He’d offered up rooms in the farmhouse, of which there were many, all sitting empty, and they’d gratefully accepted. After scrounging up clean sweats, T-shirts, and flannel shirts for them to wear and offering to wash whatever parts of their outfits could go in the washer, he’d left them in the big farmhouse kitchen, reheating leftover chili to have for supper. He’d headed back to the barn to check on his newest patient, then settled in his workroom out there to put in some time on a side project he’d been working on. By the time he’d come back in for the night, they had already turned in. He’d put a pot of coffee on for them when he’d gotten up that morning, but he’d been out in the barn since just after sunrise.
Despite their brief time together, however, Ben didn’t have to ask her to explain the big-brain moniker. Beyond the facts surrounding how she’d spied the goat in the first place, he’d also had the chance to observe her rapid-fire cognition in action.
While he’d examined the goat, she’d asked a myriad of questions about the billy’s condition, how Ben could tell the goat wasn’t concussed, whether there would be x-rays, and what the course of action would be if internal injuries were revealed. And that was just the first five minutes. She was steady and thoughtful, not anxious, and she listened to what he had to say. She didn’t get in his way but was unapologetic in her thirst to understand. She never had to ask the same thing twice. She retained every bit of the information he shared, which became more detailed as he realized she had a capacity for understanding at a far more advanced level than the general layman’s terms he usually used when dealing with the folks who came to see him. Her interest was sincere. She processed information and drew conclusions with startling swiftness. Rather than be intimidated by her intelligence, he liked it. He liked it a lot, in fact.
He also liked that she’d tossed her big brain out there just now as simple fact. Not bragging, nor humble, just what it was. Like him being a vet, and the goat being a goat. He was even more charmed by her easy confidence and unabashed desire to absorb all she could. Often times, people who spent that much time up in their heads—and he had a lot of experience there—were more than a little awkward when it came to the social aspect of things.
He’d been an exception to that rule, and so, it appeared, was Avery Kent.
“The ticket price will have to be a bit steep, to cover the little guy’s feeding and housing,” Ben said, coming to stand beside her, both of them looking at the goat now. “Otherwise he’ll eat up all our profits.”
Avery laughed, and Ben smiled as he put his palm out so the goat could butt his head and nubby little horns against it. He happily butted Ben’s hand again and again when he felt the warmth of Ben’s skin.
“Is it okay for him to do that? I know you said he wasn’t concussed, but how can you be sure?”
“I should have explained better yesterday,” he said, tossing her a grin, “but I think we were already three questions down the line by then.”
She didn’t flush or look embarrassed. “Well, I have to keep up appearances. For our show and all. Can’t disappoint the public.”
“No,” he said, thinking nothing about her was remotely disappointing. “We wouldn’t want that.”
“So, how can you be so certain he’s not concussed?”
“These guys might be little, but they spend a good amount of their time ramming their heads against each other. They have tough noggins.” At her patient look, he grinned again and said, “Okay, they have a thick skull, like an armored car, especially in the rounded rear area, called the braincase. The braincase is smooth on the inside, with very little cerebrospinal fluid surrounding it.”
“So, the brain can’t move much on impact,” she said.
He nodded. “They also are very precise when they ram or butt something, using a direct, forward motion. Never shifting from side to side, which is how most damage is done.”
“Like whiplash,” she said, nodding. “Makes sense.”
“Woodpeckers actually operate the same way when they’re drilling a tree with their beaks.” He glanced from her to the goat. “That’s not to say they can’t get concussed, but whatever would have caused a head strike severe enough to inflict that kind of damage would likely also have inflicted critical injuries.”
Avery looked at him. “You mean, as in…?”
Ben nodded and she looked back at the happy little goat.
“Good thing you had something to cushion your fall there, little man,” she said, then carefully removed the cuff of Ben’s jacket from between the goat’s teeth. The edge of the cuff was now a little frayed. She looked sternly back at the goat. “That’s coming out of your ticket sales, mister.”
