“What will we be helping with today?” Austin asked.
Don Sebastian walked to the very last stall, passed a few horses, and pointed to three very large, black spotted pigs. “They need baths.”
Harper laughed, thinking that the strange little man was joking once again. Wrong.
“What is this funny joke I missed?” asked Don Sebastian. “They are to be washed. Being clean makes them happy, and happy pigs taste better.”
Okay. “Will I be serving them their last meal, too?”
“No. Ms. Luci likes to do that. She cooks them a special meal and then…” He made the international symbol of the slit throat by drawing his finger across his neck.
“Oh. What about that pig?” Harper referred to the pig on the leash.
Sebastian looked confused. “This is not a pig. It is dog.”
“Uh, no,” she said. “That’s a—”
Austin elbowed her in the ribs. “That’s a nice dog.”
“Thank you. I call her Muffin Top because she is a bit fat,” Sebastian said. “This way.”
Harper looked at Austin and mouthed the word “pig” while pointing to the “dog.” Austin shrugged like he didn’t know what the hell was going on.
Sebastian gestured for them to follow and then pointed toward an enormous chicken coop. “The eggs must be collected, and the hens fed. Ms. Luci’s herb garden must be de-slugged. The lawn out back needs to be mowed. The horses’ stalls need to be cleaned out. Miss Happy Pants, the white mare, needs to be brushed and ridden.”
Does she need her happy pants ironed, too?
“Anything else?” Harper couldn’t believe they’d need to do all that work in just six days. That “lawn” had to be a field about six acres in size. And if Ms. Luci’s herb garden was that jungle to the other side of the house, she was pretty sure there were packs of wolves living in there, not just slugs.
“No,” said Don Sebastian. “That will be all for today. Tomorrow, we’ll start the heavy lifting.”
Harper’s jaw dropped. It was already two in the afternoon. “You want us to do all that today?” She had a hangover. And she’d gone to jail. This day needed to end, say…now. Now would be good.
The man shrugged. “Oh, I know what you must be thinking; we are a bit lazy around here.”
Yes. Because I usually have all that done before the sun rises.
“But this is not a working farm,” he added. “Everything we grow is for our local food banks, except for what is grown in Ms. Luci’s special garden for her secret cookie-seasoning concentrate.”
Special garden. Must be where they keep the people for the sausages.
“Let us get you some boots and gloves,” said Sebastian. “You only have a few hours before the nightly fiesta.”
“Fiesta?” she asked.
“Yes. The family has dinner together every night when Ms. Luci visits during the summer.”
“She doesn’t live here all year round?” asked Austin.
“No. She spends most of the year at her ranch in Tecate, Mexico. I take care of the farm with my two children, Juan and Margarita. We see to all its visitors and events. Like the time the president stopped by. That was very exciting, but his wife refused to wash dishes. I find this very odd, as a woman’s place is in the kitchen. Do you not agree?” He looked directly at Austin.
Austin stifled a laugh. “Of course. Where else would a woman go? Well, except your bed, but that’s a given. Oh, and the laundry room.” Austin looked directly at Harper and smirked.
Har. Har. Jerk.
“Exactamente!” said Sebastian, and then looked at Harper. “I hope you will stay, Miss Branton; we will have many dishes for washing tonight.”
The nerve of these people. They were going to work her to the bone. “I think you can take your dishes and—”
“We are here to help in any way possible,” Austin interrupted.
“Dad, are these my helpers for today?” said a treacherously male voice.
Harper turned to find a deeply tanned, sweaty, shirtless, Latino Adonis standing in a pair of dirty cut-off jeans, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Dear sweet Lord of twelve-packs, who is that?
His shoulders were broad; his chest carved from solid, smooth, caramel-colored granite. Every ripple was sheer fascination. His hands were covered with worn, brown suede-leather gloves, but she imagined they were rough and strong and dirty like the rest of him.
Harper gasped and cocked one brow, realizing the drop-dead gorgeous man: a.) smiled at her, and b.) had called Don crazy-eye “Dad.” Adonis couldn’t be older than twenty-five.
