He absolutely did not want her leaving Piper before school started.
But he didn't want to scare Piper either. She chewed her lip for a minute but finally nodded. "It's okay." She turned to his father. "Can we get dessert now?"
"Sure. We'll just walk across the field to our house. Your grandma made that peach cobbler fresh this morning, so it will still be warm. Delicious."
Piper ran out the door without a backward glance at him or Amanda.
"Well, see you later too," Amanda said with a small smile, as Piper's skinny legs pumped hard to take her across the yard. "But hell, I've been known to run for dessert myself."
"I'd never guess," Danny said, preoccupied with the hope that had risen when Piper had agreed so readily to go with his mom and dad.
Her smile fell off her face. She turned back to him and gave the coffee can a suspicious glare. "So who is Rudy?"
"The rooster."
She snorted. "I'm sorry, but I'm not feeding next week's dinner-on-legs. I'm going to go start taping Piper's bedroom. The paint store guy said you have to cover the woodwork with tape to make the job easier."
"Amanda." He grabbed her arm when she started past him. "Just… just walk with me for a minute. I want to talk to you."
"Can't you just talk to me now? In the kitchen, far away from anything that smells? Besides you, I mean."
It took him a minute. "I smell?" Shit, he should have taken a shower before sitting down to lunch. But hell, if he stopped and bathed every time he broke a sweat, he'd spend half the day in the bathtub.
"You're a little… earthy." Amanda tucked her hair behind her ear and crossed her arms over her br**sts.
Danny wasn't sure what a man was supposed to say to that. "I'm a farmer. I sweat. I'm sorry if that offends your little nostrils. I guess men in Chicago don't sweat. They stay in shape lifting their wallets instead of doing manual labor."
"Don't get your flannel shirt in a bunch. I didn't say you smell bad. I said you smell earthy. Huge difference. One is gross, one is… not gross." Her cheeks got a little pink, which surprised him.
Amanda wasn't a blusher.
"So you don't find me gross? Smelly? Disgusting?" Danny took a step closer to her, charmed by that tint to her face. He wondered how she'd feel about kissing a smelly farmer in his kitchen.
"No." But she seemed to have caught onto his intent, because she stumbled back and grabbed the coffee can off the table. "Let's go feed the chickens before Rudy has a cow." She hit the screen door with the palm of her hand. "Get it? Has a cow? That's farm humor."
He got it.
And he liked it.
He liked every inch of Amanda, from top to bottom, inside and out.
Chapter 13
Not wanting to risk her Kate Spade sandals getting pecked, Amanda took them off as they stepped into the yard. Of course, that left her feet bare and completely vulnerable to any rogue chicken who might get carried away.
Better her feet than her five-hundred-dollar shoes. It was doubtful she'd be able to buy replacements any time soon. She tugged on Baby's leash. "Come on, sweetie, we're going to meet some chickens."
Danny glanced down at her feet. "Umm, do you want to borrow a pair of my gym shoes? The grass is kind of dry this time of the year."
She pictured putting his clunky, dirty shoes on with her Juicy dress and shuddered. "No, thank you. I'm tough. I can handle it."
He coughed into his hand. "Tough is not the word I would have chosen to describe you."
"What word would you use?" She could only imagine. Rich, spoiled, irritating, flat-chested were probably in his primary grouping. Followed by secondary adjectives such as lazy, unskilled, stubborn, and hawk-nosed.
Danny walked beside her with his hands in his front pockets. He wasn't looking at her, which wasn't promising. But then he said, "Fascinating. That's how I'd describe you."
What, like freak-show fascinating? Or like, really cool and interesting kind of fascinating?
"Complex. Generous."
He thought she was generous? That was a switch. One that rendered her speechless.
"Beautiful. Provocative."
Danny glanced over at her, and she was instantly reminded of that hot kiss they had shared.
Which she was so over.
Her terry-cloth dress was just rubbing her ni**les, causing them to rise, that was all.
Danny continued with his Portrait of an Heiress. "Sweet. Lost."
Now he was too close to home. He was wiggling inside her head and under her defenses. He was seeing that part of her she hated, that she hid and pretended didn't exist.
"I think you've got me confused with Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. Maybe the little dog threw you off."
Baby was jumping and leaping, clearing the brown tufts of burned out grass like they were boulder-size bushes.
"So where are these chickens, anyway? All I see is dead grass and a dilapidated shack. If that's where the chickens live, I'm already feeling more charitable toward them. That's an appalling structure. This is like the ghetto for chickens." Amanda shifted, the sun beating down on her. The grass did hurt. It was like walking on broken glass.
"Chick, chick, chick," Danny said, rattling the coffee can.
There was something about a grown man calling "chick, chick, chick" that cracked her up. Amanda laughed. "Don't tell me that actually works."
Then she let out a squawk and ducked behind Danny. The chickens—dozens of them—had swarmed out of the chicken house and were pouring toward them, clucking wildly. Baby barked with all the ferociousness a two-pound poodle can muster.
"They're going to attack us!"
"They want the food, not us." Danny tossed bits of dinner rolls and potato salad out into the yard. The chickens turned up the speed, running hysterically toward the food.
Safely behind Danny's bulk, Amanda peered around at them. "Oh my God, that's the freakiest thing I've ever seen. They look like three-hundred-pound men running with their hands in their pockets."
Danny laughed. "That's a pretty accurate description." He tossed chunks of fried chicken after the rolls.
"You're feeding chicken to a chicken? Eeewww."
"They'll eat anything."
Amanda pulled Baby a little closer to her. "I had no idea they were cannibals. I feel a little sick. I mean, that was probably like their cousin or something, and they're just pecking away at her cooked flesh. Maybe they're saying 'That Becky always was a bitch. Glad she's gone.' "
"I think you're giving them too much credit. I don't think there's really a lot going on in a chicken's head."