FarmBoy Read online

  FarmBoy

  Kayt Miller

  Copyright © 2020 by Kayt Miller

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Isabelle

  2. Isabelle

  3. Isabelle

  4. Isabelle

  5. Nash

  6. Isabelle

  7. Nash

  8. Isabelle

  9. Nash

  10. Isabelle

  11. Nash

  12. Isabelle

  13. Nash

  14. Isabelle

  15. Nash

  16. Isabelle

  17. Nash

  18. Isabelle

  19. Nash

  20. Isabelle

  21. Nash

  22. Isabelle

  23. Nash

  24. Isabelle

  25. Nash

  26. Isabelle

  27. Nash

  28. Isabelle

  29. Nash

  30. Isabelle

  31. Nash

  32. Isabelle

  33. Nash

  34. Isabelle

  35. Nash

  36. Isabelle

  37. Nash

  38. Epilogue: Isabelle

  39. Epilogue: Nash

  Books by Kayt Miller

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Thank you!

  Sneak Peek: Redhead

  1

  Isabelle

  “Mm-mm-mm. They sure don’t grow boys like that out east.”

  My friend and coworker, Rose, and I are both staring at the same man. “Yeah, well, he’s not the typical Iowa farm boy.”

  “I think you mean man. Farm man. Because there’s no boy left in that.” She points at his backside as he walks down the long corridor away from us.

  I snicker at her words because it’s what I do when I get nervous. I giggle, snicker, snort, or straight-up laugh out loud. It’s my coping mechanism in situations that are too awkward for me to handle. “Even when he was a teen, he looked like that.” The tall, dark-haired, muscled, beautiful man in question? Nashville James Watson. But everyone just calls him Nash.

  “God, Izzy, how did you not throw yourself at that man back then?” She arches her brow. “Or now. You’re single.”

  “Easy. He’s my brother’s best friend and two years older than me.” Not to mention, I was not the kind of girl he went with. Cheerleaders and prom queens, those were his type. Actually, he went with one girl that fit both those bills: Ivy DeLucas.

  Rose scoffs, “Two years is nothing now. I heard he’s single.”

  “He is.” And the last I knew he wasn’t looking for anything serious. “I think he’s playing the field.”

  Rose snickers. “I’d play in his field….”

  “Shh.” I giggle. See? Nerves. Whispering, I add, “Someone will hear you.” And that’s definitely not what we’re supposed to be doing on Open House night at our school. “We’re professionals.” I give her my haughtiest look, nose in the air and everything. “And what about your husband? He’s great looking.”

  “First of all, I love my sexy husband, but it doesn’t hurt to look, and two, nobody can hear us way back here.” Our classrooms are the last two doors in the main hallway.

  Rose is our Special Education teacher, and this is my first year as the Title 1 Reading teacher at Honeywell Elementary School. Heck, it’s my first year of teaching, period. I just graduated last spring. I wasn’t sure about coming home. I’d hoped to find something in a big city or at least a town closer to civilization, but nothing panned out, and believe me, I tried. Luckily, I grew up in this town and the superintendent is a friend of my folks; otherwise, I’d probably be unemployed or, worse, working as a waitress like I did in college. No thanks.

  Truthfully, I’m torn. A small part of me is glad to be back. The other part wishes I’d found a job somewhere else, somewhere nobody already knew me so I could be anyone I wanted to be. I could have been Isabelle, but instead, I’m back and I’m still boring old Izzy Harmon.

  At least I have a job in my field. That’s more than I can say about some of my friends from college. It’s great because I love kids and I’m looking forward to working with all these little humans. I know some of them are children of people I grew up with, so that will be good, I guess. For the most part anyway. Think positive, Izzy.

  It will be good.

  I’m jolted from my thoughts when I feel my body lurch forward and realize Rose must have pushed me into his path. When he looks down at me, I blush and fumble with words. “Oh.” Giggle. “Hi, Nash.”

  “Hey,” he says, walking past me like he doesn’t know me. The thing is, he does know me. He saw me practically every day for years because Nash and my brother, Isaac, were best friends and as far as I know, they still are. Heck, Nash was Isaac’s best man in his wedding. I know because I was there. I was a bridesmaid. I’m pretty sure he saw me there, and Lord knows I haven’t changed that much. Yes, I’ve changed a little bit. I started taking a kickboxing class in college and never stopped. I love to kick and punch stuff. Who knew? It helped turn my round, soft body into a curvy soft body. I have a waist, something I never had growing up. But there are things that won’t ever change thanks to heredity, and that’s okay. I’m embracing my body. I’m built just like my mom, and I happen to think she’s gorgeous. Other than that, I’m the same Izzy Harmon he used to ignore back in high school.

  You know what, never mind him. I don’t need to be recognized by the town’s most eligible bachelor and a guy who smells better than I remember, like man and earth. Nope, I don’t need him to acknowledge me even though I honestly considered him a friend, sort of. Turns out he’s just as snobby and perfect as he was back then. Too good for the likes of me. I snort and can’t help saying, “You know, if he’d gotten down off his high horse, his pedestal, once in a while, maybe he would have ended up with a good woman instead of in the mess he’s in right now.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Rose whispers as she side-eyes me.

