Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Falling For a Farm Boy (13/16)

Their dinner was supposed to be nothing more than a fact-finding mission.

But it was.

Lois knew it. She suspected Clark knew it.

But, as pleasant as it was to dress up and go out together, as good as Clark looked, as insistent as he was that he pay, and as much as it felt like a real date… none of it changed two facts.

He was a Kansas farmer.

She was a Metropolis reporter.


Chapter 13

“How was the raking today?” Lois asked, breaking into the uneasy silence that was threatening to inhibit the atmosphere.

Clark looked relieved that she had spoken. “Good,” he replied. “About an hour left to do.”

“You could have finished,” Lois said. “We could have pushed back our dinner.”

Clark shook his head. “I can’t bale too early in the day. I have to wait for the dew to dry. There’ll be time to rake tomorrow morning.”

“Is there any way I can help?”

“Could you drive the truck?”

“I think so.”

“Then you would be a great help.”

“What time will you need me?”

“About lunch time.”

She nodded, and silence loomed again. Desperate, Lois said, “If you could ask me anything, what would it be?”

She’d caught him unawares. “I… I don’t know.”

“Sure you do. Anything.”

“Maybe here isn’t the right place,” he said.

“OK. I’ll ask the question then.” She thought for a moment. “What is your favourite drink?”

Humour glistened deep in his brown eyes. “If you could ask me any question, you’d ask about my favourite drink?”

“Probably not,” she admitted. “But I figured it is a question that could be overheard without any problems.”

He nodded. “Milk,” he said. “Jersey. Creamy. Raw. Ice cold.”

She laughed. This farm boy was full of surprises. And yet… his answer was exactly what she should have expected. “So, Bess’s milk?” she teased him.

“Yes.”

“You’re very loyal.”

He shook his head. “Bess just happens to have the best milk in the world.” He picked up his glass of water and sipped from it. “What is your favourite food?”

That was easy. “Chocolate. With ice-cream a close second.”

He smiled at that. “Good.”

“Why?”

He shrugged slightly. “Good choice.”

Their drinks arrived. “I guess they didn’t have Bess’s milk,” Lois murmured.

Clark just smiled. Then, he picked up his lemonade and held it towards her. “What shall we drink to?”

To us. Lois caught the words before they escaped. “To hay,” she said. “And sunshine.”

“To hay and sunshine,” he agreed as their glasses clinked together.

Lois sipped her iced tea then said, “Tell me – exactly – what you need me to do tomorrow.”

“In the morning, I’ll start baling the hay. The bales will be left in rows. In the afternoon, we’ll bring them into the barn. That’s where you come in.”

“I drive the truck along the rows and… Do you have some sort of machinery to pick up the bales?”

Clark grinned. “Yep.”

“Will you teach me how to work it?”

He laughed. “You just need to drive the truck along the rows. I’ll pick up the bales and put them on the truck.”

“You’ll do it? You’re the machine?”

“That’s right.”

Well, that further explained how he got all those muscles. Dragging her mind away from the image that wanted to form in her mind, Lois said, “Then we drive to the barn and…”

“And I stack them.”

Not for the first time, Lois couldn’t imagine exactly how it would work, but she’d seen enough to trust that Clark had it all in hand. “I guess it feels very satisfying when it’s all stored away.”

“Satisfying certainly. Also, relief.”

“What would happen if you didn’t get the hay in before it rained?”

“I would have to choose between buying in hay or selling animals.”

“You must be frustrated that Jack isn’t here.”

“You're here.”

“I’m not sure I am as useful as Jack would be.”

His expression said he didn’t necessarily agree, and Lois recalled his appreciation for how she had helped Martha.

“Do you come here often?” she asked.

“I haven’t been here for over a year.”

There was more to that simple statement. Lois saw it in the slight tension in his expression. Once he had come here regularly, probably with his father or both parents.

Lois moved her hand from her glass and slid it closer to Clark’s hand. She stopped half an inch from touching his pinkie finger. He lifted his finger and closed the distance, resting his finger against hers.

