Taste: A Love Story (14 page)

“Hey there, you ready to dance with your dad?” Her father came up next to her, still smiling and waving. Kara was pretty sure he never stopped smiling or waving.

“Is it my turn?”

“You’re up.”

“Cameras ready?”

“Come on, Kara. It’s not really that bad.”

“No, it really is.” She smiled to ease the truth. Everything was a staged photo op, but the senator was still her dad. “I’m only kidding, Dad. Of course I’ll dance with you.”

He smiled and took her hand. “Thanks, honey.” He spun her on the dance floor as Kara began to hear the “oohs” and “ahhs” that usually accompanied most private moments with her father.

“Wait, what are you thanking me for?”

“For a lot of things. I know these campaigns are tough on you guys and, well thank you for putting up with it. Sincerely, thank you.”

Kara brushed his jacket and smiled. “Well, if you’re sincere, then you’re welcome. Have you talked to Grady yet?”

His face fell. “No.”

“Don’t you think you should?”

“I do, I know. I’ll go see him tomorrow.”

“Thank God it was an early call this year, right?” Kara tried to change the subject.

She had learned in her years as a Malendar that there was no point discussing the who did what to whom or the why. Her father won the election on the back of his son’s hard work. It was probably necessary to ensure his win, but it was wrong. Kara knew and from the look on her father’s face, he knew it too. With nothing left to say, it was time to fall into the “let’s talk about other elections” part of the evening. “Remember the year you had the runoff?” Kara asked.

Her father laughed his politician laugh as he continued to turn her around the dance floor past the photographers. As her Nana would say, “it is what it is.”

Chapter Eleven

R
yeland Farms had been hosting the Fall Festival since before Logan was born. His roots ran deep and this was often a source of inspiration for him. At some stupid hour of the morning, he and Garrett had finished moving bales of hay for the hayride. No matter how many years they did this, it seemed like they always left the hay for the last minute.

One of his fondest memories growing up was sitting out on the bales in the moonlight, and drinking beer Garrett snuck from the garage refrigerator, where their father kept his stash. Logan learned how to throw a punch and how to unhook a bra on those hay bale nights. Valuable information was shared between brothers who had no idea what they were doing or where they were going in life. Back then, the only thing certain in their lives was that chores would come the next morning. Logan smiled at the memory as the Fall Festival opened and visitors started pouring into their farm. He watched his brother lift a little boy up and down on one arm while giving the kid’s parents directions to the petting zoo. Logan grew up loving the farm, but Garrett
was
the farm. He knew every last acre. He probably kept a running mental list of every crop, every animal, and what needed to be done at any given moment.

Logan watched as people filled up the main parking lot, many of them pulling their children in wagons. He saw her in the crowd, well actually he saw her wild hair, bundled in some kind of golden nest at the base of her neck, first. He’d just turned to check on the roasted corn and the sight of her soft in the setting sun, wearing jeans and a wide, beautiful smile as she watched the face painting, almost knocked him to the ground. She saw him too and her eyes traveled over him in that way they'd started to lately, sort of like she was undressing him. Logan wasn’t complaining, but when her eyes grew that smoky, it made it very hard for him to remember why steering clear was his best option.

Kara glanced toward the entrance and then ordered her eyes to look away from the sight of him in a baseball cap, as if his “I work with these hands” image needed any help. A light gray T-shirt and the flannel he wore open, finished up every fantasy, farm or otherwise, that Kara had. The man jumbled her, but when he turned those golden earth-god eyes on her, she slipped past jumbled and straight into stupid.

She reminded herself this wasn’t some high school field trip and walked over to get a very adult beverage. Handing the tall woman at the wine booth five dollars, she took a little plastic glass of some local Pinot she’d heard of, but had yet to taste. She sipped and leaned against a low wall of hay while she finished watching Eloise get her face painted by a woman with dreadlocks and a starfish tattoo on the back of her neck. Jake and Cotton were still taking pictures.

So this was a fall festival, she marveled. She had been to a few farm-themed birthday parties and even a wedding that took place on a vineyard, but this was more farm than she had ever experienced. Kara loved fall, and as she waved to Eloise, who turned and ran back toward the ponies with a very impressive cat face painted over her cherub cheeks, Kara realized she liked farms too.

She bought a roasted corn, finding herself suddenly hungry again. As she lifted the buttered corn to her mouth, she felt him. Jake and Cotton were over with the ponies and Kara knew the warmth behind her could only belong to Logan.

“You’re cold.” He stood next to her.

“No, I’m fine. I’m just adjusting to the setting sun.”

“Is that real? Adjusting to the setting sun?” Logan asked laughing.

“Um, yes. The sun is going down and my body is adjusting to . . . not having the sun. Christ, why do I sound so stupid around you? No, Logan, I am not cold, but thank you.” She bit into her corn and tried to catch the dripping butter as it trickled down her chin. When she glanced over, Logan’s eyes were fixed on her mouth. Even when neither of them appeared to be trying, the energy was palpable. Kara wasn’t sure if it was the festival or the excitement of fall, but she wanted to pull that flannel off of him, run her teeth up his—

“See, that was a shiver. You are cold and it’s only going to get colder once the sun goes down.”

Before she could figure out a way to tell him the shiver had nothing to do with the temperature, he was taking off his flannel. Kara averted her eyes, searched for something else to focus on. Suddenly, the corn in her hand felt awkward.

“I have a jacket, but I left it in the car. I can go and—”

Logan took her wrist to keep her from moving away.

“You parked in the side lot. That’s a hayride or a pretty long walk. It’s just my shirt, Kara. I’m not in it—take the damn thing.”

He dropped the shirt over her shoulders and the chill was gone. She handed him her corn and slid her arms into the warmth that lingered in the fibers. The collar was thick and skimmed her cheek. She knew it was stupid and cliché, but she did it anyway.

