Chapter Text
As the BMW hugs the curve, Bucky Barnes gives a pleased grin at the power of his car’s engine and adjusts his sunglasses. It’s the first time he’s felt normal since he walked out of his office three days ago. After one too many arguments with his co-workers, a phone call from his grandmother convinced him to flee the city for the summer. Now, he has the time and space to put some distance between him and his frustrations. Besides, it’s been much too long since he’s spent time with Grandma Barnes, breathed fresh air, and visited his hometown of Shelbyville, Indiana.
The late May weather is gorgeous as he drives. The sky is bright blue with white puffy clouds scattered across the expanse. Sunlight shines through the windshield causing him to squint even behind the tinted shades, and the cracked window ruffles his hair so that the perfect coif he usually wears to the office is mussed so much it’s a mess. His exit approaches much faster than expected, and he flicks his turn signal to indicate his intention. Rolling to a stop at the intersection, he notices a light breeze tickling the leaves in the trees. He looks carefully both ways before stepping on the gas and heading toward Shelbyville.
Familiar landscapes pass outside the car, and he can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. Bucky used to spend his summers here all the time until he went to college. Then, he’d gotten out of the habit. Too busy, too important, too needed where he was to make his way to the out of the way town where his grandmother remained long after all her children moved elsewhere. After all, it was simply easier to visit his parents in Brooklyn than to book a flight to Indianapolis and then make the 45 minute drive to the southeast of the city.
Shelbyville hasn’t changed much, he notes as he cruises through, but that can’t be said for the family farm when he turns onto the lane. The sky is still brilliantly blue, but the red barn and white farmhouse are both dim and shabby and in need of paint, and the long, wood plank fence that marks the edges of the property has broken slats in several places. The yard is mowed, but there are plenty of other issues needing attention. All of that is forgotten, though, by the sight of his grandmother rocking on the porch and waving at him with a wide smile on her face.
“Bucky!” she calls happily and rises from her chair. He shifts into park and unfolds himself from the car with a grin before bounding up the porch steps to engulf his grandmother in a hug. “Oh, Bucky. You’re so grown up. What happened to that little guy who hung onto my skirts when I cooked breakfast? You’re so handsome.”
“You’re good for my ego, Grams,” Bucky teases and smacks a huge kiss onto her cheek. She looks good, albeit older than the last time he saw her, but that’s what happens when a decade passes in between visits. “I’m so glad to be here. Missed you tons.”
“Still charming, I see,” she teases in a lilt. “You always did have that Barnes’ charisma, same as your granddaddy.”
“Same as you,” he insists as she squeezes him to her again.
With a giggle, she lets him go and clasps her hands over his. It’s only then that he realizes how frail she looks, how thin her skin is and how wrinkled her face looks around her eyes. His grandmother has aged in the decade since he’s seen her, and there’s nothing quite like that type of guilt to make him feel like shit about himself.
“Come in, come in,” she urges. “You’ll want to freshen up before dinner. We’ve got company coming, and I’m sure you’ll want to make a good first impression.”
“Gram, you’re not trying to set me up, are you? You know how I feel about that. You’ve already got five great-grandchildren. You can’t possibly be hurting for more.”
“Ah, sweetheart, I’ll always want more, but no. I’m not expecting grandkids. I just invited the young man who’s been helping me out around here. You’re about the same age, and I thought you might need someone to talk to this summer besides little old me.”
Chuckling, he slings his arm over her shoulder and follows her into the house. “Grandma, I’ll never need anyone other than little old you. You’ve got enough personality for the entire town.”
Inside the kitchen smells exactly the same way he remembers—lemon and freshly baked bread with a hint of dust—which makes his eyes water a bit. He used to be so happy here, so carefree, and it makes his heart hurt to know he turned his back on family when it wasn’t convenient for him to visit. While that might be part of growing up, it doesn’t make him feel any better about his choices.
Passing the afternoon walking the farm, Bucky makes it back to the house as the sun’s fully in its downward slope. The late spring heat fades as afternoon dwindles into evening, and he grins at the sound of insects as they fill the air. He’s sticky and dirty, and he’s looking forward to a cool shower before helping his grandmother prepare dinner for them and their guest. Except that’s not how it works.
Opening the door to the farmhouse, Bucky’s temporarily blinded by the dim interior and smacks into someone who grunts at the contact. Horrified that he’s hit his grandmother, he grabs the form, but it’s not an elderly, frail woman. Instead, the person is a wall of solid muscle, and he’s very, very male.
“I’m so sorry,” Bucky sputters. “For smacking into you and, you know…grabbing you.” A low rumble washes over him, and Bucky’s pretty sure his toes curl at the sound.
“It’s okay,” the stranger says. “I should have been watching where I was going. You must be Bucky Barnes. Your grandmother’s told me all about you. She didn’t tell me you’d be quite so violent. Or sweaty. Or handsome. Then again, your grandmother likes to keep her secrets.”
Shaking his head, he reels at the torrent of words and tries to get his bearings. Secrets? Violent? Handsome? That’s what their visitor notices?
“I, uh…Holy cow,” he sputters. It’s an understatement, though, because the guy standing in his grandmother’s kitchen is easily the most gorgeous human Bucky’s ever seen. Wide shoulders that are as broad as the side of the red barn outside slant into a thin waist and powerful hips and thighs. There’s a shock of blonde, ruffled hair over an aristocratic nose that’s obviously been broken at least once if the bump is any indication. His mouth is pink with plump lips, and shockingly blue eyes blink at Bucky as a grin emerges on his face.