When the goat bleated right back at her, she turned to Ben. “See? Already with the prima donna attitude.”
“Charlie Pruitt—that’s the man who owns him—actually lets one of the locals teach yoga in his barn twice a month with the goats as part of the yoga routine. The way I hear it, this little guy already has quite the fan following.” The billy butted harder when Ben put his palm back in front of the goat’s face.
“I can see this is going right to his head,” Avery said dryly. “Before you know it, he’ll have an agent, a publicist, his own social media accounts, and a list of demands.”
“Right now, I think the only demand he cares about is being fed.”
Avery turned fully to Ben then, her gaze instantly and quite avidly locked on his. He’d already noticed during the examination the night before that when she focused on someone, she really focused. She didn’t ask questions idly, and she didn’t half-pay attention. She was fully engaged in the moment. Each moment. No distractions. Of course, given she could ping-pong from subject to subject like a gazelle on a full out sprint inside a pinball machine, any distractions that might occur would be addressed in short order anyway.
It would be dizzying and not a little intimidating, except her enthusiasm for each topic was so engaging and sincere, he found it invigorating rather than exhausting. It made him want to hitch a ride on her rocket, just for the thrill of it.
“Could I feed him?” she asked. “Or would that be against doctor-patient protocol?”
“I think we could bend the rules. It’s not like our new reality show has started yet. So, as long as the cameras aren’t rolling,”
She laughed. “I won’t write a tell-all, I promise.”
“Hey, here you are.” Chey came into the barn. “Fair warning, you left the coffee pot unattended.” She lifted the mug she had in her hand, her expression not even slightly apologetic. “Good to the last drop.”
“It’s possible I might have another coffee maker in my office out here,” Ben replied.
“Hoarder,” she replied. “I approve.” They both grinned.
Cheyenne McCafferty was a striking woman, no two ways about it. She was on the tall side of average, built like an athlete, with just enough swagger that the tomboy and the woman combined in an explosive way that likely made most men’s tongues loll right out of their mouths. He imagined more than a few were intimidated by her bold, take-no-guff attitude, but he was pretty certain that would be their loss.
From the corner of his eye, he caught Avery watching their byplay in that intent, absorb-everything manner she had. And she didn’t look all that disturbed by it. In fact, if Ben didn’t know better, he’d say the wheels he saw turning behind those round, red-rimmed glasses of hers weren’t about her sizing up her chances with Ben against those of her flashier friend. No…Avery was looking at them more like his Aunt Peg did when she saw her favorite nephew—her favorite single nephew—within spitting distance of a single woman anywhere near his age. And Peg was flexible on that latter part.
So, the brain wasn’t interested in the vet herself, but thought he might be a match for her best friend? Ben should have been flattered, but what he felt was disappointment. Avery was…well, Avery
. Not to be compared with anyone else he’d ever met. Even in this short time, she’d snagged his full attention in ways it had never been engaged before.
And maybe you’d better check that ego at the door, Dr. Campbell. Maybe neither of them views you as a catch. Honestly, Ben didn’t view himself as much of a catch, either. Who wanted to hook their star to a guy who worked all hours of the night and day, was always on call, who often missed out on life’s important moments because he was busy helping an awkwardly positioned calf into the world, or helping ease the transition of a sick or elderly pet into the hereafter? Arguably those were also important life moments, at least as he viewed things, but he understood that any real relationship would require him to be present for both personal and professional moments.
Despite the fact that women seemed to find his appearance appealing enough, his single status streak had remained unbroken for quite a long time. The fact that he’d also managed to see and work his way around a good portion of the globe before his recent thirtieth birthday didn’t help his relationship status, either.
“You should come out to our farm,” Avery suddenly blurted. “For dinner,” she hurriedly added. “A thank you, for putting us up, and helping this little guy.”
