“I was in a panic because I was afraid the goats would get hurt,” he snaps. “Cut me some slack and I’m all for women’s lib. I don’t doubt your abilities.”
I shrug and nod toward the pan. He gets the hint and picks it up, and because the goat is still hungry, she follows behind him, knocking her head into his butt every so often to try to get his attention. It causes him to walk faster, which causes the goat to walk faster because he has the food, which then causes me to hustle because I’m holding the goat’s lead.
She continues to head butt him in well… his butt, and he finally breaks into a trot to get away from her. Whether she’s just really hungry or not, she now thinks it’s a game. She gives a little hop and kicks out her back feet, bleating at him.
“Give me the pan,” I say, which causes him to stop in place and turn toward me.
Unfortunately, the goat was in mid “head butt” and her prominent forehead slams right into his crotch.
I wince as he groans and drops to his knees with his hands gently cradling his precious stones. The pan of feed falls to the ground, and the goat starts eating it all up.
A string of curses leaves his mouth, which prompts me to ask, “Are you okay?”
He glares at me and shakes his head. “Do I look okay?”
“Not really,” I admit, nodding where his hands are covering his groin. “You should probably ice those.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” he drawls condescendingly. “Make sure to bill me for your advice, too.”
I can’t help it. I laugh, and I do it with gusto. Shaking my head, I tell him, “City boy… not sure you belong down here.”
“What makes you think I’m a city boy?” he grunts back, managing to stand up from the ground. The grass stains on his knees make a welcome addition to all the red clay stains.
“Fancy Porsche, no clue how to handle animals, and well… you just have a sort of snooty air about you,” I tell him truthfully.
“I am not snooty,” he says… well, snootily.
“If you say so, city boy,” I purr in response, tugging on the rope a little. The goat ignores me for a moment, but then starts to walk with me to the pasture fence. The man follows.
When we reach the fence, I put the goat inside, retrieving my rope and securing the latch. “I’m going to get the wire and patch the fence. You can go ice your yarbles.”
“I can do the fence,” he snarls, and I just shrug placidly.
“Fine by me,” I say as I turn to my truck. “But I expect you at my clinic at eight AM sharp tomorrow.”
“What?” he asks in disbelief. “Why?”
“I told you my help was going to cost you, and I’m down an employee. Well, my only employee, and I need an extra pair of hands for a few days until I can hire someone else.”
“I can’t do that,” he scoffs, and I cock an eyebrow at him. See… snooty. He catches my expression and amends, “I’m leaving in two days. Have to fly to Chicago on Sunday night.”
My gaze turns to the Porsche in front of the farmhouse. “You didn’t drive that thing down from Chicago?” I ask, but now that I think about it… it had a North Carolina plate on it.
He shakes his head. “I rented it at the airport.”
“You rented a Porsche to drive to a working farm?” I drawl. “Really?”
“I like to drive nice cars,” he returns with a low growl. “So sue me.”
I shrug again. “Like I said… eight tomorrow.”
“I’ve got work to do,” he counters.
“I know… at my clinic.”
“I can’t,” he maintains.
“Eight,” I reiterate.
He utters a low curse and scrubs a hand through his sweaty silver-and-black hair. “Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll be there.”
“Awesome.” I lift my chin at him. “I’m Laken, by the way. Laken Mancinkus, but you can call me Dr. Mancinkus.”
“Not bloody likely,” he mutters under his breath, but then levels a forced smile. “I’m Jake. Jake McDaniel.”
CHAPTER 3
Jake
I drum my fingers on the steering wheel as I sit in front of Whynot Veterinary. It’s eight ten, but Laken hasn’t arrived yet. My patience is threadbare, and I’m tired.
Tired from the travel from Chicago, from hunting goats, and from dealing with a frustrating veterinarian who is equal parts beautiful as she is evil.
Screw it. I’ve got better things to do.
