Page 20 of Honey Bee Hearts

I still haven’t met the dog trainer, but Gunnar reassured me he’ll be back in a few days. I’m looking forward to meeting all the dogs and puppies that Circle Bee trains for bigger pastures.

And then there’s Trent.

Trent Coldiron sits silently at the table, not interacting with anyone. He comes in and sits down, serves himself, drinks a mug of coffee, and he never says a word to anyone. He doesn’t even look up from his food. To say I’m intrigued by him is an understatement.

Like the rest of the men here, Trent is a beautiful man, but where Rhett is all sculpted marble, Trent is a mountain. Literally. The man is big as fuck. He’s easily over six feet and damn near at seven. His skin is a cool golden color, his long hair jet black and tied back, and his eyes are so dark they might as well be onyx. The shape of his eyes comes to a slight point and speak of a heritage I’d really like to ask about but know I shouldn’t considering he’s very clearly not interested in talking. He has muscles for days, but it’s all covered by a soft layer, like he’s a massive, strong teddy bear. Hell, he looks like he’d be right at home in theGame of Thronesshow. The sudden image ofhim wielding a sword and in leather armor has me blinking and sitting back in surprise.

“Yummy,” Jinx says from Callie’s empty chair. “I agree. Viking it is. Let that man pillage your pus?—”

“Sorry about that,” Gunnar interrupts as he plops back down in Callie’s seat, chasing the image of Jinx away. “Callie really wants to be a fashion designer. She watches all the fashion shows religiously.”

“I don’t mind at all,” I tell him with a smile. “To be honest, I’ve always been interested as well. I make clothes, too.”

Gunnar blinks. “Like you’re a fashion designer?”

I laugh and shake my head. “No. I just like to sew. It’s a hobby.”

“Still cool,” he grins. “If you’re done, you’ll be with me again today. Apparently, I’m the most amicable of the lot.” He leans closer and winks. “Plus, you’re alright as far as company goes.”

I smile. “And what will we be doing today?”

“I figured I’d take you to meet the rest of the animals around Circle Bee while we tackle some of the smaller tasks if that’s okay with you?” He tilts his head. “Of course, you’re always welcome to just hang out and not help on the ranch. It’s totally up to you.”

“No. That sounds amazing actually,” I say.

Trent stands up from his seat and my eyes draw back to him as he carries his plate over to the bin. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes meet mine for a moment.

“Bye, Trenty Poo!” Gunnar says loudly. “I love you.”

Trent scowls and gives Gunnar the finger. He doesn’t look at me again. He just turns and leaves the room. The moment he’s not in here, it feels as if there’s suddenly so much more room.

“What’s got up his ass lately?” Rhett asks, scowling in the direction Trent disappeared.

Gunnar shrugs. “Does it matter?” He stands and offers his hand. “Come on, Fable. Let me introduce you to some of the most important creatures on this farm.”

Ten minutes later, I’m standing in the middle of a large chicken run, bigger than the one from the day before, a basket on my arm as I’m swarmed by hundreds of chickens and other types of birds. Peacocks, geese, ducks, a few exotic looking chickens, everything I could have imagined. There are even pigeons in here. Gunnar stands beside me as he throws a bit of chicken scratch down on the ground in front of me before switching to bird seed. He called this thing an Aviary, and while they’re not necessarily important for eggs, they offer other things apparently.

“Don’t ever wear sandals out here,” Gunnar warns me. “These bastards will peck anything that moves and toes look an awful lot like worms to them. Trust me. It don’t feel nice.”

“Noted,” I reply. “So what exactly are we doing?”

The rooster that Gunnar has been carrying on his shoulder sits outside the coop, watching through the chicken wire. He makes little chirping noises, but the hens and other birds pay him no mind. Apparently, he can’t come in without them being mean to him. He’s too small to hold his own against the large hens and the few roosters, which is why Gunnar has him. When he’d told me the story, I’d melted honestly. Any man who cares enough about an animal to save it is worth his weight in gold in my opinion. I have no illusions about how brutal ranch life can be. This is a business, and Mr. Frizzle is technically a freeloader, but Gunnar took him under his wing.

Something tells me that Gunnar does that with more than chickens.

“We’re gathering eggs. Most of these birds don’t lay every day, but we gotta collect them or else we’ll be overrun.” Hesighs. “And we actually finally have enough chickens to supply everyone eggs on the ranch. We don’t need no more.”

“Do they have names?” I ask, leaning down to pet the feathers of the nearest pale grey chicken. She makes an offended sound and moves around me.

“Some of them do,” Gunnar explains. “We had a few beers one night and started naming the hens silly names,” Gunnar explains as he tosses out more scratch. He points to a large black hen. “That’s Kylo Hen. The one beside her is Hen Solo. Trent likes Star Wars so there are a few with names like that. Like JarJar Beaks.”

I snort. “JarJar Beaks? I love that.”

“Yeah. We about all lost our shit at that one.” He points to one of the larger roosters who struts at the attention and cock-a-doodle-doos so loud, it echoes in my ears. “That there is Cluck Norris.”

He ends up naming a few off, pointing out each and every one of them. Mother Clucker, Drumstick, Tyrannosaurus Pecks, Chicken Little, Eggbert, Princess Lay-er, Amelia Egg-hart. We end up laughing together over them.

“What’s that one?” I ask, pointing to a slim golden chicken.

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