had offered the perfect late night escape for a teenager with secret plans.

The side window afforded a view of the neatly trimmed pasture and the small, bi-level barn. Every Saturday, June through October, Blue Moon Bend’s environmentalists, organic-hungry yuppies, and vegetarians descended on the farm and the little barn to pick up their share of Pierce Acres’ produce and enjoy a little bit of farm life.

The double bed with its wrought iron frame had been his, as had the writing desk under the window. He put her suitcase on the bed and her laptop bag on the desk.

“This is really nice, Carter. Thank you for letting me stay with you,” Summer said.

“Think you’ll be able to sleep without drifting off to the sound of traffic and sirens?”

“It’ll be an experience, that’s for sure,” she laughed.

He liked the sound of her laugh and how it filled the room. He’d only recently begun to realize how quiet the farmhouse was at times.

“I’m assuming you’d like an upstairs tour, too?”

“Yes, please,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her.

He led her back into the hallway where she poked her head into the bedroom across the hall. It was set up as an office with a desk angled to take in the view of green fields and clumps of forest.

“Is this your office?”

“Mostly. But my mother uses it, too. She’s bringing dinner over tonight so she can meet you.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Summer said.

“Yeah, well, she may end up interviewing you, so watch out.”

“Noted.” Summer smiled, her eyes dancing.

“Mom keeps our books and runs payroll. We’re thinking about redoing the second floor of the barn next to the house to use as a bigger office. A ‘center of operations’ as Mom calls it.”

“Do you have a lot of people who work for you?” Summer asked, as they continued down the hall.

Carter pushed open the second door to reveal the main bathroom. “Joey and I are the only full-timers. She runs the riding program and takes care of the horses. Then we have a half-dozen part-timers who help out. My brother Beckett — he’s coming to dinner tonight, too — gives us some hours every week and Mom pitches in a lot.”

“You have another brother, too, right?”

“Jackson,” Carter nodded. “He’s a script writer in LA.”

“From family farm to Hollywood,” she murmured, taking in the wood framed mirror that hung over dual vanities.

“Does he miss it? Living here?” she asked.

Carter shrugged. Jackson had skipped town the day before his high school graduation, headed for the West Coast and leaving a hole in the family with no explanations or apologies. It was something he knew still bothered them all. Some more than others.

He opened a skinny door next to the tub, stocked neatly with linens and every bathroom product known to man. His mother had gone shopping in preparation for Summer’s visit, explaining that women needed more than just soap and toothpaste. “Here’s the towels and probably anything else you’ll need.”

Summer peered around him and he caught her scent. Something sweet and light that teased the senses.

He took a step back and led her out of the bathroom. “That’s another bedroom over there,” he said, pointing to the last door on the right. “And this is the master.”

He had focused much of the renovation on this room. The existing gabled roof had flowed into the great room addition, which allowed him to add a cathedral ceiling here. Two original windows were replaced with glass doors that opened onto a small, but functional balcony facing west for sunset views.

The large bed with its tall wooden headboard faced the view.

The walk-in closet was practically empty. He stored most of his jeans and t-shirts in the center island with its endless drawers and cabinets.

“I’ve never seen a closet this empty before,” Summer remarked. “In fact I’ve never seen a man’s bedroom that was so clean. You don’t even have dirty socks on the floor. Army, right?”

Carter nodded and pretended that he didn’t hear her reference to other men’s bedrooms. He pointed her in the direction of the master bath. “Bathroom’s through there.”

“Did the military influence how you keep your home?”

“That, and growing up with a mother who wouldn’t let us leave the house on Saturday until our rooms were clean. I learned very quickly that if it was clean to begin with I didn’t have to spend hours shoveling dirty dishes and laundry. If you maintain what’s yours, you don’t have to spend as much time putting out fires. Or scraping gum off your hockey equipment.”

Summer laughed. “Beckett or Jackson?”

“Jackson.”

“Your mother must have some stories from raising you three.”

“You’ll probably hear every single one of them tonight,” Carter sighed.

“I can’t wait.”

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C
arter left her in the house so he could finish up some work outside before dinner, but not before promising her the full farm tour tomorrow. Summer used the opportunity to set up her laptop and dive into emails and blog comments.

She handled the work-related communications first, confirming a shoot with a freelancer in Rome for a piece in the October issue and doing a final look at page proofs on an article about a young European designer who was making her big push west.

She texted Niko to let him know she had arrived safely and had not been run off the road by tractors or farm life.

She saved the blog for last. A dozen more followers since she had last checked this morning and several new shares and comments. Her boss, Katherine Ackerman, a senior editor with
Indulgence
, had been skeptical about the value of adding a behind-the-scenes look at the magazine to her blog. But the popularity spoke for itself.

It was the one place where, as long as she adhered to the magazine’s strict guidelines about advertisers and designers, she could use her own voice and talk about the things that were important to her.

Summer drafted a brief post about spending the next week at Pierce Acres. It needed art, she thought. She moved to the doorway of her room and snapped a picture with her phone. Downstairs she captured the kitchen and great room in their sunshine and stainless steel glory. In the driveway she snapped the front of the house from a few different angles. The light was getting softer as afternoon gave way to evening, giving the house a cozy feel.