Sam-Pete nods and takes the money, turning to the register.
“And take a few bucks for yourself,” Lakin says after him.
At age thirty, the girls are nearly identical in almost all ways. Up until a few weeks ago, they had the same long hair parted on the same side, but then Larkin cut hers all off. Past that though, their faces are the same. Their mannerisms are the same. Larkin’s a tiny bit heavier than Lakin but in my opinion, it’s so hard to tell, you can’t really use that as a go by. It’s the hair styles that set them apart.
“Why are you buying drinks this afternoon?” I ask Lakin, who’s sitting in between me and Larkin.
“Well,” Lakin says after taking a long pull off her beer and setting it down. “You’re my pap and you always buy my drinks, so I’m just pre-empting you today. As for Larkin, I owe her since she helped me out in the clinic today.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because she doesn’t know how to hire competent staff,” Larkin says as she leans forward to look me in the eye past Lakin.
Lakin rolls her eyes at her sister and then admits to me, “Jenks quit this morning.”
“Jenks Peterson was working for you?” I ask in surprise.
He’s a moron.
“I know, I know,” Lakin says with frustration and takes an even larger pull on her beer. “But I’m not a great office manager. I went to vet school to practice animal medicine, not be an overlord.”
Larkin snickers but doesn’t say a word. While her sister owns the area’s only veterinary practice, Larkin is also an entrepreneur as she opened the town’s only bakery about five years ago. It’s done amazingly well, and Larkin is definitely more business minded than her sister.
“Well, as much as I appreciate the beer,” Larkin tells her sister. “I can’t keep coming to your rescue with my own business to run.”
“I know,” Lakin huffs out one more time in exasperation.
The door to Chesty’s flies open so forcefully the girls jump in their stools. We all turn to see who could be making such a statement, as most people just tend to politely push the door open in more of a sauntering fashion when entering this bar.
The bright afternoon sun outside doesn’t reveal much other than the large figure of a man standing there, legs planted wide and one arm holding the door open as he looks around inside.
“Can I help you?” I call out, because my gut instinct says he’s not here for a beer.
The man steps inside and lets the tinted glass door swing shut behind him. Lakin mutters an, “Oh, my” as we take him in further.
He’s a big boy. Tall as Colt at least and maybe twice as thick, and I don’t mean fat. I mean muscles that pull and stretch at his shirt and pants.
Oddly, the man is dressed as if he just got off work in a bank. The shirt is a button down and looks expensively tailored, as do his pants. He’s wearing a tie that’s been pulled loose around his neck with the top two buttons of his shirt undone. His blond hair is wet with sweat, and I know it’s sweat because his face is drenched, as are the large stains under his armpits and across his chest.
His clothes are filthy, covered with the signature red clay that’s found in this area, along with grass stains. There are streaks of dirt on his face where he’s obviously tried to wipe sweat away using mud-covered hands. I note his shoes are almost completely covered with wet clay.
“I’m looking for the owner of Whynot Veterinary,” he says in a rough voice, his gaze rolling only briefly over Lakin and Larkin, searching the bar for someone else who might fit the bill. “There’s a note on the door that said he’d be here.”
Curious, I look to Lakin. She’s staring at the man in abject appreciation of what I’m guessing is his handsomeness. I can’t exactly speak to that, but I’ve seen that look on her face before when she’s been around the menfolk. My granddaughter is a bit of a lady player so to speak.
Still, she doesn’t speak up, but merely turns around to give him her back and starts drinking her beer.
Larkin nudges her sister in the ribs.
Lakin doesn’t respond.
The man is irritated when he asks, “Do any of you speak the English language?”
“I do,” I say genially.
Easy question. Easy answer.
“And where is the vet?” he grits out.
I look again to Lakin, but she doesn’t even glance at the man, so I give her up by nodding my head toward her.
The guy walks through the bar, his footsteps so heavy I can feel the vibration through my stool. Nudging his way in between Lakin and Larkin—Larkin scooting her stool over to give him room—he leans forward to demand her attention. “Are you the vet?”
“Depends,” she says without even looking up, her gaze instead pinned to a Pirates baseball game on the TV.
“On what?”
“What you need?” she says blandly.
“Is there a reason you’re ignoring me?” he snaps at her. “I’m thinking your business isn’t all that busy since you’re drinking on a Friday afternoon. I’d think you might want some business.”
“I need an apology first,” she says, eyes still on the TV.
“For what?” he asks, incensed.
“First, for not even looking at me or my sister, Larkin, twice when you barged in here looking for a vet. You dismissed us right away. Second, because you referenced the ‘vet’ as a ‘he’, it’s clear you don’t think women have the ability to be doctors or something, so I’m not sure I want to help you.”
The man mutters a series of unintelligible curses, and then looks to me for assistance. I shrug my shoulders and turn my attention to the game.
“Um… what seems to be the problem?” Larkin asks the guy.
He turns to face her, the distress on his face evident.
“My goats have gotten out of their fence,” he says quickly, and there’s no mistaking the underlying panic in his voice. “I can’t catch them and they’re in the road. One almost got hit.”
This gets Lakin’s attention as she is not about to let an animal get hit. She doesn’t bother looking at the guy, but her sharp words are for him alone. “You have no business owning goats if you don’t even know how to keep them contained, or in the chance they get loose, to catch them.”
“Save the lectures,” the man growls at her. “I just bought the damn farm. Unbeknownst to me, the foreman had quit. I just arrived into town to find this mess.”
Lakin jolts in surprise and turns to face the man. “What farm?”
“Farrington,” he replies.
“You bought it?” she asks, eyebrows drawn inward.
“Yes, and now I have rampant goats,” he says heatedly. “Will you help me?”
“Yes,” she says as she picks up her beer and drains it. When she sets the mug down, she stands up from her stool and hardens her gaze. “But it will cost you.”
“I don’t care the cost,” he grumbles as he turns for the door, calling back over his shoulder. “Just help me get the damn animals back in the fence.”
Lakin turns around and winks at me with an evil grin. “He’s not going to like the price.”
I snicker and raise up my mug to toast her. “Happy goat hunting.”
Whynot, NC has gone to the dogs in Barking Up the Wrong Tree (Sex and Sweet Tea, Book #3), coming September 14, 2017!
CLICK HERE to pre-order Barking Up the Wrong Tree now!
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Website: juliettepoe.com
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About the Author
Juliette Poe is the sweet and swoony alter ego of New York Times Best Selling author, Sawyer Bennett.
A fun-loving southern girl, Juliette knows the allure of sweet tea, small towns, and long summer nights, that some of the best dates end sitting on the front porch swing, and that family is top priority. She brings love in the south to life in her debut series, Sex & Sweet Tea.
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When Juliette isn’t delivering the sweetest kind of romance, she’s teaching her southern belle daughter the fine art of fishing, the importance of wearing Chucks, and the endless possibilities of a vivid imagination.
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