The Rhubarb Patch
By
Deanna Wadsworth
Genre: M/M Contemporary
Release Date: July 24, 2017
City boy, sci-fi
novelist, and recovering pushover Scott Howe doesn’t know what to expect when
he inherits his grandmother’s house outside the quaint village of Gilead,
Ohio—but it isn’t an enormous bald man in nothing but tighty-whities and orange
rubber boots shouting at him to keep his weed wacker away from the rhubarb
patch.
Scott has never
met anyone like Phineas Robertson: homesteader, recluse… Republican. A
tender—if unlikely—friendship grows over the summer while Phin and his
schnauzer, Sister Mary Katherine, teach Scott about life in the country and the
grandmother he never knew. Opposites attract, but widower Phin worries his
secret will send Scott running faster than his politics, and Phin isn’t
convinced he deserves a second chance at romance.
Scott is convinced—rural
life, and his one-of-a-kind, older neighbor, is the future he wants. Before he
can settle in, his mother drops a bombshell that strains their already tenuous
relationship, and a cousin who believes he is the rightful heir to the property
puts Scott in danger. It’ll take a lot of compromises, and even dodging a few
bullets before they’re out of the weeds, but nurturing something as special as
true love always takes hard work.
Chapter
One
“What the…?”
A big, bald man in nothing but
orange rubber boots and tighty-whities streaked across the yard toward Scott
Howe, waving his hands and shouting.
The high-pitched whir of the
weedwacker shredding through the grass and thick, leafy weeds growing along the
edge of the small barn went silent when Scott released the handle. Popping out
his earbuds, he blinked hard, unable to believe his eyes.
“Stop! Stop!” the man in his
underwear shouted. “You’re killing the rhubarb!”
Instinctively, Scott placed the
weedwacker in front of him, wielding it like a knight brandishing a sword
against an attacking dragon.
At five eight, Scott wasn’t
exactly a small guy, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
“Stop, dammit!” The man flailed
his arms above his head.
Then Scott registered his words.
Keeping the weedwacker in front
of him with one arm, he raised the other in truce. “I stopped!”
Scott divided glances between the
crazy man and the bits of grass and dark green leaves. All kinds of weeds grew
around his late grandmother’s property, making the yard look like crap. Whether
he decided to stay or sell the place, it needed a major spring cleanup.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The man came to a halt, all but shoving Scott out of the way. He knelt on the
ground and began pushing aside the grass. “Dammit, you probably killed this
one!”
What’s he talking about?
Scott took a step away as the man
in his underwear and orange garden boots hopelessly muttered under his breath,
gently picking up the curly green weeds.
“Hey, man, I’m sorry.” Scott
brushed his arm across his forehead before sweat ran into his eyes. “I didn’t
know this was your property. The realtor told me my property line was five feet
past this barn.”
The man stared, bright blue eyes
scrunched with incredulity. “It’s not my property, but it is my rhubarb. Nancy
and I’ve been growing it for years.”
Scott flinched. “Oh, you knew my
grandmother?”
“Yes, she was my best friend, and
you just killed some of our rhubarb.” His voice hitched, a twinge of
desperation in his eyes.Not in anger but a deep, profound sadness that a hot
wash of shame down Scott’s back.
“I’m sorry, but….” He paused, not
wanting to sound like a stupid city boy coming out to the country. “But what’s
rhubarb?”
Still on his knees, the peculiar
man sat back on his haunches. Scott glanced at the guy’s lap, then darted his
gaze back up before he noticed the faux pas—but not before taking note the guy
was packing some real heat in those less-than-brand-new underwear.
The man gestured to the shredded
weeds. “That’s rhubarb. Well….” He pursed his lips. “It was rhubarb.” His broad
shoulders slumped, the golden hairs of his chest sparkling a little in the
morning sunshine.
“I’m sorry,” Scott said again.
“Are you sure I killed it?”
He shook his head and flicked at
the plant waste. He straightened a few curly leaves hidden among the shredded
ones, but they collapsed. “This one’s done for.” He glanced down the
twenty-foot length of the barn. “Thank God I saw you before you killed all of
it.”
Getting a little annoyed at this
hulk of a man, Scott leaned on the weedwacker, his other hand on his hip. “Hey,
I’m sorry you planted stuff on Nancy’s property. But how was I supposed to
know? I just inherited this place, and I don’t even know what rhubarb is.”
