The Farmer Takes the Cook and the Foreman - The Men of the Crazy Angle Ranch 3 http://www.bookstrand.com/the-farmer-takes-the-cook-and-the-foreman
Okay these guys didn't have the greatest beginning, but they more then made up for it once they streaightened things out.
“What are you doing?” demanded a strange voice.
For the second time that day, Elliot practically jumped out of his skin. Turning, he saw before him a very tall man, dressed in all black. His jet-black hair was styled close to his head, but long enough to make a person want to touch. A short beard shadowed his jaw, drawing one’s attention to firm, kissable lips. Deep-brown eyes looked at him with a mixture of both concern and curiosity.
“I’m getting the table ready for the noon meal,” Elliot answered.
“Who told you to do that?” the man asked.
“Well, after Callum and I stopped Xavi from pitching any more fruit at Trace, it was decided that since I’m capable of making more for lunch than sandwiches I should get to it.” Elliot hid his smile when the handsome man winced at the word sandwich. Seems like everyone was in agreement that sandwich was the new swear word in this house.
“So, did Trace haul Xavi out of here after his temper tantrum?” The man smiled, distracting Elliot, bringing his attention back to those lips.
“Um, no,” he managed to answer. “They’re all watching television in the room with the pool table, waiting for lunch.” Elliot pointed toward the area on the other side of the kitchen the men had disappeared to.
The man stuck out his hand. “I’m Adam VanPeterson. I assume you’re Elliot Fisher.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. VanPeterson. Yes, I’m Elliot.” Elliot smiled, and shook the other man’s hand. He desperately hoped his face didn’t show the surprise he felt when their hands made contact. His gut clinched tight and his breath hitched at the sudden attraction he felt toward Adam. As the handsome man let go of his hand, he caressed Elliot’s palm. Elliot’s lust shut down cold. He knew, right then, that Adam was a player.
“Call me Adam,” Adam said. Elliot didn’t miss Adam’s gaze slowly make its way down his body, deliberately focusing on his groin for a moment and then leisurely making its way back up. Elliot was so not impressed.
* * * *
Elliot wiped his month with his napkin, giving himself a little time to collect his thoughts. He knew, now that the questions started, there would be more to follow.
“I grew up in Florida, but for the last six years I’ve been living in a little tourist town in Wisconsin called Milner.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Callum said.
“Milner, Wisconsin. One of the craziest places I’ve ever been to,” Tyler said. “The whole town has two main roads running through it. And once you get into the town limits, they’re both one-way streets. It’s kind of like a huge roundabout. All the cars end up going in the same direction. And because the town is set on an island in the middle of this lake, a person has to cross one of two bridges, one on each end of the town.” Tyler’s big blue eyes sparkled. “Even crazier is that these roads have nothing but tourist shops and restaurants on each side of them. Tourists literally walk down the sidewalk, shop to shop, up and down these two roads. If you’re going to attempt to drive in that town during the middle of the summer, don’t expect to drive over ten miles per hour, if that.”
“So you do know Milner,” Elliot said.
“I actually grew up about one hundred miles south of there.”
“It’s a nice place to live.”
“Then why did you leave?” Graham asked.
Elliot took a deep breath, knowing he would have to get this out of the way. He opened his mouth to spill his guts…
“Sorry to be late. I only had a little of the east field to finish. Man, it smells good in here. Holy shit. Who made actual food?”
Elliot saw nothing but red hair and pale skin covered in freckles. Looking further, he saw light-blue eyes surrounded by reddish-brown lashes, so very much like his own beloved redhead. Elliot couldn’t breathe. Standing up he left the room and went into the kitchen. Picking up a knife, he started cutting the desserts into squares.
“I didn’t mean to make you run away.”
Elliot didn’t look up. The voice beside him was deep, fitting the man’s stature. Again, Elliot wondered what they were putting in the water.
“Would you like to help me take these pans into the dining room?” he asked, still not looking up.
“Tell me what’s wrong.” A slightly sun-reddened hand, covered in freckles, came into his line of sight when it was placed next to the dessert he continued to cut. Looking at it, Elliot could see it didn’t have the little burn scars all over it, of a volunteer fireman. This hand was a hard-working hand covered in calluses, not the smooth hand of a mill worker who used a computer eight hours a day. It was also twice the size of the freckled hand he was used to.
Elliot still didn’t look up, because he just couldn’t do that yet. “Let’s get these out to the rest of the group,” he said.
“You’re not very polite, are you? Around here, we look at a person when we talk to them.” The voice now had an edge to it. The first thought that popped into Elliot’s head was that this man must be one of those sparky redheads. His Casey had been calm and cool, like a stream of water.
Elliot lifted his eyes just to the top of the collar of the man’s worn navy-blue T-shirt. He picked up the pan and shoved it into the bigger man’s hands. “Here,” he said.
Grabbing the other two pans, he went back into the dining room, leaving the other man to follow.