Page 30 of That Conflicted Feeling
Butnow she thinks it’s a great new game of tug-of-war.Herlittle feet dig into the mud as she pulls with all her baby-goaty might.Herteeth must be about to puncture the hose, andIdo not want to have to buy a new one.
Maxsquelches toward me, dragging the kid attached to his pant leg behind him. “Here, let me try.”
Ihold up a hand. “I’mgood, thanks.”
“Okay, okay.”Hesquelches backward.
Ido not need his help.Withthis or anything else.Ever.
Withboth hands back on the hoseItry a short, sharp tug.Success!
Asit springs free from the tiny yet vise-like jaws, water spews out in a high arc.Itlands directly onMax’shead as he’s bent double trying to pry the other kid off his pants.
Heyelps in surprise and suddenly straightens.
Startledby the cold water, he’s already slightly off-balance on the sloppy ground when the baby gives his pants an extra hard tug and his feet slide from under him, sending him crashing down on his backside, legs straight out in front.
“OhGod, are you okay?”Irace to the spigot and turn off the hose.Perhapsthis is getting out of hand.
Max’seyebrows are up around his hairline.Buthe grins and says, “Absolutelyfine,” as the baby goat now pulls at his sleeve.
Asif without a care in the world, he tucks her under his arm, grabs the milk bottle he’s landed right next to, and shoves it in her mouth. “Hereyou go, you little terror.”
Well, shit.I’mdone for, aren’tI?
Imean, look at him.
Iwas supposed to be showing him he’d met his match.ButperhapsI’vemet mine.
Everyoneshould have someone who looks at them the wayMaxlooks at a suckling baby goat.
Hestrokes her head, his muddy forearm muscle flexing, as she gulps down the milk and gazes back at him with equal adoration.
Ifit weren’t for the dirt and half his hair being plastered to his head with hose water, and the fact he’s sitting in a muddy puddle that must have soaked through toLordknows where, he’d be back on the hot farmers calendar, this time as “Mr.June—HeCouldSuckleYouToo.”
Maybehe isn’t one hundred percent fancy suits and cutthroat business instincts.Maybehe has a caring, human, almost compassionate side.Andmaybe ifIcould tap into that,Icould make him understand how hard his store would hit the local people, and talk him around.
Awarm ray of hope grows within me asIsoak in the sight ofMaxin the dirt with a baby goat under his arm.
Ican do this.Notonly for me andMom, for the whole ofWarmSpringstoo.
But, goodGod,Ihave one hell of an adversary.
Asmy eyes drift from his mud-smeared face to the goat sucking on the bottle, they’re drawn lower, under the goat’s rear end, to where a yellow stain spreads acrossMax’swhite shirt.
Helooks up, locks eyes with me, kisses the goat on the head, and smirks.
9
POLLY
Ihave no idea how longI’vebeen frozen to this spot, sinking in the mud, and staring atMaxfeeding the baby goat—the baby goat who’s emptied her bladder on his shirt.Imight have entered a parallel time continuum populated by hot guys and cute animals.
ButIdo know my heart beats a little faster and opens up to him a little more with every passing millisecond.
Mytrance breaks as he puts down the kid and the milk bottle.Witha flurry of bleats, the little goat trots off to join the others, happy now she has something in her tummy.
Maxgets to his feet and twists to check the back of his pants, which must be one giant, soggy, muddy mess.
