Page 1 of Peacocks

Chapter One

Lane

After my lastdisaster of a relationship, in which I’d been accused of being “a master of emotional evasion” who was “fundamentally indifferent toward romantic partnerships”—don’t date a law professor, people, justdon’t—I never expected to find myself interested in another man.

And even if I had? Even if, somewhere in a sealed-shut compartment in the back of my brain, there existed a part of me that wasn’tentirely“indifferent toward romantic partnerships” on the whole?

I’d sure as hell never expected the object of my fascination could be someone like Jaybird Proud.

Jaybird had offered to rent me the apartment over his garage when I moved to Licking Thicket six months ago… then refused to cash my rent checks because I was his cousin Charlie’s boyfriend’s friend, which “practically makes us family, Lane!”—an assessment I disagreed with on many, many levels.

Jaybird greeted me most evenings, come rain or come shine, with a bright, handsome smile, a cheery “Howdy, neighbor!” and occasionally the offer of a dinner casserole. Or a beer. Or, on one memorable occasion, a “dirt cake”… whatever the hell that was.

Jaybird wore snap-back hats with misspelled JohnDearlogos (“on account of Kitten Montgomery’s confusion at Valentine’s Day while working the embroidery machine,” Jaybird had explained. “But I don’t wanna make her feel bad by not wearing it, do I?”).

Jaybird’s career ambition began and ended with working at the Suds Barn as a full-time Automobile Cleansing Artisan (not joking) because “there’s nothin’ more satisfying than settin’ things to rights.”

Jaybird had never met a T-shirt with sleeves that hadn’t seen the sharp edge of a pair of scissors (which, okay… shoutout to Jesus for that one) even when the weather turned cold.

He was like a splinter under my skin. Too silly to take seriously, too friendly to be genuine, and too sexy not to fantasize about… sometimes multiple times a night.

“The man’s gonna drive me to drink,” I admitted to my friend Hunter before taking a bite of my ham and swiss. I only had a half-hour lunch break today between a morning full of spay and neuter surgeries and an afternoon packed with wellness appointments, so I was glad Hunter had agreed to get to the Thicket Tavern early and order for us.

Hunter had heard my complaints often enough now that he didn’t bother asking for clarification.

“What’s Jaybird done now?” He crunched a cucumber slice, looking way too amused at my plight.

“Cleaned the ice off my windshield this morning,” I muttered. “Mirrors too. Said he didn’t want my fingers to freeze off before I did surgery this morning. Who does that?”

Hunter let out a low whistle. “Diabolical.”

“Itis,” I insisted.

I knew I probably sounded ridiculous, but I simply didn’t understandwhyJaybird did the things he did. In my experience,people didn’t do nice things—not so many nice things, at least, and not all in a row—for no reason.

But try as I might, I couldn’t puzzle out what Jaybird’s agenda was.

If he was a dog, or a cat, or even a turkey, like Hunter and Charlie’s pet, Tammy Wynette, I’d have known exactly what he wanted and how to handle him.

Men had always been much, much harder for me to read… and unfortunately for me, Jaybird was undeniably a man.

All six feet and several sexy inches of him.

“You know… you could move out,” Hunter suggested. “Morris and Danica Borris are retiring down to Georgia and selling their spread.”

I glanced up at him. “MorrisBorris?”

He ignored me. “You’d like their place. Ten acres at the edge of town. Super quiet. River access for fly fishing. It’s exactly what you talked about when you considered moving up here.”

My stomach twisted at the idea.

Yes, fishing had been one of the draws of moving to Licking Thicket from Athens last summer. There had been many. First and foremost was the opportunity to escape the quasi-scandal that had resulted from my breakup with Professor Chadwick Montgomery. The University of Georgia was a big school but a tiny town, and if I’d had to respond to one more well-meaning, whisper-voiced, “How you doing with, uh… with Chad’s wedding and all?” I was going to lose it.

Second, my teaching job had gotten stale. It had begun feeling too far away from the actual practice of veterinary medicine, and I came to realize I hadn’t held a live animal in months.

And third, I’d wanted a place of my own. Animals of my own.

And—in whatever form I could find it—peace.

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