Ben didn’t miss the look of surprise on Chey’s face, closer to shock, really, which intrigued him all the more. What was so surprising? Was it not like Avery to invite a man she’d just met home for dinner? If so, he couldn’t deny he quite liked being the exception to the rule.
Chey seemed delighted by that prospect, too. Her look of delight, however, was followed in quick succession by a furrowing of brows when Avery looked her way and said, “Chey could show you around the place. The lavender bushes are dormant and under a fair amount of snow at the moment, but I don’t think you’ve met her horses yet. Her stables were built over a hundred years ago. Or parts of them were. Same with the manor house. It was known as the March House before we took over, and part of the original construction dates back close to the Civil War. Same with the stacked stone walls.” As if realizing she was babbling a little, she cleared her throat and said, “Chey can tell you all about the history if you’re interested.”
Ben ducked his chin, swallowing an abashed grin. So, they each thought he was perfect for the other one, but not so much for themselves? Yeah, consider the ego fully checked, mate.
Ben glanced up in time to see Avery motioning to the barn surrounding them. “Chey’s barn is beautiful, much like this place,” she went on. “Only with some amazing stone work.” She beamed at Ben, then at Chey, looking quite pleased with herself. “Vivi—she’s another one of the partners in our farm—always cooks for an army. I’ll just give her a shout to know to expect you.” She pulled her phone from her pocket.
“Dr. Campbell—” Chey began, glancing from Avery to him. From the look on her face, he guessed she was about to give him an out. One she clearly wanted him to take.
“Ben, please,” he said, before she could finish. “And that sounds nice,” he told Avery. “Thank you. If it’s not too much bother.” He smiled at Chey. “That chili you had for dinner is one of two things I know how to make. I wouldn’t mind a bit of a change in menu.”
Chey’s expression immediately smoothed. Her smile was both polite and sincere, but definitely not flirtatious. “We’d enjoy the company.”
Ben looked back at Avery and his smile spread to a grin. “As would I.”
Chapter 3
“He’s perfect for you,” Avery all but gushed as they set the kitchen table later that evening. “I mean, you have eyes in your head. He’s like a walking pheromone cloud.”
Chey just smiled and shook her head, as if, once again, Avery had missed the obvious.
And for all that she was the genius in the group, it was true that one of the byproducts of always being “all up inside her head,” as Vivi called it, was that she often missed certain nuances or inferences. “What?” Avery asked, stopping mid-napkin fold. She glanced at Vivi, who was stationed in front of the stove. “What am I missing?”
Vivi turned down the flame under the big pot of beef stew she’d been simmering most of the day, then wiped her hands on a dishtowel before patting at her lavender-shaded updo. Vivi had been born in New Orleans but had gone on to become a staple of Broadway musicals as a showgirl, then from there had launched a career as a costume designer. In her sixties now, she still carried herself as smoothly and regally as if she were always sporting one of those twenty-pound headpieces she’d worn on stage back in the day. She was both flamboyant and polished, like a fine gem. Avery loved her like the favorite colorful aunt she’d always wanted and never had.
“He’s traveled the world,” Avery went on, “and Chey, you were on the rodeo circuit from birth to adulthood. You both have seen things, traveled, had adventures; you share a wanderlust—”
“Had,” Chey repeated. “I have no plans to wander from here.” She smiled at her friend, true affection in her eyes now. “I appreciate your looking out for my romantic interests, but—”
“But you’re too stubborn to even consider what’s right in front of you,” Avery said. She finished the linen napkin fold, something she’d seen in a magazine eight years ago. Eight years, three months, two weeks, and a day, to be exact. It had been a Tuesday afternoon. Avery had been intrigued by the idea that fabric could be folded into shapes but hadn’t ever had reason to give it a try. Despite being able to remember the entire tutorial, word-for-word, photo-for-photo, her resulting swan looked more like a wilted lily. Perfect recall was handy, but that didn’t automatically imbue her with the ability to put what she learned to perfect use. Sighing, she set the napkin on the plate and looked back at Chey, who was putting out the silverware. “If you saw the way he looked at you.”