Just as I reach my hand out to turn the ignition, a knock on the passenger window startles me and I see Laken bent over to look in the window. She’s holding up two cups of coffee and has a wicked smile on her face. I glare at her in return, pull the key from the ignition, and get out of the car.
“You’re late,” I tell her as I shut the door and pocket my keys.
“My eight o’clock canceled and my next one isn’t until eight thirty, so I’m technically early,” she says as she rounds the front of the car.
“And you couldn’t have told me that?” I take the cup of coffee she extends out toward me.
She nods toward the coffee and says, “That’s black. If you want cream or sugar, well… tough. I don’t have any. And exactly how was I supposed to let you know? I don’t have your phone number.”
I don’t respond because she’s being troublesome on purpose, which is evident by the devilish smile on her face. It takes her from beautiful to extraordinary. It should make me cranky but, honestly, it just makes me appreciative, so I give her a nod of thanks for the coffee and pop the top.
After a quick sniff, I take a hesitant sip and find it’s not all that bad. Certainly not what the barista would be brewing in my favorite coffee shop in Chicago, but it will pass.
I follow Laken to the front door of her clinic and wait as she unlocks the door. She efficiently turns on lights, the overhead fluorescents casting a harsh shine over the white interior and tile flooring. Her lobby is small with a four-foot counter that contains a computer, three folding chairs, and a set of shelves on one wall that carry a variety of dog and cat foods in bag and canned form.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask as she walks around to the computer and taps at the keyboard. She doesn’t respond right away as she peruses the screen, but then she glances at me hopefully. “I don’t suppose you know how to express canine anal glands, do you?”
I fight the urge to recoil and try not to sound snooty, but I tell her quite firmly, “Doesn’t matter if I know how or not, I can assure you I’m not doing that.”
“Why not?” she asks with her head tilted to the side. “You’ll be wearing gloves.”
“Just no,” I reiterate.
“I don’t get it,” she replies with a little snark in her voice as she stands straight. “You’re a big dude. Got muscles and tattoos. Granted, you drive a prissy car, but still… I didn’t take you to be so sensitive.”
“Yeah, sensitive is the last thing I am. Just not sticking my finger up a dog’s butt.”
Laken gives a sigh of resignation, then jerks her head toward a door that leads to the back. “Fine. I’ll just have you assist me on all the appointments and do some cleaning.”
“Fine,” I reply, but then add on so I set expectations appropriately. “But I have to be out of here at three. I’m interviewing a new foreman for Farrington Farms.”
“Oh, yeah. Who?” she asks as I follow her into a short hallway that appears to have an examination room on each side. She passes those and heads to a door at the end.
“Jenks Peterson.”
Laken lets out a bark of a laugh as she leads me through to a large square room that seems to serve many functions. There’s a wall lined with stacked cages. On the bottom are larger animals, and the top row holds smaller ones. I see dogs, cats, and if I’m not mistaken… an opossum that hisses at me as we walk by. There’s another wall of shelving filled with medical supplies and food. Another wall has a counter running the length of it with medical equipment I have no clue about on top, as well
as a large microscope. At the back of the room is a surgical table with a large light suspended above it, some equipment on a rolling tray beside it, and another piece of free-standing equipment near it that I believe is an x-ray machine.
“What’s wrong with Jenks Peterson?” I ask as I eye the opossum dubiously.
“Well, if he wasn’t a no-good lazy bum, he’d be here right now expressing anal glands,” she says dryly. “He didn’t show up for work yesterday.”
That’s not good.
“His resume says he’s got farm experience,” I point out.
“Yes,” she admits as she turns to face me. “He worked my family’s farm for a while. He’s a competent hand and filled in as foreman when my brother Colt had to take time off for a broken leg.”
“But…” I prompt.
“But he’s unreliable. As evidenced by the fact he didn’t show up to work yesterday.”
“Maybe he’s just tired of sticking his finger up dog’s butts,” I suggest.
“Maybe,” she says with a grin. “But I sure as hell wouldn’t hire someone who just quit a previous job with no notice.”
