Page 34 of Headed for Home

“My kids will be home this afternoon. I have piles of shit to clean up before then. Literally.” If she actually wants me to go, I will. But the humor in her eyes tells the truth.

“Just let me lighten your load for an hour or two. It’s my fault you’re behind.”

Cassidy inspects my muscles, which flex for her approval. “Have you ever worked on a farm?”

“No, but I’m a fast learner.”

“I’m sure he can be useful,” Paisley comments.

Cassidy’s lips pinch together. “Whose side are you on?”

“The one where I get to continue watching this play out.” Paisley gestures between her cousin and me.

“Fine.” Cassidy tosses her hands in the air. “You can feed the chickens and goats.”

“What else?” I ask while we walk to the foyer and put on our boots.

“Just start with that,” she says.

“Really? It’s gonna be a breeze. Animals love me.” Chester and Cheeto dash outside when I open the door. “See?”

“Missed your calling as a dog whisperer.” Her grin is tipped high enough to cause concern but I’m too happy to see the expression to question it.

The morning sun beams down on us while we stride into the stable elements. Apple blossoms and horse manure are fresh in the air. Cassidy prattles off instructions that seem easy enough. I swerve toward the coop as the women walk to the barn, going our separate ways.

“Good luck,” she calls over her shoulder.

My smirk is smeared in confidence. “Won’t need it.”

Cassidy’s response is carried off on a breeze but I catch the laughter in her tone. That sound strokes me to distraction while I scoop feed from the labeled bin. My head is in the clouds, replaying her orgasmic bliss from earlier, when the metal latch lifts in my grip.

“Holy flock!” I stumble backward and nearly fall flat on my ass.

Countless chickens rush at me in a whirlwind of feathers and gratitude. Their clucks flutter the silence as they escape the confines without a care for breakfast. A whiff from inside the coop reveals why they’re in such a hurry to leave. It smells like dust and poop had a dozen babies in this hot box. The sweltering heat predicted for today must make the environment inhospitable. I hold my breath before dumping the grains and seeds into the dishes.

There’s a swarm of birds surrounding me once I evacuate, as if applauding my efforts. They totally get it. Clean oxygen has never smelled so good. My lungs greedily soak in several breaths while I mentally check off the first chore.

An impatient clatter shakes me from the reprieve. The bang rattles the chain link fence again. I squint at the pen a few paces away where two goats demand an audience.

“Hey there,” I croon. “You must be Billy and Gruff.”

Synchronized bleats confirm my assumption.

“I thought you’d be bigger. Are you a miniature breed?”

The gray and white pair bump their heads into the cage, proving to be mighty regardless of size.

“Got it, dudes. Hungry?”

Their strikes against the enclosure gain momentum to prioritize a plan of action. Forget fetching the pellets. Freedom to roam can’t wait.

I swing open the gate and wisely step aside. Unfortunately, my sole clips a divot in the yard and I tumble to the ground. Nextthing I know, I’m splayed out in a starfish position. The blue sky mocks me while I collect my wounded pride. Muffled clops approach and a nose snuffs me. I ruffle the goat’s coarse hair, which he views as permission to climb on top of me like a very masculine mountain.

A wheeze is stripped from me when his front hooves stomp my chest. “Damn, you’re stronger than you look. Give me space, yeah?”

Billy or Gruff—not sure which—doesn’t do boundaries. The little guy nibbles at the cotton stretched tight over my nipple. I squirm while trying to dislodge him without causing injury.

A shove at his neck does nothing. “Whoa there. I’m spoken for.”

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