“I’m sorry,” Lois said. “I didn’t even think about… memories.”

“I had to come back eventually,” he said. “And there’s no one I’d rather be with.”

Their gaze held, unbroken, for a few seconds. Lois smiled softly, he responded, her heart danced a little.

This is not a date, she reminded herself. This was about Clark’s relationship with Lana, not…

But it felt like a date.

Actually, it felt better than any date she’d ever had.

Lois settled against the back of her chair, hoping to ease the slight tension that hung between them. Her hand drifted a little, breaking physical contact with Clark's finger but not the feeling of connection. “If we store the hay in the barn, where will you milk Bess?”

“The hay will go in the loft,” Clark replied, seeming to be relaxing also. “Up the ladder.”

“Oh, of course,” she said, feeling a little silly. “I’d wondered where that ladder went.”

“The loft is about a quarter full with the early summer hay.”

“Is all hay the same?”

“We cut two types – grass and alfalfa. The alfalfa has more protein. It’s for Bess, and any of the other cows who calve before the spring grass arrives. The grass hay keeps them fed. The alfalfa provides better nutrients. Think of the difference between bread and meat.”

She smiled at that. “You’ll do the alfalfa first?”

“As much as I can. It’s a little slower to dry.”

Tracey arrived with two plates. She glanced to the table, her gaze resting a moment on the spot where Lois’s finger was almost touching Clark’s. Neither of them moved. The meal Tracy put before Lois looked – and smelled – wonderful.

“This is great, Clark,” she said. “Thank you.”

Lois’s salmon tasted even better than it looked. The salad was fresh and colourful, the dressing light and tangy, and the baby potatoes crisp on the outside and soft and fluffy on the inside.

“How is it?” Clark asked.

“Amazing. I didn’t realise I was so hungry.”

“Being outside and active does that.”

“I called Perry this afternoon,” Lois said.

Clark’s head shot up. “What did he say?”

“You were right. He was worried about me.”

“Did he say anything about your family? Has he had contact with them?”

“No. He doesn’t know about the family disaster.”

“Did you call your family?”

“No. I’m psyching myself up to call Lucy tomorrow.”

Clark cut a piece of flaky pastry from his chicken wellington. “Did Perry say anything about your job?”

“Yes. You were right about that, too. He asked when I’ll be back.”

Clark didn’t look too pleased about being right. “What did you say?”

“I said I don’t know when I’ll be back.” She waited for Clark to look up from his plate. When he did, she held his gaze and said, “I thought we agreed we weren’t going to make any decisions yet.”

“You’re not leaving tomorrow?”

“Of course not! I have hay to bale!”

He smiled at that. Was he pleased because he would have help with the hay? Or some other reason?

They talked while they ate, keeping the conversation light. They shared a few laughs as Clark told farm tales and Lois told of some of her more interesting stories and the characters she’d met when chasing those stories.

Their plates were almost empty when the door opened, and a man Lois recognised from her lunch with Martha came in and walked directly to their table. “Clark!” he said.

Clark’s expression had closed. “Mr Guerra,” he said tightly.

“I hear young Jack will be returning soon.”

“I heard that, too,” Clark said.

Mr Guerra was annoyed, but he laughed overly loudly to try to cover it. “With Jack to look after the farm, you can come and work for the paper. Name your own price. Your own working conditions. Complete freedom to write whatever stories you choose.”

Clark looked up at the man, his brown eyes steady. “I don’t want to work for you,” he said. “I want to work my father’s farm.”

“Come on, Clark,” Mr Guerra said, “you know you’re far too good a writer to be wasting your time playing farms.”

Clark’s left eyebrow rose a little. “I don’t consider it to be playing.”

“I’ve been very patient,” Mr Guerra said. “I’ve waited for- "

“I’ve been patient, too, Mr Guerra,” Clark said, “but now I have to ask you to leave because you’re interrupting my dinner and being rude to my guest.”

