Page 32 of The Mistletoe Kisser
“Will the chickens organize and attack him?” The sheep had been through enough trauma, in his opinion. A sneak chicken attack would just be adding insult to injury.
“They’ll be fine,” she promised.
He opened the gate to Stan’s stall and watched the sheep trot for the door. Once his hoofed feet hit the snow, the woolly little guy jogged in an enthusiastic circle.
“I’ve never seen anything frolic before,” he observed.
“Look how happy you made him,” she said, stepping into the pasture.
He followed her, and they stood shoulder to shoulder watching the sheep and fowl enjoy the obscenely early morning. She was grinning and he guessed it probably felt pretty good to liberate animals from horrible situations and watch them thrive. To be the one on the front lines, instead of the one in the conference room or behind the computer screen. But there was room for all kinds of heroes in life. Some of them were just more… heroic.
“I still think he would have been happier and safer in your care,” he said, resisting her upbeat mood. He had his own work to do here and taking care of farm animals hadn’t been part of the deal.
“I told you. The clinic doesn’t have the space to keep farm animals. Besides, I don’t even work there,” she said.
“Does this town letanyonewalk in off the streets and treat Chihuahuas?”
“Very funny,” she said dryly. “I was filling in for the food-poisoned doctor. I’m a livestock vet.”
“There’s more than one kind of veterinarian?” he asked, only half kidding. Growing up, his mother had stuck firmly to her no pets rule. In fairness, the woman already had five kids. Adding an unruly dog would have only added more unnecessary chaos.
“Just like I imagine there’s more than one kind of accountant,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “I work mostly with farms.”
“What a remarkable coincidence. Stan just so happens to be a farm animal. He can stay at your place,” he suggested.
She was already shaking her head, sending her curls bouncing. “I moved in over the summer, and it took me this long to get the house livable. The barn and the pastures are next on the list. It’s kind of a whole thing.”
“He could stayinyour house,” he decided. “Problem solved. I’ll help you load him up.”
She put her gloved hands on his shoulders and looked up at him. “Ryan, Stan is staying here until I can find his owners or a foster farm. You can handle the fifteen whole minutes a day it will take to feed and pasture him while you’re here.”
“I’mnotstaying,” he reminded her.
He felt her eye roll was a bit excessive. “You’ve mentioned that,” Sammy said dryly.
Across the pasture, Stan pranced up to two of the chickens and then backed off when they ran at him. But something else caught his eye. Sammy was glittering again.
“What?” she asked, when she noticed him watching her.
“You’re sparkling,” he observed with a frown. He leaned in. The gold glints dusted one cheek and down her neck.
Her eyes widened and he realized they were practically in an embrace. “I’m what?” Her hands slid off his shoulders, but he caught them and held her still when she tried to back away.
“Are you wearing glitter?” he asked, turning her face toward the sun. Since he was there, he took his time perusing the rest of her face. Those almost purple eyes were wide and nervous. Her cheeks were flushed pink. Her lips were full and unpainted. A point in her favor since he’d never understood the need some women felt to cover everything up.
“Dammit,” she groaned, bringing her gloved hand to her cheek. “I thought I scrubbed it all off.”
“You’re actually wearing glitter?” He couldn’t imagine any of his female co-workers—ex-coworkers—showing up to the office sprinkled in bits of gold sparkle.
“Do not eventhinkabout making a stripper joke,” she warned him.
“The thought never crossed my mind,” he lied, picturing her in green pasties and a tasteful thong.
Mistake!With the hangover still present and accounted for, he felt light-headed the second his blood cruised south. Abruptly, he released her and took a self-preserving step back to think about sheep. Dirty, woolly, smelly sheep.
“I was crafting,” she sniffed haughtily.
He shot her a skeptical look. “I could see you dancing before I could see you scrapbooking.”