“Sí, Juan. This is Miss Harper Branton and Mr. Austin Royce,” said Sebastian. “They are the reporters Luci told us were coming.”
Chest heaving with exertion, Juan jerked his head in salutation, his short black hair dripping with sweat like the rest of him.
Harper could barely lift her hand. “Hi…”
“Nice to meet you,” said Austin a bit coolly.
Had Austin’s voice dropped an octave?
“What’s up?” Adonis—errr—Juan said. “You know how to drive a tractor?” he asked Austin.
“Yeah. Sure,” Austin replied.
Had Austin puffed out his chest a little? And since when did city boys know how to drive tractors?
“Cool. I’ve got it all set up for mowing the field. Come on, I’ll show you.”
“Great.” Austin turned to Harper. “See you later?”
She would be surprised if anyone ever saw her again. If the pigs didn’t get her, then Ms. Luci’s satanic herb garden would.
“I’ll probably just head back to the B and B once I’m done. Been a long day.”
“Oh. Okay. Have fun washing Miss Piggy.” Austin’s tone was indifferent.
“You’re not staying for dinner?” asked Juan disappointedly.
“Um. Well, I think I’ll be kind of dirty after all this work, and I didn’t bring a change of clothes.”
“You do not need clean clothes to wash dishes,” said Don Sebastian.
Juan shot his father an irritated look and then said to Harper, “Don’t listen to him; he was kicked in the head by Miss Happy Pants.”
“True.” Sebastian nodded happily.
“You can shower here,” Juan suggested in a tone that was a bit too bossy for Harper’s taste. “And you can borrow a dress from my sister. She won’t mind.”
“No. I really couldn’t.” Harper didn’t even know the sister. That would be weird.
“I insist.” Juan smiled, turning on the charm.
Harper felt the word unconsciously sliding from her lips. “Okay.”
“See you later, then.” Juan winked.
“Okay.” Harper sighed.
Austin looked at her and almost snarled before disappearing with Juan.
WTH? In all honesty, Juan was the sort of man a woman could look at and really, really, really, reeeeeally appreciate—like those yummy men from The Thunder From Down Under her friends were so obsessed with—but he was not relationship material. In fact, Austin fell in the same damned boat: too beautiful to be true and way too into himself. Additionally, he had probably slept with a ton of women. Those two little facts meant he spent every waking moment at the gym or work, and then spent the other hours at the doctor’s asking, “Why’s it itching?”
No thanks. Men like Juan and Austin were for lookie-lookie, drooly-drooly, no touchy-touchy.
Yeah, but you almost touched and looked and drooled last night!
Yes. I know that, you shitty little voice inside my head, but that was the wine talking last night. And we all know how persuasive the wine can be once it has possessed your body.
Good point. You win this argument.
Thank you.
Harper looked up at Don Sebastian, who simply stood there in his dark gray jeans, red cowboy boots, and turquoise blue hat, staring at her boobs.
Oh, come on!
“Eh-hem,” she said. “My eyes are up
here.”
Sebastian kept staring at her chest. “Yes. But I am looking at your breasts. They are very—”
“Okay! That’s enough. Are you going to show me what to do with the pigs or keep acting like a sixteen-year-old?”
“Is this a trick question?” he asked with his thick accent.
“I think it’s time for me to go see Ms. Luci.”
“No!” He held out his hands. “Breast staring is only acceptable on Sundays. My most grand apologies.”
Oh my. He really was kicked in the head.
He pointed to the pigs. “First, you must clean out their pen with a shovel and then spread fresh hay on the ground. Then you will take each pig from the pen one at a time and tie it up on the post outside. You wet the pig and then give it a scrub with the special soap—Cuddly Piggy Shampoo for the Preppy Pig—there on the shelf.” He pointed to a bookshelf-looking thing toward the end of the barn that held bottles of various liquids.
“They don’t bite or anything, do they?” she asked.
