Page 57 of If It's You

“Yep.” Christian’s hands were shoved in the pockets of his denim jeans. He had on a white shirt, and it looked amazing against his tan skin. Wait, no. What was she thinking? It was a terrible shirt for the farm.

Maizie hopped down from the cab. “Okay, have fun.”

“Uh.” Christian didn’t move.

“What?” She glared at him.

“Your dad said you would teach me how to drive.”

Maizie’s eyebrows shot up. She had to teach him?

If it was a truck, she would tell him to figure it out himself, but she had no choice here. They couldn’t afford for some city slicker to ruin a baler.

“Fine,” she grumbled, turning back to the tractor.

Christian climbed in first, and Maizie followed him up the ladder, her eyes catching sight of the way the muscles in his back moved.

I need sleep. I’m seeing things that don’t exist.

Maizie kept one foot out the door on the ladder as she explained all the different gears and buttons. But by the time she had finished explaining, Christian looked even more confused.

“Here, I’ll just show you.” She stepped into the cab, crouching under the small ceiling.

Christian stood in a crouch as well, attempting to move out of her way. The other big green tractor had a passenger seat and much more room. But not this one.

Her body brushed against his, and a shock of electricity knocked her off guard. She tripped over a lever on the floor and fell face first into the seat.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” she warned, quickly straightening herself now that he was out of the way.

An obnoxious smirk adorned his lips. “I would never.”

Maizie scoffed.

Christian moved to the open area beside her. His large frame looked squished in the small opening left for him. He half crouched, half stood, his chest near her face.

Maizie was momentarily paralyzed by his rich scent, something musky and woodsy. What was she supposed to be doing again?

Oh yeah, teaching him to drive.

She threw one foot into the clutch, the other into the brake and started the tractor. She showed him which gears made the baler pick up and how to make the turn between windrows. When she did, his body pressed against her own. She sucked in a breath and continued.

“Always pick up the baler when you turn. . . don’t run into the fence. . . lower the baler at the beginning of the windrow. . . don’t go too fast, or you’ll clog it up with hay. . . stay straight.”

Christian listened intently beside her.

She reached the end of the windrow and shifted into park.

“Your turn,” she said, looking up at him and aware of their predicament again.

“Okay.” Christian scooted around her and fell haphazardly into the seat she’d vacated.

“Let’s see if you got all that.” Maizie sat on the armrest of the seat and leaned against the side wall. Christian sat like a statue beside her.

“Are you going to go?” Maizie asked, eyeing his frozen frame.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” He pushed in the clutch, then the brake, and forced the gear shift into first.

The tractor lurched forward, and Maizie flew against the front of the tractor, her flight halted only by the large glass windows. Her head connected with the steering wheel, and her shoulder with the front glass.