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Falling For a Farm Boy

Chapter 1

The tears Lois Lane had been fighting for over an hour welled up her throat in a knotty lump of pain and disillusionment. She pulled onto the grassy bank and cut her engine. As she slumped against the back of the seat, her restraint dissolved, and anguished sobs racked her body.

Five minutes later, the storm began to wane. Lois dragged her sleeve across her damp cheek and hauled in a quivery breath.

There was a new emotion mingling with her wretchedness now – exasperation at her own weakness. Crying never achieved anything. All her tears hadn’t changed a single detail of the triple disaster that had destroyed her life. And worse, her head felt like a bomb had detonated behind her swollen, sandpapered eyes.

Lois glanced through the windows of her car, noticing her surroundings for the first time. The fields were green-brown, glistening in the early fall sunshine and separated by networks of wire fences. She wound down the window, and the breeze whispered against her hot cheeks. After lowering the window to fully open, she settled back into her seat and closed her eyes.

Her tears had slowed to a trickle, creating a vacuum inside, and leaving her without protection against the gushing flood of despair.

Why was she here?

What was she trying to achieve?

Truthfully, she wasn’t sure. And even if it had been possible to put her plan into coherent words, she knew it was so fundamentally flawed there was very little chance of it amounting to anything significant.

She’d left Metropolis that morning, the day after her world had shattered. She’d flown to Wichita, rented a car, and here she was.

Why?

She had no valid answer.

Somewhere, deep inside, she felt a gnawing ache for… something. It had been there a long time. It had been easier to ignore in the days when chasing her dreams and building her career had left her too tired to think of anything beyond the next story.

And then, for a few short weeks, her life had seemed perfect. It had been a flimsy shell with no real substance, and deep, deep down, she’d known it did nothing to fill the void.

But it had been easy to pretend. Too easy.

Until the shell had crumbled, powerless to withstand the onslaught of revelations - three of them, one after the other. She hadn’t been able to resist the impulse to run away. Flying to Kansas had served as a convenient escape.

What did she want? Really? What was she actually seeking? Her mission – the foolhardy longshot that had sent her scurrying halfway across the nation – was of scant importance. Indeed, its main attraction was the near certainty that it would fail.

“Are you OK, Miss?”

Lois startled at the quiet voice and turned to find a man standing a metre from her window and leaning down to peer into her car.

He was about her age, his dark hair was neatly trimmed, he wore glasses, and his clothes instantly announced him as a farmer.

“Yes,” she said hurriedly, hoping he would go away. “Everything is fine.”

“Engine trouble?”

“No. No, I just needed to stop for a few minutes.”

He squatted, placing his forearms on her window. He was clean-shaven. His hands were a little dusty, but that didn’t mar their strength and masculinity. His arms rippled with taut muscle, right up to his biceps, peeking out from under the short sleeves of his well-worn shirt. “Are you lost?” he asked.

Yes, she was. Hopelessly. But not in the way he meant. “No.”

“How can I help?”

The question carried such unexpected empathy that her throat constricted, and the traitorous tears threatened again. She grabbed her bag and searched through it frantically.

“Here,” the man said, offering her a clean, folded, ironed handkerchief, white, with the letters ‘CK’ embroidered in blue on the corner.

Lois gave up on her bag and accepted his offering as she muttered, “Thanks.”

She dried her eyes and wiped her nose, realising with some surprise how little she cared that she must look like a snivelling blob who lacked sufficient composure to articulate her circumstances.

Trying to summon a shadow of the real Lois Lane from the debris, she resolved to get away from here as quickly as possible. She turned back to the yokel, words of dismissal forming, and discovered he was watching her with unmistakable concern on his rather good-looking face.

“You look like you need a break,” he said. “Tea? Coffee maybe? Something cold?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No. I just needed a few minutes. I’m OK now.”

He looked unconvinced. “Where are you headed? Do you have far to go?”

“No. Not much further.”

He paused, seemingly unsure about what to do with the stranger who was stranded on a road that probably rarely saw strangers. “See that house on the hill?” he said, extending his arm behind him to point across the road.

She lowered her head and glanced towards a pretty house behind a flowerful garden. “Yes.”

“That’s our farmhouse,” he said. “My mother’s kitchen is behind the left window. She will have seen you stop here. If I don’t take you in for a drink and something to eat, she is going to be really annoyed with me. I’m surprised she isn’t already charging down the hill to find out what is taking so long.”

