NUTS excerpt — Alice Clayton

Hello my fabulous chickens,

I said I’d give you a longer (ahem) teaser and here it is!

In case you missed the first one. . .

You’ll get to meet Farmer Leo and Roxie on 10/20/15 and from now until then, I have some treats for you!

We’re celebrating with lots of teasers on Facebook and Twitter and a very special Facebook Soiree with a ton of my besties / virtual bridesmaids because in case you haven’t heard. . .

I’m getting married! And the funniest thing is, I’m getting married four days before my book comes out!

Sooooo, my girls are posting and giving away copies of my books, their books and other people’s books because it’s a celebration damn it!

Here’s your teaser . . .

The boys were jumping and shouting as he held what looked like patches over them, doling them out and calling the kids by name. As I got closer, I could hear him laughing along with the kids.

“I hear you, Owen; you’ll get your activity patch too—don’t worry. Who else? Here you go, Jeffrey, you earned it when you picked the biggest eggplant we’ve had yet this year! Who else? Let’s see . . . oh boy, we can’t forget Matthew—here you go, buddy. You guys are the best Webelos around.”

His smile really was contagious, and I found myself grinning as I crossed the gravel, admiring his high cheekbones, the curve of his lower lip as he laughed, and the green eyes that, when fixed on mine, turned my belly all butterflies.

And that beard. What constituted a hipster beard? Is it the length? The shape? The proximity to flannel and Mumford? We were within twenty yards of an heirloom tomato; does that count as hipster cred?

I hadn’t been a fan of facial hair beyond two-day sexy scruff, yet Leo was sporting an actual beard and I liked it. I more than liked it, I wanted to touch it. Was it scratchy? Soft? Coarse? Touch it, hell—I’d like to look down and see it, and his face, between my thighs. With significantly less clothing than in our previous encounters.

As my breathing speeded up, another image popped into my brain: sweaty, naked parts and grasping, clutching hands. Whew, it seemed hot out! Christ, the farmer was now affecting me physically. Which was good— I wanted physical. I needed physical. So when I saw him pick up a bottleneck squash that mimicked something very specific in my mind, I covered my moan with a cough.

“You okay?” he asked as I reached him.

“Yeah. Why?” I said, tugging at my T-shirt. Air, please—just a little air.

“Sounded like you were—”

“Just clearing my throat,” I said, and quickly changed the topic. “I made the black walnut cake, with cream cheese butter- cream frosting.” I thrust the white box into his hands.

“Wow, you really made me cake?” he asked, looking quite pleased.

“Well, I made it for the diner; the rest got sold today.”

“Is it good?” he asked.

I grinned. “It’s fucking great.”

Leo closed his eyes and shook his head, and I realized I’d just F-bombed a Boy Scout troop.