“I think I’ll still interview him and judge for myself,” I tell her blandly.
“No skin off my back,” she returns pleasantly as she turns toward the counter with the medical equipment. “I’ve got to get some stuff set up before the first appointments roll in. You can start by feeding the animals.”
I watch her for a moment, and yeah… I may even ogle her. She fills out a pair of faded jeans well. She’s got on a t-shirt that was navy blue at one point, but has been washed so many times the edges have frayed and it has turned a dark gray. Her dark hair is up in a ponytail, and she has little gold hoop earrings in her ears. Her cowboy boots make her legs look sleek and sexy. She’s an immensely beautiful woman in a very natural way, and this will be the highlight of my day… looking at her.
Well, and not having to express anal glands.
♦
“You are officially off the clock,” Laken says as she walks into the back room, peeling off her white lab coat. She just handled a routine yearly examination of an old cat and didn’t need my help, so since I’d done everything else she’d asked me to, I was just crouched down in front of the opossum’s cage feeding it an apple. Turns out, it’s not so creepy after all.
I stand up, brushing my hands on my jeans. “What time tomorrow?”
She winks a gorgeous, hazel eye at me. “I’ll consider your debt paid in full. You actually did decent work today despite the fact I had to handle the glands.”
It’s true. I was able to hang with the pretty Dr. Mancinkus. There wasn’t much hands-on with the animals other than feeding and walking those that were being boarded, but I did sit in on every patient she saw if only to watch and be an errand boy if she needed me. I also had to go get her lunch across the town square at the bar where I first met her yesterday.
Got to speak to the owner some more, who told me to call him Pap. We spent five minutes trashing each other’s football teams since I’m originally from Baltimore and a Ravens fan. He’s a rival Steelers fan. Doesn’t usually make for great friendships, but the old man was actually all right once I got past being offended when he told me my team sucked.
We talked some baseball—he’s a Pirates fan, and I’m a Cubbies fan since I’ve called Chicago home for the past nine years. He told me to come back by for a beer sometime, and I might take him up on that.
“I thought you wanted two days’ work for my debt?” I ask Laken, just so I’m clear if she’s truly releasing me.
“City boy, you gave me good work today, and seeing as how it wasn’t all that hard to solve your goat problem, I’m letting you off the hook.”
I’ll have to admit, Laken’s southern accent took a little bit of time to get used to, but I do find it quite charming if I’m being honest with myself.
“Well, okay then,” I say with a smile as I reach into my pocket for my keys. “We’re even then.”
“That we are,” she returns with a grin. “And listen… whoever you hire for the foreman, make sure they know that pregnant goat looks due to drop any minute now. Someone should be on hand, so I assume you’re giving your foreman quarters, right?”
“Um… right,” I say with no certainty at all. I’m obviously new to this farming business.
Laken arches an eyebrow. “You do know how to run that farm, right?”
“I’m hoping that’s what the foreman does,” I tell her candidly. “I don’t plan on operating it myself.”
“Then why did you buy it?” she asks with a cute little head tilt.
“For a tax write-off.”
“Excuse me?”
“A tax write-off,” I say again. “I need deductions. Operating a farm at a loss is a great one.”
I don’t bother to tell her that my mother recently retired in the Pinehurst area, and the farm also gave me a place to stay when I wanted to visit her, because that was only a secondary benefit.
“So what?” she sputters with indignation. “You’re just going to run that farm into the ground? Let the animals go without treatment? House fall into disrepair? That’s ridiculous, particularly when Farrington Farms has been a major source of produce, goat cheese, and jobs in this area for decades. It’s… it’s… criminal.”
Her last words were shouted at me.
“Relax there, Doc,” I cajole with my hands raised, palms facing her. “I’m not running anything into the ground. I’m just going to operate it at a loss for the deduction. It’s two totally different things we’re talking about.”
“Oh… well,” Laken mumbles as she starts to straighten up the equipment on the lab counter.