  “Nobody.”

  I cross my arms in front of my chest and scowl at the little angel who just stopped in front of me. As soon as I see him, I uncross my arms and bend so I’m at his level. He’s got to be in second grade. “Hi there. I’m Miss Harmon.”

  “I know.” He’s not smiling. “I’m Marcus. I guess you’re my new reading teacher.”

  “I am.” I hold out my hand to shake his, but that’s a nonstarter. “I’m anxious to get to know you.”

  Marcus doesn’t hold back. “I liked Mrs. Hiller.”

  Yep, kids are honest. It’s so refreshing.

  “I know. Me too.” I mean that. Mrs. Hiller was an elementary teacher when I was in elementary school. But she died last year. She won’t be coming back, but I won’t say that aloud because that would be rude. Unfeeling.

  “Dude, Mrs. Hiller croaked.”

  I look up to see a boy several years older than Marcus.

  “Excuse me….” I’m about to give the older boy a good talking to when a man appears. A suit-wearing man. Something not as common as you’d think in my little town.

  “M.J., knock that shit off.” When he looks at me, he smiles. “Oh, well, hello.” He holds his hand out to me. I place mine in his and stare as he slowly bends to kiss my hand. “I’m Max Lang.”

  “Miss Harmon,” I say, rather dumbfounded.

  “Miss? Is that your first name?”

  I blink a few times, trying to figure out if this guy is serious or if he’s trying to be funny. Assuming
he’s serious, I reply, “Izzy.”

  He chuckles. “Izzy.” He leans in closely, glancing down my shirt. “It’s a pleasure.”

  Not for me, it isn’t.

  I quickly pull back and cross my arms over my chest again. I knew I shouldn’t have worn a V-neck top. But it’s Open House, and it’s not like it’s low-cut or anything. V-necks are just more flattering on me. It’s like all the magazines say, highlight your best features. Draw people’s attention to that area. And no, I don’t mean my boobs. I’m talking about my face and hair. I’m no Ashley Stewart, that’s for sure, but I’m not a troll either. Plus, my hair is good. It’s dark brown, thick, shiny, wavy, and long. I like my hair.

  “These two hellions are mine.” Max points to Marcus and the older boy. “My ex-wife is out of the picture.” He blinks at me expectantly.

  What? Am I supposed to say something? “Oh, I’m….”

  And that’s when I hear someone yell. I look up to see Nash looking at me. “Max,” Nash says, sounding a little angry. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  Max turns to Marcus and the other boy, M.J. “Come on, guys. We’re leaving.”

  My attention is drawn back to Marcus when he shrugs, turns, then walks down the hallway following his older brother. Turning around one last time, Max looks at me and winks. “I’m sure I’ll see you again, Izzy.” Max then waves as he follows his kids. When he meets up with Nash, they all take off down the hallway toward the main door.

  “Jerk,” I mutter.

  “Max?” snickers Rose.

  I look over to her and smile, then laugh. “No. Yes.” I’m so glad I get to work with her. We’ve gotten to know each other quite a bit this summer. The day after I was hired, I started setting up my classroom while she was teaching summer school for extra money. We had lunch together every day, and that’s when I filled her in on my old life back here in Honeywell, and since she’s been teaching here for several years, she filled me in on school gossip, who to avoid, and who to trust. I had no idea an elementary school could be such a hotbed of drama. It’s like a soap opera around here, and the school year hasn’t officially started yet.

  2

  Isabelle

  “Hey, Izzy.” I look up from the delicious sandwich my mom made for me today. She’s been packing my lunch every day since school started. I know I should ask her to stop and to do it myself, but she likes to do it, and besides, she makes my dad’s lunch, so the stuff is already out. Besides, there’s nothing better than a sandwich made by someone else. Someone who loves you. Am I right?

  Oops, I guess I just confessed my dirty secret. Yes, I’m living with my parents, in my old bedroom with the same old squeaky twin bed as before. I suppose I should be embarrassed; I mean I’ve got a job. I make enough money to rent something in the area, but why? Grace and Bruce Harmon are nice people, and they’re easy to live with as long as I do my chores and don’t sleep “until the cows come home.” That’s meant literally by the way. My parents own a farm. They’ve got beef cattle, grazing land, horses, and crops too.

  “Izzy?”

  “Oh.” I look up at one of our two first grade teachers. “Hi, Nicole.”

  “You were really spacing off.” She laughs.

  “Zoning out, yeah.” I smile. “What can I do for you?”

  “Can you do an assessment on one of my kiddos?”

  What she means is she wants me to have them read with me so I can detect any issues in that arena. I do it all the time. “Sure.”

  “Great. You got time this afternoon?”

  “I’ve got a planning period from 1 to 2.”

  “I’ll send her down closer to 1.”

  “Good. Who is it?”

