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Pride, Prejudice & Jimmy Choos
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[-2-]
Lois was still reeling as the taxi rolled up the gravel driveway toward a yellow farmhouse. It wasn’t just her averted vacation plans that had her sitting there dazed and confused; her father had also informed her that she was being put on fake probation. He’d secured her a spot at some “dude ranch” where she was going to be graded on her work ethic and progress. She hadn’t even had enough wherewithal to be able to form her natural argument to being punished (“But I’m Lola!”) before her dad-slash-manager had deposited her bags into the trunk of a beat-up taxi and taken off on *her* plane.
“Here you go, ma’am. Five-thirty-eight, Hickory Lane.”
Lois blinked out of her thoughts and peered through the window. “And where is *here*, exactly?”
“Kent Farm,” the driver answered cheerfully, shutting down the engine and climbing out of the cab.
Lois reached for the handle on the door before pausing, her eye catching the figure of a young man on the wrap-around porch of the house. She ran her tongue along her teeth while she studied him, suddenly forgetting that she was supposed to be angry.
“Well, hellloo,” she muttered, taking in the way his jeans hugged muscular thighs. Her gaze traveled upward, cataloging the fitted tee-shirt that revealed the immense biceps that bulged from his crossed arms. Finally reaching the chiseled jaw and tousled-dark hair, she was taken aback by the scowl and the hard glint in the intense dark eyes that were staring back at her.
She returned his hard look with a questioning one, and after a few seconds of dueling glares, he uncrossed his arms and clomped down the steps. When Lois finally got out of the backseat, he was at the back of the taxi, chatting with the driver as he retrieved her luggage.
“That’s Prada!” she exclaimed as he unceremoniously dropped her largest bag onto the ground. He gave her a blank look so she gestured at the bag with an annoyed look.
Shrugging, he turned back and effortlessly lifted her three other bags from the space. “Thanks, Louie,” he said, addressing the driver, “I got it from here.”
Gasping at his irreverence, Lois bent down and struggled to lift the bag from the ground.
“Allright, Clark. Tell your mom I said hello.” The driver then nodded to Lois as he returned to the front seat. “Miss. Enjoy your stay.”
Lois was so busy glaring at Clark for the mistreatment of her property and trying to stay upright from the weight of her bag that she didn’t think to respond until the vehicle was already backing away. “Oh, right, yeah,” she said to the departing car. Turning she saw that her guide was walking away unannounced.
“Hey! It’s Clark right?” she called, juggling her suitcase and following behind him. When he didn’t respond, she tried again. “I’m Lois. Lois Lane.”
“I know.”
She followed him to a small white house that was tucked behind the main farmhouse. He dropped her bags onto the porch and pushed open the front door. “This is where you’ll be staying.”
Lois swallowed the scream of protest (“Prada!”) that was about to erupt at seeing her bags tossed and instead focused on the house. Peering through the open door, she suddenly realized just how far away from Hawaii she was. “Um, actually, there’s been a mistake…”
“Tell me about it,” Clark grumbled in reply, stepping off of the porch and looking up at her from the ground. “Listen, this is my mom’s deal. She asked me to show you in, so here you go.”
Lois laughed. “If you really think I’m going to stay here, you’ve got it sideways.”
Clark narrowed his eyes at the house. “Is there something wrong with the accommodations?”
She snickered. “Do you know who I am?”
“I’m starting to wish that I didn’t. Look, my mom will be here soon. You can take it up with her,” he said, turning and walking away.
“You can’t talk to me like that! I’m Lo…” She caught herself before finishing her statement. She had momentarily forgotten that this was one of those times when she *wasn’t* Lola Dakota.
“Crap,” she muttered to herself. “I’m Lois Lane.”
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“I don’t see why you have to feed it,” Clark said wryly as he stole a chocolate chip cookie from the plate his mother was about to set on a waiting tray.
The petite fair-haired dynamo swatted his hand away. “Clark,” she admonished with a stern frown. “I know you aren’t referring to our company as an ‘it’.”
