Page 23 of Dashing for Love

I reach up and feel the mucus on the back of my ball cap. And because I’m a professional, I squirm and make anewsound. TJ laughs even more as I pull my hat off and cuss. It’s covered in alpaca snot.

Folks, there are precious few things that can ruin a ball cap. Alpaca snot is one of them. I cuss and look at the cap in disgust.

TJ waves me to come with him. “Come on. I’ve got a spare hat you can borrow.”

I follow him to the barn, tossing the ball cap in the trash bin as we go, and he produces a well-worn cowboy hat from a clutter-filled work area. I throw it on with a thanks. “How do I look?”

The old man chuckles. “Like a vet playing at being a cowboy.”

“Perfect,” I laugh. “Let’s finish these check-ups.”

It’s another hour of checking on the animals, because TJ and his wife Sue run the state’s only major alpaca farm and it’s quite the operation. By the time we’re done, I’m a grimy mess, but that’s pretty standard for farm days. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I love the animals I get to see at the clinic, but it’s a whole different ballgame when you’re staring down a herd of alpacas, chasing goats, helping a cow give birth, or staring into the knowing eyes of a horse.

I snap a picture of the cowboy hat before I give it back to TJ.

“All good, Doc?” TJ asks, straightening his own hat as he hangs the other one up.

I nod. “All good. You shouldn’t need me for another six months, max. Unless you get a bumper crop of crias,” I joke, referring to baby alpacas.

He shakes his head. “We’re all done. But the missus wants you to have something she knitted from the herd—you got a few more minutes?”

“Of course.” I grin and follow TJ to the house, where Sue presents me with a knit beanie.

“For those five days it gets cold enough to wear one,” she says with a grin.

“It’s awesome. So soft. Thank you!” I lean down to hug the shorter woman, no longer surprised at the incredible strength in her arms when she embraces me.

Back in my truck, I send Dawn a photo of the cowboy hat.

Dawn

I KNEW YOU WERE A COWBOY!

I laugh.

Still not exactly a cowboy

You sent me a picture of a cowboy hat, James—what’s a girl supposed to think? You’re a cowboy. Admit it.

Nope

I better see a cowboy hat at the masquerade ball.

…

Ooh, that means yes. That DEFINITELY means yes.

It means maybe.

Maybe is yes.

Maybe is not yes.

Yes it is.

You’re a maniac

A maniac who likes texting you, the cowboy. But I gotta go. Chat later?

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