“You have holy cows here? That’s amazing. Minerva, you didn’t tell me you have divine livestock on the farm. Now, that’s a marketing tool you could use to turn this place around,” the visitor calls over his shoulder with a laugh.
Still too overwhelmed by the sheer magnetism of the man’s presence, Bucky almost misses the introduction, but he shakes himself out of his stupor when a hand that’s bigger than his head is extended toward him and the vision introduces himself.
“Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you, Bucky.”
In a daze, Bucky grasps Steve’s palm in his and shakes. Unfortunately, he’s too busy trying not to drool to do much else than nod dumbly. It’s not until his grandmother comes over and pats both of them on their forearms that he’s finally able to form words.
“It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“Come, come. It’s dinner time. Bucky, I hope you still like my fried chicken and mashed potatoes. When you were growing up, I couldn’t make enough. You could eat more than any teenaged boy I’ve ever seen, although I bet Steve could have given you a run for your money.”
At his grandmother’s urging, the two of them settle in at the table, and Bucky can’t help but moan at the aroma of his favorite childhood foods. There’s just something wonderful about homemade fried chicken from someone he loves so much, and the mashed potatoes are still as mouth-watering as they’ve always been. Real butter melts on his tongue, and he shovels several forkfuls in his mouth before he has the wherewithal to stop. He feels like he’s been transported back to his childhood.
“God, Grandma. You haven’t lost your touch at all, have you?” he groans. “This is…”
“Excellent, as always. Thanks for having me over tonight,” Steve adds.
“Bucky, Steve here helps me out around the farm. General upkeep, feeding the animals, some of the fertilization,” Grandma Barnes explains. “Maybe you can help him some while you’re here.”
Turning a bright smile on Bucky, Steve says warmly, “I can always use another set of hands. If you don’t mind, I’d love to have your help with things.”
Fertilization. Hands. Love. The words ring in his ears as Bucky tries not to imagine Steve naked and between his legs. He’s in deep lust with his grandmother’s farmhand, and he’s having trouble forming words.
“Sure. Sure, I can help.”
Although he tries to keep his voice even, Bucky’s a thousand percent positive he sounds like an eager kid with a crush or an awkward teenager experiencing puberty. When his grandmother shakes her fists in triumph, grabs their plates, and shoos them out of the house with a “no time like the present,” Bucky can’t help but laugh at her.
“I didn’t even get to finish my chicken,” he grumbles with a grin, and Steve claps him on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry. When we get back, she’ll have your plate and a big slice of cobbler waiting for you. You won’t go hungry here.”
As they amble toward the barn, Bucky shoves his hands in his pockets and glances sideways. “Sounds like you know your way around here.”
“Yeah. Been helping out for the past several years. When my ma passed, I moved here, and Minerva took me under her wing. Said she could tell a wounded bird when she saw one. She patched the holes in my heart with pie and her special brand of cheer, and now look at me.”
Bucky can’t help but obey because Steve’s about as stacked as anyone he’s ever met. He has a healthy ego himself, but Steve’s simply gorgeous. If Bucky’s not careful, his self-confidence is going to take some serious damage while he’s at the farm this summer.
“Gram’s good at taking care of people when they’re hurting.”
“You sound like you’ve had some experience in that area.”
Shrugging, Bucky plays it off as much as he can, but it’s obvious Steve sees through his reticence to talk. “Skinned knees and bumps and bruises hurt when you’re a kid.”
“Right. I remember,” Steve says kindly, which lets Bucky off the hook.
Motioning to the barnyard, Steve gestures toward the cattle gathered in the field behind it and points out which ones will calve soon and which still need to be inseminated. Distracted, Bucky half-listens because he can’t look away from Steve’s muscled forearms. He finally snaps out of it when Steve mentions the individual cows by name, as if they’re dear friends instead of a method of income for his grandmother’s farm. Bucky’s not quite sure what to call it, but “endearing” is pretty close.
“Are you…from around here?” Bucky asks and winces. “I mean, obviously you live here. Did you grow up here? I used to come visit during the summers, but I’m sure I would have remembered meeting you.”
Steve tosses him a happy smile and shakes his head. “No. Not from here. Moved after my ma died. It’s been…eight years, I guess.”
“Oh, right. You said that. I’m sorry. About your mom, I mean. That must be hard.”
“Thanks,” Steve replies softly, and Bucky shivers when Steve’s warm hand clasps him on the shoulder. “Let’s head back. If I know Minerva at all, she’s got the cobbler waiting for us, and she just wanted to give us some time to get to know each other without her listening. I’ll come by tomorrow and show you the ropes then. There’s no need to do anything else this close to sunset.”
Nodding, Bucky falls in step with Steve’s long strides, and they make their way to the house without speaking. When they reach the porch, Steve waves him ahead, and Bucky grins at the chivalry, even if it’s unintended.
In the end, Steve’s right. There’s homemade peach cobbler with mounds of vanilla ice cream that melts on Bucky’s tongue. That night, he goes to bed plump and full and with the buzz of locusts and crickets filling the air outside the bedroom where he used to spend all his summers. It’s like music to his ears.