“Only when it rains and you play Enrique Iglesias.”
Harper blinked.
“I am joking!” he said with that accent and slapped his knee, chuckling to himself.
“Okay.”
He tipped his hat. “I will be in the living room cleaning up the mess if you need me.” He pointed at the three children still standing solemnly in their pen. “Bad esquintles! Bad!”
“What’s an esquintle?”
“It is a hairless dog,” he replied.
Okay. “And why are you calling them that?”
“Humph!” He jerked his hatted head toward the tiny prisoners. “Ask them.”
He stomped off, and Harper just had to wonder if this place wasn’t a front for some sort of halfway house for the criminally insane.
Harper walked over to the children and looked at their sweet little faces. “So, what’s he got you in here for?”
The little boy looked down at his feet, but the smaller of the two girls grinned at her. “We were playing cowboys and aliens.”
“Oh. Well, that sounds kind of fun.” She had to wonder why they were locked up for that. “Are you not allowed to play in the living room?”
“We turned the couch into a spaceship,” she said sweetly.
“Uh-oh. Did you get Grandma’s couch dirty?” Harper asked.
“We lit it on fire.”
Christ! “Why in the world did you do that?”
The girl shrugged. “The aliens lost.”
“Do you play that game often?”
“Once a week,” the girl replied proudly.
“I have a niece and nephew I think you’d like. I’ll introduce you sometime.”
“Do they light stuff on fire, too?” the girl asked excitedly.
“Only when it rains and Enrique Iglesias is playing.” Harper smiled, but they didn’t seem to get the joke. “Never mind. I’ll be over there shoveling pig poop if you need help breaking out of jail.”
She hoped that Don Crazy-Eye recognized that a time-out pen wasn’t going to do the trick; these children needed pyro-therapy.
Harper grabbed a shovel and found a wheelbarrow sitting just outside the barn. She returned and studied the three large pink, spotted pigs. They looked tame enough, so surely there was nothing to worry about.
She opened the little wooden gate and stepped inside, cautiously eyeing the animals and careful not to get too much pig goo on her sandals, berating herself for not having packed better shoes. Of course, never in a million years would she have imagined that she should be prepared to meet her childhood crush, lie to him, hear a story of “magic” cupid cookies, get drunk, almost do “the deed” with the childhood-crush guy, fight with him, assault an officer with a cup of coffee, get arrested, assault an elderly woman, and be sentenced to a week of hard labor to avoid being arrested for the second time in one day, while the clock precariously ticked away on her last chance at keeping a job that she loved more than life itself.
And…if you had known, what shoes would you have packed? Because your shoes don’t come equipped with that kind of support. Nope. No tiny therapists hiding under any of her arch supports.
Harper began shoveling out the foul-smelling piles of poop, depositing the sludge in the wheelbarrow. Her mind immediately drifted away to a more pleasant place: her conversation with Austin at the jail. She still felt the lingering effects of the warm fuzzies he’d produced after confessing his real reasons for kissing Becky all those years ago. Saying that he had wanted to give Harper the perfect, slobber-free first kiss was quite possibly the most romantic thing a guy had ever told her. And to think, all this time, she’d thought that Austin had ditched her for another girl, while he’d believed she’d left without a word because she was too afraid or didn’t really care.
Harper smiled to herself. What a couple of dorks.
Well, we were just children, and children do silly things. Which is why for a moment, back at that jail, she’d begun to wonder if the two had been brought together for a reason. This reason: to set things straight and get another chance. But that would be silly. She didn’t believe in that sort of sappy garbage: destiny, childhood sweethearts that turn into “forevers,” one true loves.
And Austin’s behavior—trying to ditch her as soon as they reached town—confirmed that he didn’t think much about the situation either. He was so eager to get her out of his life, in fact, that he had been about to throw in the towel on a story and just give it to her.
But that didn’t feel right. If he didn’t want her that way, she was a big enough girl to accept it. It’s not like she was in love with the guy.
