East of Virden, Illinois

Abigail Rains sat astride her horse and surveyed the area; her back was sore, and her thighs ached from a long day working on machinery, preparing it for the spring thaw, and reviewing the books that never seemed to add up the way she needed them to. It was almost a relief to be out in the cool air, enjoying the parts of farm life she’d always loved so much. She only wished the scenery was a little different. She hated this time of the year, hated the way the ground looked with the soybeans and corn torn from its fertile soil, the clumps of earth left to blow in the wind while it waited for the full fury of winter’s coming storms. Her father had called her sentimental when she expressed her sadness for the earth to him. He said she needed to learn how to take pleasure in every section of the cycle of life. She called him an old fool.

She’d never intended to run this farm. She loved it, had always loved it. But her mother recognized her intelligence when she was very young and pushed her to put academics ahead of all else. School is your ticket out of here, she used to tell young Abigail. And she was right. When Abigail was sixteen, she graduated early from high school and was awarded a full scholarship to Harvard. How could her father refuse that? The first four years were the hardest, but it got easier after that. And then her mother died.

Abigail wanted to quit school after her mother succumbed to injuries received in a head on collision, but her father wouldn’t hear of it. It was her mother’s dream that Abigail finished school, that she received a good education. Besides, who walks away from Harvard? So, she went back, worked first for her masters, then her doctorate. Her mother would have been proud.

It was that last part that was her downfall. She went to Harvard, studied biomedical engineering to make a difference in the world. But when her professor took their research and sold it to the highest bidder, telling her it would make them both filthy rich, she couldn’t do it anymore. To her, it was about helping people. To him, it was about making money. And that’s the way it was for most of the industry. She couldn’t be a part of that.

Abigail came home because it was all she knew. When her father got sick and died less than a year later, it seemed almost like fate. If she hadn’t given up on her own, she would have had to quit anyway. It was better that it happened on her own terms.

She still thought about it sometimes, though. The quick discussions, the coffee bars and the libraries, the books and lectures, the fast pace of life. It had been such a shock when she first arrived, but she’d adjusted to it, even loved it after a time. It was different and exciting, the kind of life she never thought would be possible for her. She was glad to have experienced it.

She even missed it sometimes.

But the farm was her legacy. She was okay with that.

“Come on, Romance,” she said to the horse, urging it into a full gallop as they rushed toward the back of the property.

He thought that would suffice. Needless to say, it took a lot of roses over the next few months to prove he didn’t see everything as a joke.

Abigail smiled every time she thought of that story. It was such a representative of her parents’ relationship that it had become something of an example of what she wanted for herself some day: a guy who was witty, intelligent, and kind; someone who would buy her a gift just to make a point. Someone who would know just how to respond to her darker moods with a little humor.

She was nearing the back of the property when she realized there was someone walking along the heavy clumps of mud in the back field. Abigail rode up to him, watching him turn and raise a hand to shield his eyes from the late afternoon sun as he waited for her approach.

“Hello!” she called, friendly enough.

“Afternoon,” the stranger called back. It was

“Can I help you?”

“I’m afraid I’m a little lost,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. It was quite charming. “I was following the old train tracks into town, and they disappeared on me.”

“Yeah, those tracks were torn out nearly fifty years ago, and most of the farmers have leveled the parts that cross their land. My grandfather did that some forty years ago.”

He nodded, glancing back the way he came. “I guess it was a bad idea to follow something that no longer exists.”

“It wouldn’t have led you into town, anyway. Those tracks skirted town in favor of the depot down in Carlinville. But if you head east, you’ll hit it in thirty minutes or so.”

“Thank you.” He held out his hand to Romance and rubbed her nose in that sort of way someone familiar with horses does. “This your farm?”

“Yes, sir. Rain Drop Farms.”

He stepped back and smiled up at her, the charm back. Abigail didn’t think he’d have much trouble hitching a ride once he got to the road with a smile like that. She watched as he walked away, confident as he crossed the solid rows of clumped soil. He certainly looked as though he might know his way around a farm. Abigail wondered briefly if he wanted a job. She couldn’t pay him, but she wouldn’t mind having that handsome face around to look at this winter.

Abigail had to shake herself, drag herself back into reality. She had too much on her plate right now to think about romance. Relationships required a lot more energy than she had at the end of most days.

But, again, there was energy to be gained in a little sexual release, wasn’t there?

Two weeks in the Caribbean. What an amazing gift for their kids to give them! She almost wished she’d had the opportunity to give something that generous to her parents for their thirtieth anniversary. But her parents didn’t make it quite that far—her mom died just before their twenty-fifth. Besides, her dad never would have gone. He never left the farm, not even when he was young.

But the idea of a Caribbean cruise wasn’t something she would turn her nose up at.