Opening Day at the County Fair

Opening Day at the County Fair

J.M. Snyder

Working Man

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A surprise from the city shows up at the opening day of the county fair and entrances Jesse, a farm boy trying to maintain his status quo in his family. Jesse's a freeloader, at least according to his father, a man he'll never please. Working on the farm is hard work and getting ready for the county fair is a welcome respite from the daily grind, even if his little sister is a pest and has eagle sharp eyes that don't miss a thing ... like Jesse's sudden interest in a surprise stranger at the fair.

 
PUBLISHED BY: Aspen Mountain Press
ISBN: 978-1-60168-056-3
PUBLICATION DATE: 2007
WORD COUNT: 6000
SEXUAL CONTENT RATING: 2 2
EBOOK READER RATING:
CATEGORIES: ManLove, Contemporary, Erotica, Holidays, Romantic Fiction
KEYWORDS: County Fair, Working Man, pigs, preserves, manlove, contemporary, city and country
 

EBOOKS BY Aspen Mountain Press

EBOOKS BY J.M. Snyder

 
EXCERPT
COPYRIGHT J.M. Snyder/2007

By the time we get to the fairgrounds, there’s already a line of battered trucks edging the fence. My mother’s half-brother Gary stands at the open gate, waving vendors on through. He’s county administrator and since it’s an elected position, he makes sure that he’s seen. The day has begun to brighten, but the sky is white from a faint haze that hangs above the grounds like wet laundry. As I pull up to the gates, I lean out the window and holler, “Looks like rain.”

“It’ll hold,” Gary tells me. With a glance at Jolene in the bed of my truck, he adds, “Pig sty’s in the back, you know the way.”

I inch the truck along the main thoroughfare, one foot on the brake pedal as we crawl along behind other trucks between lines of vendors setting up their booths. There’s a tractor somewhere up ahead, I hear the ragged engine churn in the rising heat, and people dart across the strip, dodging between the trucks as they chase after children or livestock that have managed to get away. Twice I hit the steering wheel in frustration but I don’t bother to use the horn—wouldn’t do any good. Instead I glare out the window at anyone who dares to meet my gaze and egg the truck on in little jolts that make Jolene tap angrily against the cab’s back window. I’ve been up for hours and haven’t even eaten yet; it’s getting hot already, the stench of livestock permeates the air, I’m in a sour mood, and I’m thinking that next year there’s no way I’m doing this shit again—when for the first time in ages I see someone I don’t know.

He’s a young man, about my age, shirt off to expose pale skin that hasn’t seen the sun all summer and a back that glistens with sweat as he hammers a couple of two by fours into a booth. Light hair the color of bailed hay falls to his shoulders, and I stare at his slender frame, memorizing the flex of thin muscles across narrow shoulder blades. It’s Mrs. Colton’s booth he’s working on—she stands to one side with her hands on her ample hips, cans of preserves around her feet. When she sees me looking, she calls out, “Y’all come by for some of my jelly, you hear? I got something new you’ll want to try.”

“So I see,” I reply. That earns me a smirk from the stranger. Encouraged, I add, “What’s his name?”

 
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