“You haven’t met *her* yet,” Clark countered. “You’ll be seeing things my way when you do.” He pulled out one of the stools at the kitchen island and sat down, watching as his mom prepared a thermos of iced tea. “She can’t stand being in this sh**hole.”
Martha set the container she was holding down on the counter with a heavy thud and turned to face him. “Clark Jerome Kent,” she said through clenched teeth, “I don’t care how long you’ve been standing upright to piddle, you will not use that language in my house.”
Clark bit back a grin and lifted his hands in apology, shrugging off his mother’s pique. “Not my words.” He gestured with his head in the direction of the cottage. “She’s out there arguing with her father about getting out of here.”
Martha’s eyes narrowed to a glare.
Clark sighed. “Okay, okay. I won’t listen in.” Then, as her look hardened, he added, “Ever. In my life… Again.”
“You shouldn’t have been listening in the first place,” she said firmly, walking over and smacking him gently on the back of the head. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing gotten into me. I just think that if she doesn’t want to be here, and we don’t want her here, then she shouldn’t be here.”
Martha frowned at him and returned to packing the tray. “I don’t think that it’s ‘we’ who don’t want her here.”
“Fine. You’re right. I don’t want her here. I don’t want anyone here. It’s dangerous. She has a horrible attitude, she’s spoiled, and…” His jaw tightened. “Mom, we can’t need money that bad. We don’t need hired hands and you don’t need to consider downsizing. I can take care of all the chores…”
Martha moved and stood across from him at the island. “Clark, this farm was your father’s dream and it’s my dream, but that doesn’t mean it has to be yours.’
“I don’t mind…”
“*I* mind,” she interrupted, reaching out and placing a hand over his. “One day you’ll get tired of hiding away on the farm and want to pursue other things. When you do, I’ll be able to manage, okay?” She smiled and patted his hand. “And this is not just about money. Sam and his wife were once good friends of ours.” She retreated to the counter where she picked up the tray.
She winked at Clark as she backed through the screen door and stepped onto the porch. “On the other hand, fifteen thousand dollars for taking a spoiled brat through a few weeks worth of chores ain’t that bad.”
After crossing the short distance between the houses, Martha paused at the door to the one room cottage as she heard an enraged scream followed by a thud. When no other sounds were heard for the next few seconds, she shifted the tray in her arms and knocked.
“Yeah? What do you want?”
Taken aback at the rude demand coming from the other side of the door, Martha wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “Um, dinner…” she managed.
The door flung open to reveal a tall—and quite pretty—brunette. “Oh, finally,” she gushed, “I’m starved. You can set it over there,” she said, making a sweeping gesture toward the little coffee table that sat inside the tiny living room section.
Still reeling from her first encounter with her new guest, Martha did not immediately rebuff the young woman’s dismissive attitude. She gave Lois a questioning look in response to the discarded cell phone she stepped over as she entered the room.
“Oh, right,” Lois said, bending down to retrieve the item. “Slight disagreement with my parental unit.”
“So you threw the phone and yelled at the door?” Martha asked, setting the tray down on the table.
Lois looked momentarily sheepish. “Sorry about the scream, I thought you might have been the farm hand from earlier.”
“The farm hand…?” Martha repeated in confusion. “Oh, you mean my son, Clark.”
“Clark, yes,” she repeated, sitting down and taking the cover plate off of the food. “Tall, dark hair, angry eyes, metal rod stuck up his a…”
“Excuse me?” Martha interrupted with raised brows.
“Oh, you said son. Right.” Lois took a bite of fried chicken and barely swallowed before sighing in rapture. “This is great. This is *amazing*.” She waved the disfigured chicken wing in the air. “I mean, usually I’m all about counting carbs—thanks to Michel, my trainer—but for something this good, I have to suck up the extra workout and slap the cook.”