Lois turned from the house to the farmer. His brown eyes were soft, and she thought she detected the slightest twinkle through the earnestness. She felt an answering smile begin but controlled it quickly. “No. Thank you,” she said, hoping her clipped tone crushed any possibility of extending this chance meeting. She held the handkerchief – no longer pristine white and pressed – towards him.

He took it, somewhat bashfully, and then said, “CK. My mom makes them for me. I’m Clark. Clark Kent.” He brushed his right hand on his shirt and held it towards her.

Lois shook his hand but didn’t bother to offer her name. His skin was warm, his grip firm. Again, she was struck by the strength implicit in the size and shape of his hand. Yet he had enclosed her hand with exquisite gentleness.

“I wish you’d tell me how I can help,” he said. “I hate letting you go when you’re obviously dealing with some difficulties.”

“How do you know that?” Lois demanded, telling herself that if he so much as alluded to her unsightly appearance, she would drive away without another word.

He didn’t flinch. “You’re in a rental car,” he said. “It has a Wichita Airport sticker. Therefore, you’re not a local and you probably flew in from far away. There has to be a reason why you came. I’ve lived here all my life. Maybe I can help.”

Maybe he could. “Do you know if someone called Jack Mackenzie lives near here?”

Clark’s smile faded in response to the name. “Jack?” he said. “Jack Mackenzie?”

“You know him?”

“He works here.”

“Here, as in Smallville?”

“No, here as in on our farm.”

“Jack Mackenzie is here?” Lois squeaked.

“Not now. He’s away. He said he’ll be back tomorrow around lunchtime.”

Tomorrow? So soon? She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready.

Lois scanned the fields, her eyes sweeping over the cute cottage, where, if Clark Kent was to be believed, his mother waited with ready refreshments. Jack Mackenzie had been here? In these fields? In that house?

If that were so, he had just become more than a name. He was a person. A real person with a real life.

Did she want to meet him? Was she ready to deal with the ramifications of thrusting herself into his life?

It would be easier to leave. To pretend she hadn’t been able to find him. To run away. Again.

“Miss?”

Clark’s hesitant prompt brought her back to the present. “Hm?”

“Did you come to Smallville looking for Jack?”

Had she? “Maybe,” she mumbled.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be driving,” he said. “How about you come up to the house and we have that drink? It’ll give you time to work out if you want to stay and see Jack tomorrow.”

“I’m fine,” Lois said, completely unsure as to whether she was fine or not. She hadn’t expected to find Jack Mackenzie. Not this easily. Not this soon. Not at all.

She turned to Clark, who was watching her with those deep brown eyes. He smiled, and she felt a little trickle of warmth drizzle through the ice layers capped over her heart.

“Do you want me to drive?” he asked.

Lois nodded. Not because she couldn’t drive. Not because she particularly wanted to accept his hospitality. Not because she could be coerced by soft brown eyes and a pleasant smile.

But because it postponed the need to make any other decisions.

Clark opened her door. Lois mechanically released her seatbelt, took his offered hand, and stood. She put her other hand on the car.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked as his hand moved behind her back to land just below her waist, steadying her. “Not dizzy?”

Of course, she was all right. She started to walk around the back of the car, but she didn’t release his hand or push away his hold on her hip.

Clark helped her into the passenger side and then slid into the driver’s seat. “You’ll feel a lot better after a drink and some of Mom’s biscuits,” he said, glancing her way with a warm smile. “She serves them with jelly and cream.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

He backed up a little, turned into the gateway, and drove up the hill on the track that twisted through the fields. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I haven’t asked your name.”

She was too weary to examine the possible complications of giving her name and too drained to create an excuse for secrecy. “Lois,” she said. “Lois Lane.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You are a long way from home.”

“You know who I am?”

“I know Lois Lane is a reporter for The Daily Planet.”

“How do you know that?” she snapped.

“The local newsagency gets a few copies,” he said. “They come in twice a week.”

“You’ve read my work?”

“Yes.” He glanced sideways and smiled. “I’ve read a lot of Lois Lane’s stories and been amazed by the depth and quality of her writing.”

“Thanks,” she said without any real warmth.

“You are that Lois Lane, the brilliant reporter?”

She had tarnished that status – probably beyond repair – in the past few days, but she had no intention of going into that disaster with a Kansas farmer. “Yes,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t launch into an in-depth analysis of any of her stories.

