On Her Way Home by Sara Petersen

the trick. From his experience the one thing women couldn’t withstand was an insult to their vanity.
    Jo was deflated. This man was no different than others. She’d managed to rake rows and rows of corn from the stiff field, and she’d still somehow failed because she couldn’t look good doing it. She was aware of how ugly she looked at the moment, grime under her nails, matted hair, and sweat dripping from her face. Rising off the ground in one fluid movement, she faced him. Summoning all the sensual appeal she could find in herself, she lifted challenging eyes to his. “I was womanly enough the other day when you ogled me at the swimming hole,” she charged.
    The flimsy peach undergarment hugging her skin flashed across Mac’s mind. Sensing where his thoughts raced, Jo knew she’d won and couldn’t keep the glint of victory out of her eyes. She may be stinky, sweaty, and dirty, but she was a woman, and the heated light stealing into Mac’s eyes proved it.
    Mac was reeling from her reply. He had expected outrage from her, and a comment or two about how unfair he was being after she’d worked in the heat all day. He certainly hadn’t expected her to turn the tables on him and remind him of the pleasing curves he’d seen. Mac hated to lose, and it was just like a woman to use her body as ammunition. Refusing to be embarrassed by the turn his thoughts had taken, he took a step closer to her, purposely unnerving her.
    Jo could feel the heat radiating from his body as he stepped into her circle and trained dark eyes on her face. The courage she had momentarily found fought its way out of her chest and scampered across the brown field as she stared up into Mac’s cool eyes. Silence hung around them, waiting to see who would break the tension first, who would lose. His presence in her space intimidated Jo, and taking a step back, she looked down and causally dusted her gloves on the side of her pants. Not for the first time in her life, she cursed this stupid cowardice she displayed in the presence of men. Irritated with herself for bringing the swimming subject up, she slid around Mac and picked up her rake. Jo felt his eyes on her sweat-soaked back as she began raking at the obstinate stalks again. He held his position for another minute, letting his win settle over Jo. She felt like a bullied dog, having been taught a lesson by her master. Focusing on raking, she prayed he would leave. He didn’t.
    Instead, he said fervidly, “Why don’t you just quit? You don’t need this job.”
    His question sank into Jo. She had asked herself the same thing just moments earlier. She could go back to the house, slip into a nice bath, dress in her comfortable clothes, go to town, and take the train back home. Why was she doing this to herself? Nothing but pride kept her here. Pride…and an irksome longing she couldn’t define. Jo was born with an underdog spirit, always choosing and fighting the losing battles.
    Once when she was a little girl, Travis had dared her to eat a hornworm they’d picked off a cabbage plant. He told her that Johnny, Caleb, and he had already eaten one and that if she wanted to be in their club, she would have to eat one too. Jo desperately wanted to be included in their gang and dropped the fat wriggling worm into her mouth, gagging and fighting to choke it down. After she’d eaten it, she raised happy eyes to Travis, “I did it. I did it.”
    Travis laughed and laughed. Mussing her hair, he said, “There’s no club. We never ate any worms.” Jo had felt betrayed, but it didn’t stop her from jumping off the haystack, or walking across the river on a downed log, or any other number of things Travis, Caleb, and Johnny goaded her into doing. Pa always said her fighting spirit was a strength, but more often than not, Jo found it to be a weakness.
    She paused in her raking to look at Mac, then shrugged her shoulders and said, resigned, “I can’t quit. Never could.”
    Their eyes met and