Martha blinked; still trying to wrap her head around the pieces of personality she was being shown. “*I’m* the cook…”
Lois peered up at her disapproving expression and grimaced. “Yeah. You don’t really look like you want to be slapped.”
“That’s because I *don’t* want to be slapped,” Martha responded. “I also don’t appreciate the home my husband built for his mother being called a sh**hole.”
Martha raised an eyebrow as Lois’s eyes widened and began frantically glancing around the room. “No, there are no cameras or bugs in here,” Martha said, forcing herself not to smile at Lois’s reaction. “The first thing you need to understand is that I’m a mother, and mothers know everything. Okay?”
Lois swallowed the mouthful of chicken she had been speaking around and nodded mutely.
“Good. The second thing is that this farm is my home. I want you to feel welcome while you are here, but that begins with you respecting your environment.” She waited for Lois to nod again before continuing. “Now, I don’t know what you did, but your father asked me to let you stay here and work with us for the next few weeks.”
Lois’s eyebrows hitched upwards at that but she stayed quiet. Martha wasn’t sure which part of the last statement had surprised her, the fact that she was supposed to work or the fact that her stay was going to be longer than a few days, but she chose to address the former. “You *will* work. There are no maids or valets here and there will be no special treatment. I brought your dinner out here tonight, but in the future, meals are served in the big house. If you want to eat, you’ll be there on time and with your hands washed. Morning chores start at dawn. Don’t be late.”
She finally smiled as Lois blinked up at her. “I’m Martha Kent, by the way. It’s nice to have you here.” She turned to leave, but stopped when Lois shakily called to her.
“Uh, Mrs. Kent? Exactly what time is dawn? I didn’t see an alarm clock…”
Martha smirked. “You won’t need one. Trust me. Just bring that tray over when you’re done.”
She gently pulled the front door closed as she left. “So I guess that means there’s no turndown service…” she heard Lois remark as she walked past the open side window on her way back to the main house. The fact that the girl was still quite spirited after the mini-lecture made her chuckle. It meant two things: one, Lois was smart enough to stretch her feathers once the authority figure was gone, and two, she had her work cut out for her if she was going to have any impact on that attitude.
She was still smiling to herself when she returned to the kitchen to find Clark waiting for her.
“See? See? I told you,” he said, immediately leaping from his chair when she walked through the door. “Well?”
Martha frowned at his sudden restlessness. “She certainly is…”
“Rude, right? Stuck up? Obnoxious?”
“I was going to say gorgeous,” Martha replied, starting to pack up the leftovers and turning her back to him so he wouldn’t see her smile.
“Mom! How can you even say that?” he asked, betrayed.
“I can say that because I have eyes.” She turned and tilted her head in acknowledgment. “I’m teasing, Clark. I know that she’s a little rough around the edges, but that’s not enough to make me send her packing.”
Clark let out a long breath. “Mom, I don’t like this. Home is usually the only place where I can be myself,” he said tightly. “I can’t do that with a stranger here.”
Martha nodded solemnly. “I know, but Honey, you can’t continue living in a zone just because it shields you from the things that are uncomfortable. When I see the way you’ve closed yourself off from everything since your father… it makes me sad. You’re not living life to the fullest.”
“He wanted us to be safe. If people knew what I could do…” He just shook his head instead of completing the thought.
“Yes,” Martha agreed firmly, “of course did, but that didn’t mean he wanted you to ignore your heart.”
“Mom, I don’t want to get into this again right now,” he countered wearily. “I’m just not ready.”
She nodded and let the familiar lecture drop for the time being. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll let you develop the plan for Lois. You can decide which of your chores she takes on, that way you can make sure she carries her weight.”
He frowned. “That’s not exactly keeping her out of my space,” he countered.
Martha shrugged. They both knew that it was almost the exact opposite… and that it wasn’t really a request.
Setting his jaw, Clark crossed his arms over his chest and walked out of the room, leaving his mother to marvel at the fact that she had just witnessed her second adult temper tantrum of the day.
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tbc...