“Whoever I hire, I’ll make sure they know about the goat being pregnant,” I assure her. “It will be well taken care of, I promise.”
Her shoulders relax, and she looks over her shoulder at me. “A farm that size is a huge responsibility. I know seeing as how my family has one, too. Just don’t treat anything lightly.”
“You saw what I went through trying to save those goats from getting hit by a car,” I remind her.
“Yes, I did,” she replies. “But you needed help all the same. I hope you find someone fast.”
“Fair point,” I tell her and then stick out my hand. “It was nice meeting you, Laken Mancinkus.”
She smiles at me and steps forward. Taking my hand, she gives it a firm shake. “Likewise, Jake McDaniel.”
Giving her a return smile of thanks, I leave her veterinary clinic and immediately turn into employer mode. I need to make sure the man I’m interviewing knows how to deliver a baby goat. This was definitely not how I thought this visit would go, but I’m short on time to find the right help before I have to leave. I hope to God this Jenks Peterson knows what he’s doing.
CHAPTER 4
Laken
“What are you doing here?” Pap asks with a smile as I saunter into Chesty’s and take the seat normally reserved for Trixie. I’ve closed shop for the day and want to hang out with my favorite grandpa. Well, he’s my only grandpa, but he’d be my favorite if he weren’t.
“I feel sorry for you, old man,” I quip as I give a chin lift to Sam-Pete behind the bar to indicate I want a beer. “Now that your favorite granddaughter has abandoned you for love, I’ve decided to take her spot.”
Pap snorts, picking up his draft that’s sitting in front of him to take a sip. It’s true… Trixie is his favorite grandchild. She was the first, and they always had the closest bond. I mean… Pap loves all five of us Mancinkus kids, but he always had a special sparkle in his eyes for Trixie. We don’t begrudge her that at all, as there’s plenty of love to go around in our family. We may be a wild bunch and bicker all the time, but we are deeply devoted to each other.
Ever since Trixie hooked back up with her first true love, Ry Powers, her seat at the bar has been collecting cobwebs. Over the last month, the remaining four Mancinkus kids have all been taking turns to c
ome hang out with Pap when Trixie can’t. He’s not stupid. He knows what we’re doing.
Which is why I told him exactly why I was here when he asked.
Sam-Pete sets my draft beer in front of me, and Pap pays him. I let him because I don’t feel like arguing. It’s been a long day, and I’ve got an early start tomorrow. While the vet clinic is closed, I promised Lowe and Mely I’d be at their house for an early morning delivery of 4x4s. Lowe’s going to build a sunroom on the back of the kitchen that overlooks Crabtree Creek that runs behind Mainer House. He’s off with Mely to New York for a long weekend to visit with her bestie Morri, so I volunteered to stay at their house to accept the shipment.
“How’d your new employee work out today?” Pap asks, and I don’t even have to look at him to know he suppressed a cackle with that question. I’m sure he finds it hilarious I had Jake work off his bill to me.
“He actually wasn’t all that bad,” I tell him before taking a long pull off my beer. “He refused to express anal glands, but it was a long shot at best I’d get him to agree to do it.”
Pap chuckles, and I hear it clearly. The music won’t start cranking loud in here until the evening hours.
I wait for his laughter to die down, but it doesn’t.
Finally, I turn to look at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Just… you could have had so much fun torturing him today if you’d been thinking about it,” Pap says with another snicker. “Made him do all sorts of nasty stuff.”
“Nah,” I say with a smile as I turn back to my beer. “He turned out to be a nice guy, even if he’s a little clueless when it comes to farming.”
“He’s a Ravens fan,” Pap says, and my head whips his way.
“What?” I ask with a sneer. I’m as diehard of a Steelers fan as Pap is, and we abhor the Ravens and those who cheer for them.
Pap nods. “He was born and raised in Baltimore. But in fairness, he’s also a Bears fan now that he’s adopted Chicago as his hometown.
Well, that was more palatable at least.
Barking Up the Wrong Tree Page 2