“Did you just smell me?”

Kara closed her eyes and decided he was messing with her, flirting with her, something, and she was going to something him right back.

“Hmmm, sure did,” she purred, slowly opening her eyes and taking back her corn. “You showered today, farm boy.”

Logan laughed.

“I did. Washed the dirt off just for you.”

“Oh, I bet. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the brunette in the paint-on jeans who was smiling at your . . . corn a few minutes ago.” She took another bite.

Logan seemed to suck in some extra air as Kara dabbed at the corners of her mouth.

“Paint-on jeans. Huh, I’m not seeing a whole lot of room in your jeans.”

“Please, I can breathe in mine. Hers are, well let’s just say she has a steady pulse. I know because I can see it from here.” She savored the last bite of corn and threw the cob in the barrel lined with a black plastic bag.

“Tight jeans look good on a woman.” When Kara turned back, his eyes traveled the length of her legs.
Good God, was there something in farm air?

She stumbled. His look was heated, an “I’d like to strip you out of those tight jeans” look. Kara recognized it from years before when Logan couldn’t get enough of her and he had literally peeled her out of her jeans on the floor of her tiny Paris apartment. She had a bed that folded out of the wall, but they were on their lunch break during Egg Week at Cordon Bleu. There had been no time to pull the bed down, and the need threatened to burn them both alive. Their bodies dropped to the floor shortly after her jeans. They were a tangled mess of carelessness and passion. It was . . .

“Kara?”

Christ! Her cheeks were warm and for what seemed like an eternity, she couldn’t forget the look on his face back then as he made fast, urgent love to her . . . how desirable he’d made her feel. Her insecurities, her sheltered and proper self had fallen away with each pulse of his body and she’d been so empowered. She could hear the music at the festival and Logan’s voice in the present call her name, as she begged the memory to let her go.

When she finally pulled herself back, Logan was watching the dance floor, smiling.

“What?” she asked because he looked smug again, damn him.

“Looked like you were pretty far away there, princess. Where’d you go? Montmartre? Your apartment? Mine? The storage pantry? Wherever you just went, I was there with you. I could see me in your eyes. Touching you . . . I was there, wasn’t I?” he said softly into her ear as they both stood side by side watching couples dancing to a local country band.

Her knees softened. Maybe it was the wine, she lied to herself and then finished the contents of her little plastic cup in one last gulp. “Very inappropriate,” her mother would have criticized. “Ladies never gulp.”
Oh zip it, Bindi
, Kara thought.

“We were at my apartment, lunchtime, during Egg Week,” she said without a filter. It just slipped from her lips because he was right. He was there, touching her. She saw no point in pretending.

Logan’s smile broadened, as he continued looking at the dance floor. He brushed his hand past hers, briefly touching her. “Yeah, I’ve replayed that one a few times.”

She took in a deep breath and tried to collect herself. “I wasn’t replaying, it was only when you mentioned—”

“Let’s dance.” Logan took her hand and they walked into to the area cordoned off with hay.

It was a slow song, but she followed him and slid into his arms anyway. Maybe it was the farm or the lilting romantic sound of the fiddle or his shirt. Whatever it was, Kara wanted to stay right where she was. She was a young woman, an ordinary woman with a tiny glass of wine on an empty stomach, unless she counted the corn, dancing with a tall handsome man. She rested her cheek on his chest and did something she hadn’t done since Paris—she let Logan lead.

“So are you and painted jeans dating?”

Logan laughed and rested his head on top of hers.

“No.”

“Used to date then. There’s no way she hasn’t seen you naked, not with the look she was giving you before.”

“Then you must have it too.”

“Have what?”

“The look. You’ve seen me naked, remember?”

“I do.” She felt playful. “I have very clear memories when it comes to that particular subject, but I don’t have the look. I erased that a long time ago. It’s a dead giveaway and sort of an amateur move. Every woman knows you have to get rid of the look.”

His chest rumbled harder. “You’re something else. I plead the fifth.”

“Yeah, well she’s clearly still . . . into you.” Kara pulled back a bit to catch his eyes.

“Pretty sure her boyfriend would disagree.” He gestured as they moved into a faster two-step and sure enough, painted jeans was wrapped around a large guy in a cowboy hat.

“Oh, well, hopefully he doesn’t notice the look.”

Logan laughed again, the song ended, and they both walked off the dance floor. It was dark now and the entire festival was lit by either bonfire or clear bulb lights that hung above from trees and between the barns.

Jake appeared next to them with his own little plastic glass of wine.

“You two looked good out there.” He kissed Kara on the cheek and nodded to Logan.

Logan introduced himself and extended his hand.

“Really good to meet you, I’m Jake.”

They shook hands.

“Glad you could make it.”

“How many times has Eli been on the ponies?” Kara asked.

“I’ve honestly lost count. We couldn’t get her off the black and white one the last time. I’m sure we will hear pleas for a pony all the way home.”

“That’s great. Happy to help,” Logan joked.

“Yeah, she and Cotton went to get some more kettle corn. It’s their second trip, although I’m pretty sure Eli’s fallen asleep on his shoulders.” Jake looked toward the food area. “This is an amazing place, Logan. Your family is great, too.”

“Thanks, it can be a handful and so can they.”

“Did you grow up here?”

“Sure did. I’m a farm boy through and through.” He bumped Kara’s shoulder. She laughed and then caught herself, but by the time she looked back at Jake, he was already giving them both the “aren’t you two cute” look.

“Okay, well I’ll leave guys to it. I’m thinking of trying out the bouncy thing. Can adults do that?”

Logan and Kara laughed and Jake was gone.

“He seems like a nice guy. Good friend?”

“My one and only. Well and Grady, but he’s my brother.”