* * *

A bottle of Budweiser was opened and waiting for Jackson Clay before he hit his usual barstool. Carrie was behind the bar pouring drafts for a gaggle of community college guys who were gathered at the other end of the bar. Carrie was probably the best-looking woman in Middleburg at the moment. Her kinky red hair and small frame made her cute as a button, but she was well spoken for. Her husband and co-owner of the bar, Scotty, was serving a tour in Afghanistan at the moment.

“How you doing tonight, hon?” she asked.

He nodded and placed his hat on the bar next to his beer. “Very well, and how are you and the kids doing? How’s Scotty?”

Carrie smiled and launched into a tale of weekly FaceTime chats with her long-distance husband, the boys being troopers at school by keeping their grades up and helping with chores at home, while her sister watched them so she could manage the bar. She seemed relieved to talk about it. Most likely she spent her nights listening to the woes of the local farmers, complaining about banks, complaining about massive hog feed lot factory farms encroaching on all sides, or watching community college students lurking around for somebody to catch their eye and distract them from their so-called boring lives.

The way Jack saw things, life was only boring if you make it boring. Life could be just as full in rural Iowa as in New York City. And he supposed a person could be as bored, lonely and unfulfilled in New York City as here. It’s all a state of mind, the way he figured. A person accusing a place of being boring had only one place to look to solve that problem: inside himself.

Jack had never desired to go to the big city. He’d lived in Iowa all his life, and though he might like to climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower one day to kiss his wife, he’d be thrilled to have his little farm to come home to, to his house, his bed, his truck, his bathrobe, his sheets, his wide open pastures, his animals, his dog and his woods. Because it was his, there was always something to do. A kid wants to complain about working two jobs and putting himself through community college? Then they should have chosen a different path. He never understood complainers and he never would.

Besides, if anybody earned the right to complain, it was Carrie. She ran a business, helmed the PTA and ran two young boys ragged between school and wrestling practices, all with the specter of a foreign war and an absent husband looming over her head. But did she complain? No. Not ever. Scotty had himself a good woman.

“Anyway, enough about me. What you up to tonight, young man?”

It was sweet of her to say, but he was older than her by about ten years, most likely. Scotty and Carrie had married right out of high school and had babies almost immediately, as far as he could tell in the short time he’d been in Middleburg.

“Oh, just shooting up the damn coyotes. Birthing baby goats. Fixing fences, digging wells, bush-hogging, baling, you name it, I do it.”

“Sounds like you got it all working like a well-oiled machine.” She grinned, wiping the bar down with her microfiber towel. It was one of those home party things, for which she was also a distributor and had sold him a linen closet full of fancy bath sheets when he’d let the cat out of the bag about his luxury master bath project.

“Yes, ma’am, it’s going pretty well… I got a contract with a small organic operation out of Sioux Falls to buy my goat’s milk, so that’s a start.”

“Jack, that’s awesome. You know, you’re gonna need some extra hands around there pretty soon.”

He shrugged, though he knew she was right.

“Don’t go hiring one of these local dumbasses, please,” she said, nodding at the group of young beer-swillers from the college.

“Shit, Carrie, those boys make twice as much money at a commercial farm than what I could afford to pay them.”

“Well, I mean a pair of feminine hands. On a person who already knows how to do what needs to be done around your place. Maybe somebody from here, looking for work. And maybe needs a friend at the same time.”

Jack was utterly confused at Carrie’s face, which seemed to be leading him in a specific direction with a wry smile and a wink.

“That is very specific and highly unlikely to find in Middleburg. I was thinking about taking an ad out in the Des Moines Register.”

She playfully whipped at him with the towel. “I’m talking about that one, right over here. Anybody getting crowded by Chet Easley definitely is gonna need a friend tonight.” She nodded to the far corner of the room.

At the name of Chet Easley, Jack swiveled around in his chair and stood up. There he was. The slimy son of a bitch was sliding into a booth next to a woman. Whoever it was, he couldn’t see, but it was obvious they were not together, because Chet was using his singular come-on posture: leaning way in and blocking the woman from sight. Every female within four counties knew to stay away from Chet. He may have money, but it didn’t make him a nice guy.

He left his beer at the bar and approached. The words came out before he could stop himself. “Ma’am, is this gentleman bothering you?”

Chet had that usual smart-ass, shit-head grin. But Jack hardly noticed because as soon as he saw the female who Chet was bothering, everything else in the room became echoes and blurs.

First, it was her hair. Thick, strawberry curls poured down past her shoulders, ending in pinkish tips. Her face was angelic, but also like a perfect sculpture. Her skin glowed even though she wore no makeup. Her piercing eyes were deep brown and her lashes long. Her cheekbones and jawline stood out as if she could use a couple of home-cooked chicken dinners, but her cheeks flushed as she stared back at Jack. Her outfit was nothing to write home about: a Hawkeye zipped hoodie and sweatpants. Probably a college student. Probably had a boyfriend back at school, Jack told his hardening manhood. But he couldn’t keep himself from noticing the zipper of her hoodie was open just enough to reveal a slight bit of cleavage. Not even cleavage. A shadow of cleavage. The letters “I-O-W-A” were stretched across her chest, which was blessed. There was definitely something magnificent to behold under those frumpy clothes, and that woman was making those frumpy clothes look downright sexy.

Boyfriend or no, Jack was in trouble.

