Maybe if she had gotten more than a dozen hours of sleep all week, she might have taken a clearer, more cool-headed look at the decision she was making.

Because she wasn’t looking for trouble. She swore she wasn’t.

The thing was, for the first time in a very long time, Lori felt a stirring of excitement. Of anticipation.

And a thrill that felt a little bit like fear.

She’d always liked the scary rides at the amusement park, and had been the one to drag her siblings to horror movies. But what could possibly be scary about working as a farmhand?

Especially when she’d already decided she was going to be the best damn farmhand the world had ever seen. Not to try to please anyone else, but to please herself, and to know that at the end of a long day on the farm, she’d done good work that she could be proud of.

Lori ripped the ad off the board and put it down in front of the deli boy. She was impulsive, but she wasn’t stupid, so she asked him, “Do you know the guy who posted this? Is he a nice man?”

The boy nodded. “Sure, Grayson is nice.”

Lori liked the sound of that name. Grayson. Probably some old farmer like the grandfather she’d seen on the sidewalk who’d been married for fifty years and needed some extra help with his chickens and cows. She had no idea what that help would entail, but she’d always been a fast learner.

She grinned and asked, “Can you tell me how to get to his farm?”

* * *

This was just the kind of day Grayson Tyler liked best—quiet and filled with backbreaking work from sunup to sundown as he made his way across his thousand acres.

When he’d bought this Pescadero farm three years ago, the barn had been on the verge of becoming firewood and the farmhouse had been a mice-infested shell. A hundred and fifty years ago the first farmer had started to work this land and it’d had a good run for a while, but the latest generation had been more interested in their fancy cars and IPOs than the farm their grandfather had spent his life cultivating.

Grayson had spent seven days a week for the past three years bringing the farm back to life. His family had thought he was out of his mind when he’d moved from New York City to what they called “the middle of nowhere,” even though San Francisco was only an hour away. Not that he’d been to the city, though. He knew too many people who flew between New York and San Francisco on a regular basis. There were too many potential opportunities to meet someone from his past.

That was one of the great things about a farm: the past didn’t matter. All that mattered was the animals that were hungry now, and the future you could build one plowed field, one well-fed cow, at a time. In fact, he was busy rebuilding the chicken coop this morning, so his chickens were in the field at the front of his house.

He was hammering in one of the final two-by-sixes for a new roost in the chicken coop when he heard the sound of an engine. His house and the coop were far enough from the road that he wouldn’t be able to hear a car heading through Pescadero, which meant it was coming up his drive.

Grayson gritted his teeth at the unexpected interruption. People in town knew by now not to drop by without letting him know ahead of time. Only once in a blue moon would a delivery truck come by with a package from New York.

He put down his hammer and turned to deal with whoever had come uninvited, although he didn’t recognize the car. The sun was shining on the windshield so he couldn’t see the driver’s face, but through the open driver’s side window he saw a lock of long, dark hair blow out.

A woman? What was a woman doing at his farm?

Damn it, this was the last thing he wanted to deal with—some tourist who must have gotten lost on the way to the only bed and breakfast in town and was coming to get directions.

His chickens weren’t used to being out around cars and the stranger was coming up the long dirt drive so fast that one of his prize Buff Orpington hens squawked and opened her wings to get away from the vehicle. Unfortunately, the chicken was nearly fileted under the spinning tires when the driver swerved to the left to avoid hitting her...and then crashed her car into one of his brand-new fence posts.

Chapter Two

The door flew open and the driver got out. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! That chicken came out of nowhere. I’ll fix your fence.”

Grayson heard what she said, but couldn’t manage a response. Not when he couldn’t believe his eyes.

He’d never seen a woman this beautiful in all his life. Long, dark hair spilled down over her nearly bare shoulders to her waist, and her big eyes, high cheekbones, and full, red mouth were every man’s wet dream. She was wearing something tight and soft looking and in the sunlight it was almost as if she were naked with every one of her spectacular curves on display.

And those legs...even though she wasn’t particularly tall they went on forever, ending in spike heels that had no place whatsoever on a farm.

Shit. What the hell was wrong with him? Even if it had been a while since he’d taken a woman to bed, he’d never had any problems controlling his reaction to one.

“Who are you?”

She blinked up at him and simply stared for a few moments, before her gorgeous lips finally curved up into a smile.

Grayson silently instructed his heart to keep beating, his chest to keep pumping air. He just needed to survive the next few minutes, send her on her way, and then his life could go back to the way it needed to be.

Quiet.

Simple.

Completely devoid of gorgeous women with smiles that knocked him flat.

She was clutching a piece of paper in her hand and she uncrumpled it before answering, “The new farmhand, I hope.”

Another man might have laughed at her ridiculous statement.

He didn’t.

“Who put you up to this?”

She frowned. “No one.” She took a step toward him and he nearly took a step backward in response to all those luscious curves coming nearer. “I’m here to apply for the job.” She smiled again. “My name is Lori. Lori Sullivan.”

Was she really serious? He schooled himself to forget how pretty she was as he studied her earnest expression.

Crap. It looked like she was. Which meant that instead of only wasting five minutes of his day, it was likely going to take him a good half hour to get her out of here.

“Is Grayson around somewhere?” She looked around him for someone else.

“I’m Grayson.”

Her eyes widened. “Why aren’t you older?”

He had no idea how to respond to that. Not, of course, that he’d had much of an idea how to respond to any of the conversation he’d had thus far with the stunning woman who had blown into his life without even the slightest hint of warning.