Page 39 of Love Off-Limits
“It doesn’t take much with the pigs. They were probably proud of themselves for finding something that smelled so delicious.”
“It’s at least better than the dead raccoon they rolled around on last week.”
“Those dogs, Kelly. They’re something.”
She held up a finger as if to scold me. “Don’t go knocking my boys. They’re the only men I have in my life right now.”
I chuckled as I followed her to my office door. “And whose fault is that? It’s not like guys aren’t asking.”
She scoffed. “Only if you count Joe, which I don’t.”
Joe Bailey owned a pig farm on the other side of Silver Creek and provided Stonebrook with the piglets we raised, as well as subsidized our culinary needs when the small production we had onsite at Stonebrook wasn’t enough. He’d taken an interest in Kelly over the past few months and hadn’t been shy about letting her know.
Kelly led the way through the back door of the farm house and into the yard where Sergeant and Samson, who had been lazing in the afternoon sun, immediately jumped to their feet at her approach.
“Geez, boy, you do smell,” I said as I scratched Samson’s ears, careful to avoid any of the pig manure clinging to his coat. “You ought to just give him a chance.”
“Who, Joe?” Kelly asked. “No.”
“Why not? He’s a nice guy. He’s got a beautiful farm, a good job.”
She wrinkled her nose. “He smells like pig.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Sometimesyousmell like pig.”
As if on cue, Sergeant jumped up, his front paws hitting Kelly’s shoulders and nearly tumbling her to the ground. His pig-poop-covered side collided with hers as he licked her from chin to eyebrow. “Sergeant, down!” she called, even as she started to laugh. “All right, all right. Point taken.”
“Good team work, Sergeant,” I said. “Good boy.”
“I think I’ve figured it out,” Kelly said knowingly. “You can’t date whoyouwant, so you’re channeling all your energy into matchmaking me.”
I scoffed. “I am not.”
“And Perry.”
Oh.Had I mentioned my attempts to set Perry up to Kelly already? “You’re reading too much into it. I just want people to be happy.”
“I’m happy, Liv. Leave me out of your schemes, please and thank you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Maybe. But Perry isn’t. I just think it’ll help him find his footing again. I took him to Asheville the other weekend, and he wouldn’t even look around. I think he forgot how.”
“Just give him time. His divorce is still pretty fresh.” Kelly whistled for Samson, who had wandered to the other side of the lawn. The dog turned, his ears up, and bounded toward us. “You ready, boys? You ready for a bath? Or do you want to rub some manure on Olivia first?”
“And that’s my cue to leave,” I said as I backed away. She walked the opposite direction, the dogs following close behind. “I still think you should let Joe take you out,” I called after her.
“Not until pigs fly,” she called back.
I shook my head, still laughing as I climbed into the gator that stayed parked behind the farmhouse. I’d heard Kelly say the same thing to Joe himself, more than once. He’d been undeterred, lifting his shoulders and saying, “If that’s what it takes, I’ll see what I can do.” I had to admire his fortitude, at least.
I pulled the keys for the 4x4 out of the glove box and cranked the engine. It wasn’t a long walk to the chicken yard, butanywalk in the summer humidity didn’t sound fun, no matter how comfortable my wedges were. I pulled out of the yard and passed by the event staff setting up the pavilion on the south lawn. A wedding would happen later that evening—even more reason to make sure the chickens were all contained. Nothing like having your special moment ruined by a stray chicken wandering through your ceremony.
Beyond the pavilion, several large tents were set up for the cocktail hour and reception following the ceremony. I glanced at my watch. Within the hour, the bridal party would be arriving. They hadn’t booked any rooms at the farmhouse—they were a local couple and didn’t have far to drive—but we provided complimentary suites where the bride and groom could dress and prepare. I’d have to be back at the farmhouse in time to greet them.
By the time I reached the chicken yard, there was no sign of Tyler, though to his credit, it seemed like most of the chickens were back inside where they belonged. Our chickens were a relatively small part of our farm operations, intentionally so because licensing for larger outfits was more extensive, but we still had between six and seven dozen birds. The eggs they provided went straight to the catering kitchen where they contributed to event meals and the country breakfast that was provided for any guests staying in the farmhouse. I retrieved the jar of dried mealworms out of the feed shed and looked around, wondering where the stray birds and their captor might be.
I finally found them in the corner of the pig pen, empty save two chickens backed into the corner—the pigs were likely enjoying the shade inside the barn—and Tyler, crouched low and looking like he was ready to wrestle them both into submission.
I leaned against the fence and, at least for a moment, enjoyed the view.