That’s right. Because “love” is for the delusional. Even her very own parents—two intelligent, educated people who ran a veterinary school—were victims of this “brainwashing of the masses.”
Oh! That reminds me, I need to call my mom! Been over a week.
Anyway…no, it didn’t matter that she now knew her first “love” hadn’t really done anything wrong, and that it had all been one big misunderstanding; she still knew what she knew about “love.”
It’s B.S.
Now, mutual respect and friendship? Sure. Okay.
And physical attraction? Hell, yeah. Those were real. Austin, for example, gave new meaning to the words “Holy mother of all things erotically mantastic!”—but so what? He didn’t need to run away simply to avoid making Harper feel bad because he wasn’t into her. Which is why she’d confronted him by putting the issue out on the table and making it clear that she wasn’t interested in him—at least from a relationship perspective—so he could feel comfortable around her. See. And it worked. He’s fine. You’re fine. We can go back to being fierce competitors. Air’s all clear.
Then why does it stink so badly?
Pig shit, perhaps?
The rotting, eggy, trouser-toot stench only seemed to worsen. Harper’s eyes began to water as she tried desperately not to gag. Hurry, hurry. Go as fast as you can and run outside for fresh air. Just as she moved the shovel next to one of the pigs, it opened its eye and made a loud snort.
Harper yelped and jumped back, but then began laughing at herself. “Why am I afraid of you guys, huh? You’re just a bunch of cute widdle piggies,” she said in baby talk. “Awen’t you?”
Jeez. Look at me. I’m a professional reporter who’s been reduced to—
Something pinched her leg from behind, and she yelped again. As she attempted to turn to see what bit her, she slipped in the piggy-mud and landed face down between two of them, clipping one of the pigs with her hand as she tried to break the fall. The pig squealed. Harper screamed. The other two pigs joined in the squealing chorus. Harper screamed some more and scuttled away, only to hear laughter emanating from behind her.
Austin stood there with tears in his eyes, roaring. The children also snickered, and well, Juan simply stood in the barn’s doorway with a perplexed expression on his face.
“That was you. You pinched
me!” Harper’s anger instantly flared up. “What the hell are you laughing at?” she growled, flicking her wrists, trying to unstick some of the muddy, flatulence-scented muck from her hands.
Austin bit the insides of his cheeks, desperately trying not to smile, but he was doing a bad job. “You have pig poop on your face.” He chuckled.
I’m going to kill him!
“You think that’s funny?” She snapped her hand in his direction, and a sticky glob landed right on his cheek. “Ha!”
Austin stopped laughing, but still smiled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but—”
“You snuck up on me!”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. But that look on your face when the pig started to squeal…”
Harper wasn’t going to let him off with one glob. She charged toward him, intending to give him a big muddy hug, but Austin sidestepped, and she flew right into the gate of another stall.
Harper felt a sharp pain shoot through her skull.
“Harper, shit. Are you okay?” Austin said, hovering over her.
“Why are you standing over me like that?” she asked.
“You hit your head.” Austin held up a finger. “How many fingers do you see?”
“One. The one I’m going to shove into your eye sockets when I use it to gouge out those pretty hazel eyes.”
Austin brushed the hair from her forehead, beaming. “You’re fine.”
Juan rushed over. “I think you should go into the house and put some ice on that.”
“I’ll take her,” Austin said bluntly.
“No. You don’t know where anything is, and you have work to do,” Juan pointed out.
“That can wait.” Austin’s eyes flickered with annoyance.
Harper felt a sad little twinge of wicked joy; two hot men were fighting over her. You’re covered in shit, Harp. Really? Is this a moment to indulge in fantasies of being hot stuff?
Probably not.
She moved to get up. “I can help myself into the house and get some ice, thank you very much.” She wobbled a bit and steadied herself against the gate.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Austin asked.
She nodded. “Yes. And don’t talk to me.” Jerk made her fall. That was the second time today, too. What was with that, anyway? It seemed he and Harper were a disaster waiting to happen.
Happy Pants Cafe Page 8