“Looked at me?” Chey said on a surprised laugh. “Honey—”
“Cheyenne, dear, could you grab me the cornmeal from the pantry?” Vivi interjected just then. “I think I’ll make some corn bread to go with this stew.” She sent a pointed look Chey’s way. “If we’re out, maybe you have some at your place? If you wouldn’t mind?”
Avery hadn’t missed that there was a definite silent communication going on between the two, but she had no clue what those visual cues meant. “Vivi, if you’d been there, you’d agree with me,” Avery said. “I mean, he didn’t ogle her, or anything offensive, but I’ve charted things like pupil expansion and breathing patterns, and he was definitely exhibiting all the signs of a man—”
“You know, Avery’s right,” Chey said, purposely not looking at Vivi, who had turned back to her stew pot.
She’d missed something again, clearly, but she was too surprised by Chey’s capitulation to spend time wondering what it was. “I am?” Avery said. “Of course, I am,” she followed up quickly, not wanting to give Chey a chance to wriggle out of it. “Give him a chance—that’s all I’m saying. Who knows, maybe he won’t want to wander away from Blue Hollow Falls, either.”
“It’s just dinner,” Chey retorted, but quickly lifted her hand to stall any further persuading. “I agree he’s a nice guy, seems like a decent vet.” She grinned then. “And that deep voice with that accent does do things, you know?”
“Right?” Avery exclaimed, happy and relieved to see her friend wasn’t so unaffected after all. “I think I’ve narrowed it down to southeastern United States, likely Georgia or thereabouts—perhaps he was raised there—with definite signs of time spent in Australia. I haven’t studied dialects in that country, so I couldn’t say from what region, but he’s certainly done more than visit.”
Chey studied her friend, but her smile was wide and true as she simply nodded in agreement. “Whatever it is, wherever he’s lived, he wears it well, I’ll say that.”
“Indeed,” Avery said, satisfied that Chey would at least welcome their guest; then they’d see what they’d see. Avery picked up another napkin, already plotting h
ow she could make sure that Chey and Ben had some alone time that evening. Showing him the stables was the obvious play, but Avery always liked to have a back-up plan in place.
Surely if the two of them spent time alone together, nature would work its magic. How could Chey not get swept away when Ben looked at her with those intent, emerald green eyes? And it wasn’t just the good looks or the easy charm. He would make her laugh and smile like it was the easiest thing in the world. No awkward silences, no time to worry how you looked, or if you were saying the right thing, sounding too geeky or over-analytical. He was quick and sharp, easy to be with. Laugh with. Joke with. How could Chey spend any amount of time around the handsome doctor and not find herself falling for him?
Avery realized she was fanning herself with the napkin rather than folding it. She caught Chey’s knowing smile and quickly jerked the linen cloth back down and started her attempt at a butterfly fold. So what, she thought. Of course being around a smart, sexy guy like Ben affected her, too. She’d have to be dead not to respond to the man’s charisma. It was a relief really. Knowing she was normal like that. It had been a very long time since she’d felt much of anything.
Her solo attempt at having a relationship had happened in the brief time she’d tried living on campus while continuing post grad work on her second doctorate. Though the home she’d been born and raised in also happened to be on the same campus, seeing as both of her parents were employed by the university. Still, at eighteen, Avery had finally been living under a roof other than theirs, which meant she could try new things. Like sex. Unfortunately, sex with Chad Gallagher had been more like a failed attempt at a complex mathematical equation than anything physically satisfying. Much less emotionally satisfying. He hadn’t seemed at all appreciative of her attempt to analyze how they could make things work better. Perhaps she should have waited until they were both showered and dressed, but it seemed like something that was best figured out in the moment. She’d been wrong about that, too.
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