Those piercing blue eyes scoured
Scott from head to toe, then back again. “I suspect you’re Scott.”
He knows my name? “Yes, I
am.”
“Well, Scott, I’m Phineas
Robertson.” He flipped a thumb over his big shoulder. “That’s my house, and
this here’s my rhubarb patch.”
“Hello, Phineas.” He gave the man
a courteous nod, wondering if he should’ve called him Mr. Robertson, though he
couldn’t be much older. But the guy had a big presence, an authority about
him—even in his underwear—that could not be denied.
When Phineas remained quiet,
Scott grew awkward. “I’m sorry I weedwacked your rhubarb. Are there any other
plants of yours growing on my property?”
Shit, that sounded kinda snotty.
Phineas put his hands on his
hips, his fur-dusted belly rounding out. “No, just the rhubarb.”
Feeling bad for sounding like a
jerk, because Phineas was clearly distraught about the plants, Scott nodded.
“Okay, so maybe you could show me what I can and can’t trim out of this
section.”
Hopefully the offer would create
a neighborly truce.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
Phineas fixed his gaze on the shredded rhubarb, though to Scott it all looked
like weeds.
I’m gonna have to google rhubarb.
Phineas climbed to his feet.
“Here, let me show you what parts you can pull. I haven’t gotten around here to
trim it up, what with the funeral and everything.”
So Phineas had attended Nancy’s
funeral. Well, that was more than could be said for Scott.
Phineas towered a good six inches
over Scott, and almost all of that burly frame was bare and exposed. Scott
gestured to his state of dress—or lack thereof. “You sure you don’t wanna put
on some pants first?”
Awareness of being clad only in
underwear and orange garden boots dawned bright across Phineas’s face. Glancing
down, he gave a rather sheepish smile, which made him very appealing all of a
sudden. “Yeah, I should probably do that.” He stood there for another moment
before taking a few steps away. Then he paused, pointing at Scott. “Don’t cut
anything until I get back.”
“I won’t.”
Then he stomped off rather
proudly in his underwear and boots, tossing out over his shoulder, “If you
weedwack the asparagus along the fence, you’ll regret it.”
Scott shook his head and laughed.
While Phineas walked away, Scott
surveyed the three-acre property that had literally fallen
into his lap.
Feathery clouds streaked the
pristine sky as if an artist’s brush had smeared a blue canvas with a wash of
white. Everything was greening up with spring. The cute white farmhouse he’d
inherited looked cheery, though it needed some work. It was connected to a
one-car garage by an overhang, and the peaked roof with two dormers gave the
two bedrooms upstairs odd slanted ceilings. Not in the best shape, nor the
worst. Flowers already popped up in the mulched beds around the house and
garage—a sign of brighter things coming my way, maybe?
Smiling to himself, Scott flipped
over a dirty old five-gallon pail by the corner of the barn. He took his iPhone
out of his pocket and sat down. After unlocking the screen, he opened the
Facebook app.
Nobody will believe this.
Since moving into the house three
days ago, he’d been entertaining his Facebook friends and fans online with
Country Updates. That was the only writing he was getting done these days, much
to his editor’s chagrin.
Country Update #4: You guys will
never believe what just happened! I was weedwacking at the farm and suddenly I
see this big, bald guy wearing nothing but his white skivvies and big rubber
orange garden boots barreling towards me! LOL I guess he’s my neighbor. He’s
been growing rhubarb along the barn, but I just weed whacked some. Whoops! LOL
Now will somebody tell me what the hell rhubarb is? #truthisstrangerthanfiction
#cityboyinthecountry
Deanna Wadsworth
might be a bestselling erotica author, but she leads a pretty vanilla life in
Ohio with her wonderful husband and a couple adorable cocker spaniels. She has
been spinning tales and penning stories since childhood, and her first erotic
novella was published in 2010. She has served multiple board positions at her
local RWA chapter and is the current President 2017 for Rainbow Romance Writers
of America. When she isn’t writing books or brainstorming with friends, you can
find her making people gorgeous in a beauty salon. She loves music and dancing,
and can often be seen hanging out on the sandbar in the muddy Maumee River or
chilling with her hubby and a cocktail in their basement bar. In between all
that fun, Deanna cherishes the quiet times when she can let her wildly active
imagination have the full run of her mind. Her fascination with people and the
interworkings of their relationships have always inspired her to write romance
with spice and love without boundaries.
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