He didn’t. He stopped the car next to the gate between the two sections of white picket fence. He didn’t get out of the car immediately, turning to her instead. “Why do you want to see Jack?”

The question had sounded casual, but one glance into those brown eyes told her he was uneasy about her enquiry. “Personal reasons,” she replied.

“He’s not in any trouble?”

What was it about Jack Mackenzie that made Clark think he might be in trouble? And what sort of trouble? Women? Money? Law? Drugs? “None that I’m aware of,” Lois answered truthfully.

Clark gave her a small smile and got out of the car, arriving at her door in remarkably quick time, opening it for her, and again offering his hand.

She took it. Not because she’d appreciated the warmth of his touch. But because it was easier than having to explain a refusal.

Once she was out of the car, he released her hand and shut the door. “This way,” he said, gesturing towards the gate.

The garden was vivid with flowers that boasted a rainbow of colours and gave the path a heady, sweet aroma as they walked towards the cottage. Clark opened the door and waited for her to precede him. With the lightest touch on her back, he directed her to the right and into a long room, filled with light from the sizeable windows at both ends. The opposite wall was dominated by an open fireplace. Ahead was the table, and to the left, the kitchen. A woman rose from where she’d been checking the oven and came forward with a warm smile.

“I was wondering when you’d get here,” she said. “Great timing. I’ve just taken out the biscuits.”

Clark shot Lois a ‘told you so’ look, and she couldn’t help the small smile that squeezed out from the haze of her misery.

“I’m Martha Kent,” the woman said. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“This is Lois,” Clark said.

“Lois,” Martha said. “What a lovely name. Welcome, honey. Please, sit down. What would you like to drink?”

Lois slipped into the nearest chair, one of several around the old, worn table that seemed to resonate with wholesome things like family and home and sincerity of welcome. Seeing a teapot, she said, “Tea, please.”

Clark walked past Lois and went to the sink to wash his hands.

“What brings you this way, Lois?” Martha asked as she took jelly and cream from the fridge. “Have you been travelling for long?”

Lois glanced at Clark to see if he was about to reply for her. He was drying his hands and looking at her. “I… I was looking for someone,” Lois said, “but now I’m not sure if I want to find him or not.”

Martha brought the teapot to the table. “Sometimes, those decisions can be difficult,” she said.

Lois nodded.

“I guess you need to look at the good things you had and the not-so-good and weigh it all up.”

Lois stared at Martha for a moment as her frazzled brain searched for meaning in the words. Then it became clear. Martha thought she had come searching for an ex-boyfriend. Lois opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, too tired to offer an explanation.

In less than an hour, she would be back in the rental car, driving to… driving somewhere and she would never see these people again.

Except if she did decide she wanted to meet Jack Mackenzie, that decision would lead right back to Clark and his mother.

Maybe she should say something…

What?

She couldn’t face even an abridged version of what had led to her sobbing wildly outside a farm gate in the emptiness of rural Kansas.

So, Lois said nothing, realising her silence would seem like confirmation of Martha’s hypothesis.

Clark sat down, and their eyes met. He smiled at her and pushed the plate closer. “Have one of Mom’s biscuits,” he said. “I can recommend them.”

Lois took one and put it on her plate, wanting not so much the biscuit but the chance to appear occupied. She reached for the container of jelly for the same reason.

“When did you last check on Bess?” Martha asked Clark.

“Half an hour ago,” Clark replied. “Still no sign of labour.”

Lois looked up from her biscuit and scanned the expressions of both Clark and his mother. Did Clark have a wife? His ring finger was bare. And why couldn’t Martha ask Bess herself?

With the three of them seated at the table, Clark poured from a brown teapot. Lois stared at her plate, realising she was hungry, but not sure her stomach was ready for food. She sipped from the tea. She hadn’t had anything since a coffee and doughnut on her way to the airport. That had been seven hours ago.

“Where are you from, Lois?” Martha asked pleasantly.

“Metropolis.”

“Did you fly into Wichita? Or drive all this way?”

“I flew. And got a rental car.”

“I’ve only been to Metropolis once,” Martha said. “It’s such a big city. So many people, all rushing around. Very different than here.”

“Very different,” Lois agreed with feeling.

“Do you like living there?” Clark asked.