  “Andi Watson.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.” She leans closer. “And let’s keep this on the down-low. Nash doesn’t need any more town gossip coming his way.”

  I forgot that Nicole and Nash used to run in the same crowd in high school. Actually, I think Nicole was best friends with Nash’s ex-girlfriend, She-who-shall-not-be-named. I nod slowly. “No, he doesn’t.”

  A little after 1:00 p.m., I’m on the floor putting a stack of books back on the bottom shelf when I hear a knock on my door.

  “Come in.”

  I hear the knob turn and watch as the door opens slowly. “Miss Harmon?” a little voice says.

  “I’m here.” I push myself up to standing and nearly gasp. That’s when I see her. The spitting image of Nashville Watson in little girl form. She’s got the same dark hair and eyes and the identical wary expression on her face. “You must be Andi.”

  “Yep,” she answers, making the p at the end pop. “Here.” She hands me a book and a brown envelope. “Mrs. Andrews told me to give this to you.”

  “All right.” I look down at a book I know they’re reading in first grade. “Are you reading this in class right now?”

  Andi shrugs.

  “I love this story.” It’s about a kitten that gets caught in a school bus engine. It gets discovered and becomes the bus mascot. Sure, that’d never happen in real life, but that’s not what reading is about. Most of the time, anyway. “Do you like it?”

  She shrugs again.

  “You know what? I’d sure like a break from cleaning.” I point to the stack of books on the floor. “Do you want to sit with me and read it, or do you need to be back to class right away?”

  I’m giving her a chance to go if she chooses. She looks around at my colorful room, turning her body as she checks out the entire place. I’ve done my best to make the room colorful and fun but also cozy and welcoming thanks to my beanbag reading nook. I point to that spot. “We can sit in the book nook.”

  “But, Mrs. Andrews….”

  “Won’t mind a bit. I’ll walk you back and tell her I wanted some book nook time.” I wink at Andi.

  I watch as she slowly breathes in then out. She’s thinking long and hard about whether this is a good idea or not. When she blows out a breath, she says, “Fine.”

  I want to laugh. This little person is extremely serious, just like her daddy. I’m sure Nash laughs now and then, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it myself. “Awesome. Come on. I love this book.” I clap my hands happily. “You sit there.” I point to the green beanbag chair. I plop down in the red one. They’re close enough to each other that I can hold the book and both of us can read it. Andi sits down on the edge of her beanbag chair. She’s still not sure about any of this. I open to page one. “Ready?” I ask her.

  Andi nods and scoots back into the chair.

  “Riding the bus isn’t much fun.” I turn the page as I also look over at Andi. “Not usually, anyway.” I turn the page again. “Say?” I look at Andi. “Do you want to help me read?”

  Andy slowly shakes her head.

  “Maybe the next page?” I read more. “Riding the bus used to be boring….” I hold the book up for her. “Do you want to read this part?”

  With a harrumph, she leans forward, “Fine.” Taking the book from me, she’s quiet at first. Then she speaks so softly, I need to lean forward to hear her. “Un-Un-Unteel.” She pauses. “Unteel ye-yes-yester-yesterday.”

  “Good.” I smile at Andi. “My turn?”

  Andi nods.

  “That’s when we discovered our stowaway.” I hold the page up and point to the picture of the hood of the bus popped open and a calico kitten sitting on top of the motor.

  “That would never happen,” Andi deadpans.

  “Oh? What wouldn’t?”

  “That kitten”—she points at the page—“would be dead.”

  I’m startled by her response, so I laugh a little. “Why do you say that?”

  “Cuz, whenever a critter climbs into our truck engine, it gets all chewed up when you start it up. It happens a lot out at our place. One time—” She swallows. “—we even saw a puff of fur fly up.”

  She’s right. I grew up on a farm, and there were always lots of farm cats around. They catch the mice that can get
to the corn, so cats are important. No matter, this is a teachable moment. “Well, one thing I love about reading is we get to read stories that aren’t exactly like real life. This kitten was able to find a place to hide in the engine that was safe.”

  Andi snorts and shrugs. “Sure. If you say so.”

  Oh my God. I’m so tempted to giggle at her response, but I’m afraid she’ll misinterpret the reason for my laughter. The reason it’s humorous? It sounds like something her father would say. This child is 100 percent Nash Watson, cynicism and all.

  “I’m sure not all kittens get caught up in the engine.” I hand her the book. “Your turn.”

  She reads another short sentence, struggling with the words. “You do a great job sounding out your words, Andi.” And she does. All she needs is practice. “Do you read much at home?”

  She shakes her head. “No time. Too much to do.”

  “Can’t your daddy—”

  “Nope.” She pops her p again. “He ain’t got the time.”

  “What about before bedtime?”

  She looks at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “He’s too dang tired.”

  “Okay. So, what if we read together during the week? I could sure use some company for fun reading.”

  Andi pushes herself out of the chair to stand. “Nah. Mrs. Andrews wouldn’t like it.” She points her thumb at the door. “I gotta get back.”