He couldn’t even hear whatever smart-ass remark she was making, but it seemed to him she was mocking old Chet. Chet got a mean look on his face and stood up.

“I don’t believe you were invited over, old man.”

Jack got his bearings again and replied, looking straight past Chet, “I do believe I was asking the young lady a question.”

She smiled at him. It was a flash of white teeth and lush pink lips that made Jack think of doing things. Things he hadn’t thought of doing in a while. Things that made him feel like he was the one harassing the poor woman.

“Why, yes, he is bothering me. Thanks for asking.”

Her voice…that was it. Was it possible for a voice to sound the way that ice cream tastes? Oh god, that was a dip-shit pansy way of thinking about it. But when he had a raging boner only getting more ragey, he had weird poetic shit take over his brain.

He didn’t care if he had to rip Chet’s dumb-ass Garth Brooks hat off his stupid, fat head. Tonight was going to end one way and one way alone. This woman was leaving with Jack. He didn’t know how, but that was the end of it.

Sure, he wanted to get Chet away from her. He would want to pull Chet off of any woman, man, or creature no matter if Jack wanted that woman for himself or not. On principal, Chet was a nuisance. But this whole situation had escalated and now it was going to end in a fight. Testosterone was flying and he was the bigger caveman.

“Did you hear that, son? She said you ought to leave her be.”

“And I said, nobody asked you. We’re just a couple of old high school friends catching up is all. But you wouldn’t know that, since you’re a newbie around here.”

“That’s the difference between you and me, Chet Easley. I know when to fold ’em and walk away. I pick up on social cues. So I will be straight with you. It’s time for you to go. She said it. Carrie says it. And now I’m saying it. What more do you want, son?” Bringing Carrie into this was a bit of a fib, but hell, she couldn’t stand the son of a bitch either.

“Just because you’re 65 years old don’t mean you get to call me son.”

Well, that was uncalled for. This night was hurtling toward pain, quickly, for Chet.

“Well, now, you know I’m 42. But I don’t blame you for not being the best at math, what with dropping out of high school a few years back…” Chet’s neck and ears were turning pink. Jack pushed on. “And oh yeah, that other number problem you had a little bit ago, something about you and a 16-year-old girl from Des Moines you met online? I’m sorry, man, I know you have your troubles.”

Chet’s ears and neck were beet red now and his cheeks were flushed. “You better shut your mouth hole, you smelly old goat-fucker.” His teeth were gritted.

“Well, it’s a good thing daddy had that big hog factory to hand over to you, young man. Good for you! It’d be a real hassle having to get a job and move to the city, what with having to tell all your neighbors that you’re a sex offender. See that? I know quite a lot for being a newbie around here.”

Chet’s eyes bulged and his hand flew.

Jack was fast, and he caught the drunken fist in mid-air and countered with a jab right to the face. Chet cried out and stumbled backward, knocking over the young woman’s beer.

“You broke my doze!” He dabbed at his face with the sleeve of his pristine denim jacket.

“Probably,” Jack said to Chet. Then, turning to the young lady, he nodded and offered his hand to help her slide out of the booth. “Ma’am?”

She stood and he helped her wipe down her sweatpants with some napkins. “Awfully sorry about your beer.”

“Not a problem. These are just the only clothes I have besides my waitress uniform. I’d better get home and wash up.”

Chet had stumbled out the door. Jack turned and grabbed his hat, left a very large tip and covered his bill and the young lady’s. As he laid out a stack of bills on the bar, he could still feel the heat from the young lady’s hand in his from when he’d helped her slide out of the booth. Carrie still had that same wry smirk, and he now understood why.

He turned and offered his arm to the woman and insisted she let him walk her to her car. He felt every pair of eyes in the place on his back as he walked her out. Well, at least he would give the bored college students something to talk about for the rest of the night. And the old farmers would have something to gossip about over breakfast at the Gas & Sip tomorrow. Out in the parking lot, she turned to him, “I’m Maggie, by the way.”

Maggie.

He played the sound of her name in his head. He liked it.

“Nice to make your acquaintance, Maggie. I’m Jackson Clay, your bodyguard for the evening.” He winked. “Which one is your car?”

He liked the sound of her name in his mouth. He’d like to do more things with his mouth that involved Maggie. Tonight and every night. Get control of yourself, man. She’s probably 20 years younger than you.

“I don’t actually have a car. I walked here from home.”

“And now I will be your chauffeur. Where is home?”

She protested, “Oh no, I’ve caused you enough trouble…”

“Ma’am, you’re not going to let me get in a fight for you and then completely drop the ball and let you walk home alone in the dark, are you?”

In the lamplight, her pinks cheeks grew pinker. “I guess not.” She smiled shyly. If he didn’t know any better, he would detect she had a flirtatious look in her eye.

“Where can I take you? Where is home?”

“Morning Glory Farm? Do you know the place?”

Yeah, he knew it all right. That was his place. Or at least, that was the name of his place right before he’d bought the farm from Jane Blaise and changed it to Clay Enterprises, LLC.

Jack stood speechless for the first time tonight. He stared down at this small, intensely beautiful woman with the ice-cream voice and a body… Well, he was a 100 percent straight man and let’s face it…a body he could toss into the back of his truck and ravish ten different ways until they made that pristine truck bed liner exceptionally messy.

He swallowed. He considered whether to have the conversation now or just let it play out.

“Yeah. I know the place. Hop in.”