Mr Guerra turned to Lois. “You need to make him see sense,” he said. “You need to –”

“Leave her out of it,” Clark grated in a voice of cold steel.

“Won’t you reconsider?”

“There’s nothing to reconsider, Mr Guerra. My answer was ‘no’. It is still ‘no’. It will always be ‘no’.”

Mr Guerra threw up his hands and stormed out of the restaurant.

“I’m sorry, Lois,” Clark said with a small smile.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I probably should have realised he would find out I was here,” Clark said. “And it’s not surprising he took advantage.”

“How long has he been pestering you?”

“Ever since I returned to the farm. That was just over five years ago.”

“Is he always so persistent?”

“Yes.”

“That’s terrible.”

“He did back off after we lost Dad. I figure he thinks me being here means I’m open for offers again.” He gave her a tight smile.

“Are you?”

His grin became more natural. “Depends on who’s offering.”

She matched his grin, ignoring the little darts of warmth that were shimmering through her body.

“Finish up, and we’ll get out of here,” he said.

“OK,” Lois agreed, wondering if Clark had planned to stay longer – dessert or coffee, perhaps – but didn’t want to risk Mr Guerra returning.

He asked for the check, paid, and when they arrived back at the car, Clark opened the passenger door for Lois. Once he was settled into the driver’s seat, he turned to her. “I’ve been thinking,” he said.

Was he going to suggest they go parking? “Yes?” she squeaked.

“I don’t think we should continue meeting in the barn in the middle of the night,” he said.

“Oh?” she said, inexplicably disappointed.

“You can’t keep working full days with interrupted sleep every night.”

“I’m OK.”

“I would like to continue meeting – and checking on Bess, of course – but earlier. Say nine to ten o’clock. We could have hot chocolate. Chat. Get back at a reasonable time so you can have a full night’s sleep.”

That sounded good. Very good. “I’d like that.”

He smiled, another of those warm, melting smiles that felt like a hug to her heart. “Let’s go then.”

“To the barn?”