Did she? She lived there because her work was there. She’d never considered alternatives. “It’s home,” she said. “I guess.” She looked out of the front window, seeing the fields and the trees and the road beyond them. “Do you like living here?”

Clark and his mother shared a look. “I have lived in this house for almost forty years,” Martha said. “Nowhere else could be home.”

Lois looked from Martha to Clark and awaited his answer.

“It’s home,” Clark said.

“But?” Lois persisted.

“There’s a big world out there.”

Would he move if he could? Would he take the opportunity to experience something different? Did he want to? If he did, what was holding him here?

“I’ve toyed with the idea of living somewhere else,” Clark admitted. “But then I think about all I’d be leaving behind and I can’t imagine anywhere else being good enough to beat it.”

Lois took another sip of her tea. She couldn’t eat the biscuit yet, but she could feel the tea calming her.

“When is your flight home, Lois?” Martha asked.

“I have an open booking,” she replied. “I didn’t know how long this would take.”

Martha nodded. “You look exhausted, honey. What are you plans for tonight? Do you have somewhere to stay?”

“I will get a hotel room. In Smallville… maybe.”

“There is one hotel in Smallville,” Martha conceded in a tone that didn’t leave room for any optimism. “But we’d love for you stay here, honey.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Of course, you could. I’ll cook supper. You can eat, have a bath if you want, and get an early night. Everything will look better in the morning.”

It sounded ridiculously tempting. Staying with these people was out of the question, obviously, but Lois was surprised by how close she was to agreeing to do exactly as Martha suggested.

“We’d like you to stay,” Clark said quietly.

“The spare room is all made up,” Martha said. “It’s quiet and cosy and just perfect for a restful night.”

“I couldn’t,” Lois repeated as the first twinges of panic began to stir inside her. It was becoming clear that Clark and his mother were not the sort of people to allow her to flee their home with no firm plan. Lois picked up a piece of her biscuit and took a bite. The jelly had juicy clumps of fruit and tasted wonderful.

She ate the rest of it while Martha and Clark talked about various things that Lois assumed had to do with the farm. She surmised that Clark had a lot to do and had been out working very early that morning. A feeling of guilt crept through her as she realised she had taken up so much of his time. It refired her intent to get out of their lives as quickly as possible.

Except… if she decided to meet Jack Mackenzie, it was unlikely she would be able to avoid another encounter with Clark and Martha.

Did she want to meet Jack Mackenzie?

It had been easy to decide she wanted to contact him when finding him had seemed unlikely in the extreme.

But now…

Lois glanced up at Clark, regretting she had told him she was looking for Jack Mackenzie. Would he tell Jack that a strange woman from Metropolis had come asking after him? Maybe if she asked Clark not to say anything…

Clark’s gaze swung from Martha to her, and Lois realised she had been staring. Their eyes met, and he smiled. “How are you feeling now?” he asked.

His concern seemed deeper than mere courtesy.

“Better, thanks,” she said automatically.

He smiled again and returned his attention to his mother.

Lois took another sip from her tea. The biscuit had given her a short spurt of energy, but now it felt as if a blanket of exhaustion was smothering her. She was so tired, and her mind – usually so nimble – was suffocating in thick fog.

She made a dogged attempt to examine her options. Perhaps that would make it easier to choose one of them.

If she left now, drove back to Wichita tonight, stayed in a hotel, and took the first flight back to Metropolis tomorrow morning, how would she feel next week?

Lois sighed quietly. She was not the sort of person who could let things go. She didn’t simply dismiss and move on. That attribute had helped her become such a successful reporter, but it was also something of a liability.

She couldn’t let this go. Jack Mackenzie could leave – move beyond her reach – at any time. Then, the decision would be taken out of her hands.

She had to act now. She had to find some answers to the horde of questions relentlessly tapping at her brain. Perhaps then she would find a measure of peace. Perhaps then she could go back to Metropolis and attempt to resurrect her career. Perhaps then…

She felt the table shift a little and sensed movement around her. Strong arms lifted her and held her against a broad body. She knew she should protest, but sleep lured her exhausted body and overloaded mind towards nothingness.

“It’s OK, Lois.” It was Clark’s voice, very close. “You’re tired. We’ll take you to the spare room where you can rest.”

Lois knew she should open her eyes. She should demand that he put her down and let her drive away.

But her final reserves of energy were gone. She snuggled closer into his chest and succumbed to the captivating lure of oblivion.