Page 25 of More Than a Good Friend

I’m not sure Dag’s help will be beneficial. “What?”

He holds up a finger. “One thing is all I ask. That we’ll stay friends. Always.”

I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into a hug so that he doesn’t see my tears. “I promise.”

After what feels like forever and not long enough, he pulls back. “The guy who ghosted you, what’s his name?”

“I don’t need you to chase after guys for me. Or beat them up.”

“I wouldn’t hurt him too bad. Just enough to teach him some manners.” He wiggles one eyebrow. “Just a little hurt.”

Laughing, I wag my head back and forth. “You cannot hurt any of my dates. It’s not allowed.”

“What if—”

“No ifs, no buts.”

He’s so close I can feel his breath on my face. But I remind myself that it’s friendly air. The look in his eye is like someone determined to get a kitten out of a tree. It’s protective, but there’s no desire.

Even if it takes another twenty years to find someone who looks at me like I’m a prize, it’ll be worth it. Settling wouldn’t be fair to either of us.

“I didn’t like the guy you went dancing with.” He hops up onto the tailgate next to me. “When are you going out next?”

I think of Tandy and the promise I made. “Friday.”

“Same guy?”

I shake my head.

“Hopefully, he’ll be a good guy. You deserve the best.” He lies back, pulls a blanket over, and tucks it under his head. “It got dark. Stars are pretty.”

“They are.” I shove another lemon bar in my mouth because I am not snuggling up next to Dag to look at stars. That’ll make memories I’ll never be able to forget.

CHAPTER10

DAG

Ipull into the pasture, then jump out of the truck as Dallas swings the gate closed.

He adjusts his hat as he approaches the trailer. “Hopefully, this bull doesn’t like to wander like the other one.”

“Yeah.” I haven’t been much for conversation this week. Unless I’m actively trying to avoid getting hurt, I’m thinking about what Goldie said. Right now, I need to be focused on the beast we’re about to let loose.

He grabs the gate on the back of the trailer. “Ready?”

“Go for it.” I keep my distance, ready to run for the fence if the bull decides I’d look better with a hole in my gut.

Thankfully, the bull meanders out of the trailer without incident. It surveys the area like it’s inspecting a potential resort stay.

On the far end of the field, I spot a plastic barrel. Not sure who left that out here, but I shouldn’t leave it. Cautiously, I walk over. These things are awkward to carry, so I pick up the barrel, intending to toss it toward the trailer. It might take a couple of throws to get it close, but that’s better than trying to lug it through the dirt.

As soon as I launch the barrel, the bull takes off after it.

Dallas and I look at each other, amazed at what we’re seeing.

Then the bull headbutts the barrel, knocking it back toward me.

“He’s playing fetch.” I’m seeing it, but it seems unreal.

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