“To the barn.”

~~~~

They drove along the darkened fields, turned through the gateway, meandered up the driveway and stopped next to the barn. Clark opened her door and offered her his hand. Lois took it. The ground ahead was slightly rough and dimly lit, and she was wearing heels. That was excuse enough to keep her hand in his.

Clark’s grip was warm, steady, secure. He led her to the fence, and they looked over to where Bess was sitting with Daisy. Then, still holding hands, Clark took her into the barn.

There was already a blanket completely covering several bales set up as a seat with a backrest. Four bright cushions had appeared – two large, two smaller. It looked rustic, relaxed, and cosy.

Intimate, even.

“This is lovely, Clark,” Lois said, sliding her hand from his – reluctantly – and sitting down on the blanket. She arranged one cushion behind her back.

“Are you comfortable?” Clark asked. “The hay isn’t too scratchy?”

“Completely comfortable,” Lois said. “Other than my shoes. Do you mind if I take them off?”

“Of course not. I’ll get the hot chocolates.”

Lois removed her shoes and settled back into the hay.

She’d had a lot of dates, but she couldn’t think of a single one that had been better than this. A Kansas farmer, a surprisingly classy rural restaurant, hot chocolate on hay bales. It was definitely the best date of her life.

Except, it wasn’t really a date. It wasn’t about being together. It was about trying to find out if Lana wanted to marry Clark.

It was about preparing the townspeople for the news that the anticipated wedding would not happen.

Clark appeared at the door with two bowls in his hands. He gave one to Lois.

“Ice-cream!” she exclaimed.

“Better than that,” Clark said. “I made it from Bess’s cream.”

“You made this ice-cream?”

“Yep.”

Lois put a small taste on her spoon and tried it. It was smooth and rich and decadently creamy, with a hint of vanilla. “Clark…” Words failed her.

He sat next to her. “I thought we’d leave the hot chocolate for now. In case we need to warm up.”

“Good thinking,” Lois said.

She didn’t speak as she ate the ice-cream. It was good enough to demand her full attention. She swallowed the last mouthful and sighed.

“Was that a sigh of relief that it’s finished?” Clark asked, although he didn't sound as worried as his words indicated.

“Nope,” Lois said, glancing at him and seeing hope, sprinkled with a little amusement, in his expression. “That was pure enjoyment. You are full of surprises, Clark Kent.”

“Nice ones?”

“The nicest. I would never have believed anyone could make ice-cream like that.”

“I didn’t do it alone.”

“Martha helped you?”

He laughed at that. “No. But Bess did. Fresh Jersey cream, there’s nothing like it.”

“Fresh? You milked it this afternoon?”

“I did,” he agreed. “But that’s not what I meant. When a cow has just calved, she is said to be ‘fresh’. Her milk is creamier than later in her lactation.”

“It makes incredible ice-cream.”

Clark took her bowl, clearly enjoying her appreciation. “Time for hot chocolate?”

“No. I don’t think so,” Lois said. “I want to keep enjoying that ice-cream taste for a bit longer.”

“Are you cold?”

“A little.”

“I’ll get another blanket.”

When he returned, he settled into the corner of the bales and leaned against the wall. Lois inched closer to him, close enough that their knees were touching. He arranged the blanket around her and put the leftover section over his lap.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes.” She laughed. “You won’t believe this, but the blanket feels warm.”

“Tired?” he asked.

“Pleasantly so.”

“We won’t stay here too long. You have a big day tomorrow.”

“Not at big as yours.”

“I’m used to it.”

“Do you have any way to contact Jack?” Lois asked.

“No.”

“He took a huge risk.”

“Looking for his father?”

“We don’t know if he is looking for his father,” she said. “But we know he left his established life to experience something different. What if he meets a girl and falls in love? What if he tries a different job and discovers he loves it far more than milking cows?”

“Then he would have a decision to make,” Clark said gravely.

“You said he has a great relationship with his parents, so deciding anything other than going back and farming with them would probably disappoint them.”

“Yep.”

“And he doesn’t want to disappoint them.”

“No.”

They were talking about Jack, but Lois wondered how closely Clark could relate. How much had he thought about life beyond the farm? Did his dream of working for The Daily Planet still flicker under the accumulation of grief and responsibility?

In the distance, there was movement as the shadowy figure of Bess stood.

If Clark were to leave the farm, to pursue his dreams in journalism… what would happen to the Farm Boy? She had no doubt that certain of his characteristics were set solid – his decency, his loyalty, his work ethic. But how would the change of environment change him?

Her world was not like his. Her world was competitive whereas his was complementary. Her world was synthetic whereas his was natural. Her world was complicated whereas his, though challenging, was simple.

It would be fun to show him her world.

Wouldn’t it?

“What are you thinking about?” Clark asked.

“Your life. My life. The differences.”

He waited, allowing her to elaborate if she chose.

Lois dragged in a deep breath. “Two weeks ago, I thought I had everything I’d ever wanted. After six months of investigation, I was about to write the biggest story of my career. A story that would change Metropolis forever.”

“I know you’ve written huge stories before,” Clark said. “I’ve read a couple of them. Why was this one so good?”

“The story was big. The names were bigger. And I had an exclusive source. Claude was suave, sophisticated, loving, and above all, interested in my life. He really seemed to respect me and the work I did.”

“Lois, I’m really sorry I read the story about what had happened with Claude. I shouldn’t have pried into your life.”

“You didn’t pry,” she said. “You read a published story in the newspaper. Millions of Americans probably read the same story.”

“Yes, but I read it because I know you and I was curious about what had hurt you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, patting his knee under the blanket.

“Thanks,” he said, sounding relieved. “Do you still feel that… compulsion… that need to know everything about everything?”

She considered his question for a long moment. “Maybe I’ve gained just enough wisdom to realise that sometimes, knowing only makes everything more complicated.”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet again, and several minutes passed. Then Clark asked, “Are you beginning to miss your life in Metropolis?”

“Not exactly. I see it differently now I have a new perspective.”

“Is it better? Or worse?”

“Different,” she conceded. “I can see a lot of aspects that I didn’t realise were so negative. Damaging even.”

“Do you think you could change them?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I could. I don’t know if I want to.”

His hand found hers under the blanket and squeezed gently. “You have as long as you need to work it out,” he said.

“Thank you.” She lightly rested her head against his shoulder. “If you didn’t have the farm, would you be tempted to work for Mr Guerra?”

“No.”

“Why not? Have you completely given up your dreams of being a reporter?”

“I wouldn’t work for Anton Guerra regardless of the job he was offering.”

“He’s that bad?”

“He doesn’t care much for truth. Or fairness. He just cares about sensationalised headlines and selling newspapers. That makes him volatile.”

Clark could never work with someone like that. “And your dreams?”

“If I could be a reporter and give it the time and effort it warrants and also be a farmer and commit to that, too, I would probably want to do both. But I can’t, so I won’t.”

“Both farming and journalism require a lot of dedication, and it’s too much for one person? Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I would love to be a reporter, but the price is to give up farming. And that’s a price I’m not willing to pay.”

“I think you’d be a fine reporter,” Lois said.

“Thank you.”

“And you’re an amazing farmer.”

He chuckled and squeezed her hand again.

It had been such a perfect evening.

Clark had said she could stay as long as she needed, but one day – soon – she would have to leave the farm.

Leaving the farm meant leaving Clark.

That was going to be difficult.

She would miss Clark.

And Martha.

And the farm.

Even Bess and Daisy.

But mostly Clark.

