by Cathryn Fox
Oh Christ, this woman has so much to learn. “Would you rather I tell you they’re shipped off to a farm for a good long life where they can run freely in the pasture?”
She cringes. “Yes, please.”
“No can do. Farmers are honest folk. You’ll come to learn that.”
She gives an exaggerated sigh and adjusts her ball cap. “Well, I guess I’ll deal with that when the time comes.”
“I’m sure it won’t come to that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, going on the defense again.
“Nothing.” She continues to glare at me. “It’s just a long way off,” I say. “It will be easy if you don’t play with them or give them names.”
“Duly noted.”
“You have two llamas. They’re wandering in the orchard somewhere. One is Barack O’Llama and one is Freddy.”
She chuckles. “Barack O’Llama, I get. Not so much Freddy.”
“‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’ ‘Mama, just killed a man.’”
Her eyes narrow. “I still don’t get it.”
“Llama, just killed a man. Sing it in your head.”
“Oh. My. God.” She groans, her hand touching my arm. “That is the worst.”
The warmth of her fingers seep into my skin, and I become painfully aware of how long it’s been since I’ve been touched, since I’ve touched…
My steps slow, and she tugs her hand away. “So um, any other animals I should be aware of?”
I pull open the big barn doors, and mooing reaches our ears.
“I have a cow,” she says, like nothing more could surprise her. “I have a freaking cow.”
“Alyson, meet Sidney Cowsby.”
“Sidney Cowsby?”
“Yeah, a play on Sidney Crosby. Not a hockey fan?”
“Ohmigod, that is the most Canadian thing I’ve ever heard.” She laughs and steps up to the cow. “Jack was creative, I’ll give him that.” She rubs the cow’s back. “Hello, Sidney.” Sidney moos and licks her face. She groans and backs up. But then her eyes widen. “Wait, do I have to milk her? Or can you whisper the milk right out of her?”
“I see humor runs in the family. And yes, she needs to be milked by hand every morning,” I tell her. “Around six.”
“Six? Like crack of dawn six?”
I laugh at that. “You and six aren’t friends?” I ask, not at all surprised.
“We try to avoid each other.”
“What time do you normally get up?”
“Never mind.” She walks to the door, and her heels wobble on the hay.
“You can try to sleep in, but Mr. Norris might make it a bit difficult.”
“Great. The place comes with a built-in alarm clock.”
“I’ll send Ty over in the morning to milk Sidney.” I follow her out as the sound of another car pulls into the driveway. “Looks like you have more customers. You need me or…” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder to the worn path through the trees separating our properties.
Fear washes over her face, and I’m about to head back to the barn with her but stop when she says, “Nope, I got this.”
“Yeah?”
She nods emphatically.
“Okay, I’ll catch you later then. Enjoy the pie.” I take two steps when her voice stops me.
“Jay.”
She gives me a smile that’s so goddamn adorable, I almost forget city women are off-limits. “Yeah.”
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
“It’s the least I can do. I mean, I was responsible for giving you a cold bath today, right?”
“Well, there is that.”
“We’re a shout away if you need anything tonight,” I inform her.
I cut through the path and my cell rings. I pull it from my pocket and read the message from my buddy Colin to meet him at Crow’s, our local pub. Since it’s not too far, I chose to walk to blow off some steam but only end up tense when I pass the large lot of land my father lost—because of me. It’s not the only thing he lost because of my recklessness.
Dad wanted to do so much with that land. He had so many plans but because I was a stupid punk who cared little about anything, he lost it. The night Charlie Miller accused me of vandalizing his shed, and my father stood up for me, betting the damn land I’d never do something like that—was the night my dad lost the acreage. The field still sits vacant, and it’s like a slap to my face every time I see it— I’d do anything to get it back. I scoff. I honestly shouldn’t be surprised Charlie had already paid Alyson a visit. He’s in everyone’s business.
Ten minutes later, with a scowl on my face and a fire in my belly, I push open the door to the Crow and spot Colin at a table.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask, when I see the empty bottles and shot glasses lined up in front of him.
“We should have just eloped,” he begins, “but noooo, Sara wants the big fancy wedding with the big fancy headaches.”
I chuckle. “And you want her to have that. You know you do.”
A smile touches his mouth, and he looks like he’s a million miles away when he says, “Yeah… I do.” His head lifts, and his glossy eyes meet mine. “Hey, I heard the new owner arrived.”
“Who told you?”
“Word travels fast, my friend. Did you get her digits?”
“I’m not interested in her digits. She’s like a goddamn newborn kitten with its eyes still closed. I’m not touching that.”
Colin puts his hand on my shoulder. “Bro, I’m telling you this for your own good. You need to move on, and it’s okay not to want to get into a relationship right now, but at least get yourself laid once in a while.”
“Agreed, but I’m not interested in Alyson,” I state.
“Alyson, huh.” He grins, and I just shake my head as he waves the server over and orders a couple more rounds. I’m pretty sure he’s had enough, but his place is within walking distance, and he has wedding issues, so I let it go.
“She’s not sticking around, Colin. She as much as said so.”
