Page 53 of The County Fair Queen

"Well, I wasn't gonna pee in the yard, was I? I'm not a dog!"

"Okay," Rivers said, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "We'll be circling back to that later, but first—"

"Answer the question! Did you know?" he shrieked.

I wasn't sure what the hell had the poor boy in such a state. Sure, he was prone to theatrics, but I'd never seen him this upset. As Rivers attempted damage control, I took the paper from him.

Christ. Okay, it was starting to make sense.

"It's how farms work, buddy. You know where meat comes from. We've had this talk."

"You didn't tell me the animals I was helping were going to be bacon! You said they were going to another farm."

"Buddy, they do this every year on closing night. I don't have a say in the matter. I've got fourteen farmers coming in to sell off their livestock."

"No, you don't. Blood on your hands, that's what you've got," Beau said.

"For God's sake—"

"Beau," I said, trying to distract him.

"No," he said, taking a step back. "I've already got Daddy breaking my heart. I don't want to have to be mad at you too. I don't want to lose my job as the fan club president, but I'll quit if you stick up for this. They're gonna kill them. It ain't right, Phillip." He swiveled back in his father's direction. "You gotta buy them all up, Daddy."

"We live in a subdivision. Where the heck do you think we were going to put thirty pigs?"

"We have a big backyard."

"Not big enough for thirty pigs, we don't," he said, panic coating the words.

"That don't matter. We can think of something later. They're Fudge's brothers and sisters. If they kill 'em off, it's gonna be jellyside."

"I think you mean genocide, and I'm not sure that's the proper use of that word," I said, but all it earned me was a death glare. "I'm also not sure how you know what genocide is."

"Daddy watches Fox News sometimes," he said, side-eyeing his father accusingly. "He says it's just to see what the other side has to say, but sometimes I don't know."

I glared at Rivers. "That's borderline child abuse. I won't stand for it." I steadied myself, because the look Rivers shot me was one that could bring a grown man to his knees, and not in a fun, frisky way. Course correcting, I returned my attention to Beau. "Come here, kid." I patted my thigh, motioning him over. He seemed conflicted, like he was weighing his options. Thankfully, he must have realized resistance was futile, because he scurried over and hopped into my lap.

He pressed his face into my chest, tears soaking through my shirt. "They're not food, Phillip. They're his family. My friends."

I hated seeing him like that. He was a perfectly lovely seven-or-thirteen-year-old boy. He didn't have any business being so distraught. I wanted to help, but for the life of me, I just couldn'tthink of a solution. Despite the royalty checks from Friendzone's albums coming in consistently, I wasn't made of money. On top of that, I wasn't even sure how much pigs sold at auction. Jordan did our grocery shopping; perhaps he might know how much a pack of bacon cost? I was sure if I just multiplied that number by ten or twenty, it would probably give me a rough estimate. Even if I could spring for thirty potbellies, there were still the logistics. Rivers was right. They lived in a gated community. The smell alone would more than likely trigger an endless HOA feud. Then there was the noise. Fudge was a rambunctious little bastard, and judging by his behavior thus far, adding thirty of his brothers and sisters into the mix would probably send Rivers into a mental breakdown. Sure, I could nurse him back to health, but I wasn't a trained trauma specialist. I couldn't be expected to play Florence Nightingale for the rest of my life.

For the rest of my life?

Where the hell hadthatthought come from?

Eventually, Beau excused himself, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt before sulking off to the stairway. Behind him, Fudge hobbled along, pausing long enough to peer over his shoulder, flashing a look of pure, untethered rage in Rivers' direction. When I turned back to Riv, his eyes were wide as saucers, and the hairs on his arms were standing on ends. Beau bent over and whispered something into the porker's ear. Once they were upstairs, I inched closer to Rivers and took his hand. There had to be something we could do. Some way I could help.

"Whatever you're thinking, Phillip," Rivers said, staring at our intertwined fingers. "Whatever's going on in that big, beautiful head of yours, don't." His grip tightened. "This isn't up for debate."

I cuddled in closer, leaning my head against his shoulder. The sigh that escaped him cut through any thoughts of pignapping or grand swinery. "I just hate seeing him like that."

"You think I don't? Parenting isn't all fun and games. You can't just give into every little whim. You coddle them as much as you can, but you have to prepare them for the real world. Even if we somehow saved this bunch, what about the next? And the litter after that? Short of banishing Mr. Monte from Tallulah altogether—and before you even suggest it; no, Firecracker, I don't have the legal authority to enact an exile—my hands are tied, baby."

My heart fluttered in my chest every time that word left his lips. There was no call for the endearment, but there it sat, hanging in the air around us like his sandalwood-scented cologne on the breeze. It dazzled me. Dizzied me. Fuckingconsumedme. For Rivers, however, it hardly even registered. The word fell so easily from his lips that it almost seemed like an afterthought. As much as I wanted to become lost in the moment—to stare into those dreamy eyes of his as I hardened to stone like one of Medusa's victims—I knew this wasn't a memory I could live inside. Plans were already swirling in my mind like the world's most lackluster cyclone. If Rivers was unwilling to find a home for thirty of his son's closest swine buddies, the burden was going to have to fall on me. I just hoped the damage left in the metaphorical twister's wake wasn't deadly.

Chapter Thirteen

SHUT UP ABOUT SARAH MCLACHLAN

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