~~~~

“Are you still awake?” Clark asked softly.

“Uh huh.”

“You sound tired.”

“Just comfortable.”

Clark’s heart gave a little skip. Lois was leaning against his side, their hands joined on his leg, and she said she was ‘comfortable’.

As much as he would have liked to stay there forever, he said, “We have a long day tomorrow.”

She straightened away from him. “You have a particularly long day.”

Clark reached low to retrieve her shoes and handed them to her. After she stood, he took the blanket and arranged it around Lois’s shoulders. “It’s probably cold out there.”

“How about you?”

“I don’t feel the cold much.”

She tightened the blanket across her shoulders and smiled up at him. “Let’s go, Farm Boy. You have hay to make tomorrow.”

As they walked out of the barn, Lois slipped her hand into his. His heart leapt as he gently enclosed his fingers around her hand.

“The ground is a bit rough for heels,” she said.

He nodded, torn between disappointment at her practical reasoning and the pleasure of her touch.

They reached the porch, and he opened the back door. Her hand slid from his. At the stairs, he motioned for her to go first. He climbed the stairs, his mind a maelstrom of competing thoughts.

Should he kiss her?

He wanted to… obviously.

But more, he didn’t want to do anything that would spoil what had, so far, been a perfect evening.

Claude had betrayed her badly. What Lois needed most was people she could trust.

By the time they reached the landing, Clark had decided he wouldn’t kiss her.

She turned. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Clark,” she said. “I had the best time.”

“Thank you,” he replied, emphasising the ‘you’. “You are great company.”

Her head was tilted up, looking at him. Her mouth was just a few inches away. He looked into her eyes, hoping there would be clear indication of what she wanted. They were soft and warm, but if there was a message there, all of Clark’s powers were not sufficient to decipher it.

“Goodnight, Clark.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and reached up, touching a kiss to his cheek.

“Goodnight, Lois.” She gave him a final smile and went into her room, closing the door.

Clark started slowly down the stairs. He returned to the barn, packed away the blankets, washed the bowls and spoons, filled the tractor with fuel, and made a final check on Bess and Daisy.

He worked at normal speed. He worked automatically without any conscious thought.

His mind was full of Lois.

Holding her hand.

Sharing her smile.

And that kiss.