Our drinks arrive, and he holds his up. “What are we drinking to?”
“You getting laid before she leaves.” I shake my head and down the drink and chase it with a big swig of beer. We spend the next half hour talking about his upcoming wedding and choreography for the dance he wants his groomsmen to perform with him. I’d rather manscape my nut sack with shears than perform a choreographed dance for the guests. We finish our second beers—at least it’s my second—and he orders two more. Behind me, the pub doors bang open, and Colin goes still, his bottle halfway to his mouth.
“I don’t know who you’re looking at,” I say. “But you better pull your tongue back in. You’re as good as married, dude.”
He tips his beer bottle and points with the opening. “Is that her?”
I push back in my chair, and the legs scrape on the floor. “What are you talking about?”
The sound of heels clacking on the floor reach my ears, and I slowly turn. The second I set eyes on Alyson searching the pub like a little lost lamb, I curse—mostly to cover the groan threatening to rise in my throat. Jesus, now she’s in another one of Jack’s plaid shirts, and there is no way she should be making it look sexy. And those fuck-me heels. I’ll be glad when her suitcase arrives. I’m guessing she’ll probably be gone before it ever does.
“Yeah, that’s her,” I grumble and resist the urge to shift, to hide what’s going on between my legs.
Colin gives a low, slow whistle. “You’re a dead man.”
Yeah, I know.
“Talk about a baby fawn in the headlights,” he adds. “She still has her spots.”
“Yeah, she’s prey, I get it.” I glance around the pub to check for predators. We might have gotten off on the wrong foot, and I plan to keep her at arm’s lengt
h until she flees, but I’m not about to let anyone prey on her. There are some real assholes in this town. But something tells me beneath the glitz and glam, she just might be able to protect herself, that she might actually be stronger than she thinks.
Why doesn’t she give herself credit?
I lift my hand to wave her over—it’s the neighborly thing to do—and she gives me an odd little finger wave as she comes our way.
“Oh, hi. Everywhere I go, you’re there,” she says, a nervous little laugh bubbling in her throat, like my presence is throwing her off. I know the feeling. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were stalking me,” she teases.
“I was here first,” I say. “You must be the one stalking me.”
Colin snorts.
“What?” we both ask.
He sets his beer down, and it clunks on the cracked and dented table. “I’ve seen two bullfrogs flirt better than that.”
“We weren’t flirting,” Alyson blurts out. “I’m just here to get my order.”
“Looks like it’s ready.” I nod to the brown paper bag on the counter, and she trots off in her ridiculous shoes.
“She’s fucking hot.” Colin angles his head for another look. “Isn’t that Jack’s shirt?”
The main door opens again, and in walks none other than Charlie Miller. He grunts something at us—we are not friends—and plops down at the neighboring table. Steven Banks, another local farmer and father to the girl Tyler is hanging with tonight, takes a seat across from Charlie. Ignoring them, I focus on Colin and toy with the label on my beer.
“Airline lost her clothes.” I shake my head as she pays for her order and hurries out, only to come rushing back in again and get a straw. The few people in the room, men and women alike, watch her. Because everyone who lives here in farm country knows she doesn’t have what it takes to survive here.
“City girl, huh?” Colin says.
“Yeah, and she has no clue what she’s doing. She said she might not even make it through the night, and I give her one month at the most,” I say, thinking about how long Juanita lasted. “She’ll be running back to New York.”
“I don’t doubt that, my friend,” Colin says. He tips his bottle in salute and takes a drink. “I’d bet the farm on it.”
“Yeah, me, too,” I say. “I’d bet my entire farm that she’ll be packing before the month is over.”
“Is that right?” Charlie Miller asks from two chairs over.
My gaze slides to his. “What?” I ask.
“You want to place a bet?”
“Not with you,” I say, anger burning in my stomach.
“Chicken?”
“Fuck off,” I say.
Charlie pushes from his chair, seats himself down next to me, and in a voice meant for my and Colin’s ears only, he says, “You want a chance to win your parcel of land back, boy?” he asks.
My head lifts, taking the bait. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re betting the farm that little missus will leave in a month, I’m betting she doesn’t.”
My entire body tenses. “What do you know about her?”
He gives a casual shrug. “Nothing, just dropped by to say hello. Neighborly thing to do. Even mentioned Bryce was looking to buy the place.”
“If you don’t think she’s staying, either, why would you make this bet?”
“Maybe I feel bad that I took your father’s land all those years ago. I guess you were just a young’un doing what young’uns do. Maybe I overreacted.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Call it what you will, but this is a chance to get your daddy’s land back.”
At my mention of my father, my heart thumps. I’m the goddamn reason he’s dead, the goddamn reason he lost the land. If only I hadn’t been a reckless teenager and instead helped at the farm. Maybe then he wouldn’t have had a heart attack from overworking. I can’t bring him back, but I’d just finished telling myself I’d do anything to get the land back.
Colin grabs me and pulls me to him. “Take the bet, Jay. You said so yourself, she was leaving. She said she’d be lucky to make it through the night. You’ve got nothing to lose. This is a sure thing. Maybe old Charlie is feeling remorse, and without making himself look weak, this is his way to get the land back into your hands. I mean, Christ, he never developed it. You’d be a fool not to bet on a sure thing.”
I shake my head. Even drunk, Colin makes sense.
“Well, what will it be, boy?” Charlie asks.
Chapter Five
Alyson
“What the ever-loving hell is going on?”
I jackknife up and glance around the still-dark room, trying to orient myself in this strange new environment. The faint smell of cigar smoke combined with a deep woodsy cologne stirs my senses as the single mattress beneath me squeaks. I turn, take in my surroundings, and the tumblers fall into place as the stupid rooster next door squawks again.
Old MacDonald had a farm.
For some reason, that thought makes me laugh, almost uncontrollably. As my heart pounds—it’s been racing since I stepped foot in Nova Scotia, for numerous reasons—I shake my head and try to wrap my brain around everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Maybe this is all just a bad dream. Maybe I’m not in one of my uncle’s spare bedrooms and instead I’m back in my New York condo, having the worst nightmare of my life. Yeah, that’s it. Maybe I’m…
STOP.
I force my wayward thoughts to come to a resounding halt.
I’m not in New York, and no amount of wishful thinking can convince me otherwise. This is rural Nova Scotia, and I have a damn cow to milk. This, my friends, has become my life, and I’m damn well going to make the best of it.
With renewed determination, I plant my feet on the cool wood floor and catch my reflection in the small brown-tinged mirror over the bureau. Clearly the summer humidity does not agree with me. I smooth down my mess of hair and note the dark circles under my eyes. My makeup is lost, along with my luggage, but I have no one to impress here and nothing to prove—other than to myself. The neighbor next door has already seen me at my worst, a couple times, and expects the worst from me. Typical.
I push to my feet, grab my phone from the nightstand, and walk to the window. I sure hope Jay keeps his word and sends his brother. I’m guessing he will. He cares about the animals and never expects me to rise and shine to the occasion. I do a quick Google search on the proper way to milk a cow. But before I do anything, coffee first. Is it too much to wish for an espresso machine?
In the kitchen, I fix myself a cup of coffee, using grounds from another century. My eyes water as I take a sniff of the strong brew and step out back.
I nearly jump out of my shoes when I come face to face with a huge beaver up on its webbed hind feet, its big orange teeth ready to attack and eat me alive. I turn to rush back inside but stop when I notice it’s not moving. What the hell? I take a tentative step closer and peer into its beady eyes. Is it stuffed? Good God, my uncle has a stuffed beaver on his back deck. Just one more thing to remind me I’m in Canada.
I cross the wide expanse of covered deck to look out over the orchard and gasp as the sun rises on the horizon. Long fingers of yellow light rake across the clouds and push back the dark of the night. The sun peeks over the distant hills, and the warmth creeps along my face, pushing the early morning chill from my bones. In the distance, birds awaken and chirp as they forage for food. Something scurries in the underbrush, and I can make out the shape of two llamas in the distance. Hello, Barack and Freddy.
“Wow,” I whisper. Who knew sunrises could be so amazing?
“Nice, huh?”
I startle at the sound of Jay’s voice and nearly spill my coffee when I turn to him. He has two mugs in his hands, ribbons of steam stretching toward the brightening sky.
“You scared me.”
“Sorry,” he says and inhales. “Wasn’t even sure if you’d still be here.”
“I’m still here,” I say and lift my chin. “There must have been a small part of you that thought I would be. You do have two cups of coffee. I take it one is for me.”
He hands me the cup, and I dump the one I just made, setting the mug down on the deck.
“I see you met Mr. Beaver.”
“Mr. Beaver. Not very clever,” I joke. “What’s up with it, anyway?”
“He built a dam not too far from here.” He points with his chin. “There’s a stream on your property. Great for cooling off when it’s hot out.”
I examine the poor beaver. “What did he ever do to Jack to deserve this?”
“Nothing. Jack loved all animals. Especially this guy.” Jay comes closer and examines the beaver’s head. “A coyote got him, and Jack was too late to save him, so he stuffed him instead.”
“Eww,” I say and glance around. “Am I going to run into a stuffed coyote next?”
“No, but speaking of coyotes, I thought I heard one the other night.”
My pulse picks up pace, and I grip my mug tighter. “What…what do I do if I hear or see one?”
“Scare if off,” he says, like I should know that.
I nod in agreement. “Right, scare it off.” I want to ask how, but I’m tired of coming off like I know nothing.
“Ever shoot a gun?”
“God, no.” I cringe at the thought of shooting a weapon. With my luck, I’m liable to lose a foot or worse.
“Maybe you’ll get lucky and get off a good shot. Then you can set him up right beside Mr. Beaver here.”
That thought totally disturbs me. “Ugh, can we please change the subject?”
He chuckles. “Okay, know what that smell is?”
I take a huge breath and scope out the massive orchard. “Regret and manure?”
He laughs out loud this time. “No, hazelnut. Thought you could use a decent cup.” I glance at the mug in my hand, having totally forgotten about it. Wow, this guy really has the ability to throw me off if he made me forget about coffee. That’s definitely not good.
