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I have no idea why she’d have an alligator here or how that’s supposed to be better than a horse, but she’s gone toward the barn before I can ask. She reappears a moment later on a big golf cart on steroids, pulling up to wave me inside. I climb in, and she takes off like a bullet, seeming to know exactly where she’s going.
The rolling land gives way to a horizon of crops and trees. Getting closer, I can see two large silhouettes breaking the even spacing of the tree trunks. Bobby and Brutal.
Shayanne stops the Gator, and I get out. As soon as I’m clear of the vehicle, one of the silhouettes starts moving my way. Shayanne was excited to see me here, but Bobby is literally running toward me.
“Willow?” he shouts. “You’re here!” He scoops me up in his arms, spinning me around in a circle and squeezing a laugh out of me.
Putting my feet back on the ground, he asks, “What are you doing here?”
I have that moment of doubt, but the light in his dark eyes burns it away in a flash. “Shay said it would be a good surprise and promised me pictures of the goats.”
He rumbles, promising, “You can take pictures of any damn thing you want to.”
He hasn’t let go of me, his arms still wrapped around my waist tightly as if he’s checking to make sure I’m real. I can feel his heart pounding with excitement beneath my palms as he presses his forehead to mine, breathing me in like I’m his oxygen.
Shayanne jumps in, breaking our sexy stare down to threaten, “I might have to hold you to that. But she’s mine first because I had the balls to invite her out, unlike some people.” Her fingers grip around my arm and pull me to her side like I’m a toy they’re fighting over.
Bobby growls at Shayanne, “Fuck that.”
I can’t help but laugh at his reaction, teasing dryly, “Yeah, I’m totally just here for the goats. That’s the only reason.” I give him a head to toe check, taking in the sweaty hair sticking out of his ballcap, the dirty shirt and jeans that are molded to him like a second skin, and that white smile amid the scruff I want to rub against like a cat with a scratching post.
“Yeah, she likes your ugly face too, for some reason,” Shay taunts with an eye roll. “But goats first, asshole brothers second.” She holds up one finger for the goats, but instead of a second for Bobby, she just points at him.
“Fine, the goats are cute, I guess. But don’t leave, okay?” He seems genuinely concerned that I might disappear into thin air, and I realize that my being here means something to him the same way it does to me. We’ve gotten so close, intimate, really, but it’s mostly been within the confines of Hank’s—never at my place, and never at his. How can that be for someone I’m this in tune with? I feel like I would be able to pinpoint him in a crowd, my heart drawn to him like a magnet.
“You might have to call Chief Gibson to get me out of here now that I’m past the gate,” I threaten with a smile.
He shakes his head, pinning me in place with a heated look. “Never.”
Shay pulls my arm again. “Okay, loverboy. Enough for now. We’re going up to see the goats.”
“Not Baarbara,” he warns, and Shay rolls her eyes in a solid ‘duh’ response.
She nearly shoves me back into the Gator and pulls away, spinning the tires in the grass. “I figure we have about thirty minutes before he comes sniffing around again, so we’ll have to cut short the tour of Tannen Farm and stick with just the goats.” Talking to herself more than me, she adds, “He’d probably kill me if I went anywhere else, anyway.” But there’s an evil little glint in her eye that makes it seem like she’d like to see Bobby try.
In the pen, we’re instantly surrounded by baaing goats of every color and size. They go for Shay, and she scratches behind their ears, so I follow her lead. “Keep your camera up high or they’ll take it right out of your hands.”
I do as she suggests but ultimately go a step further and set my bag outside the gate in favor of focusing on the adorable animals. The goats aren’t nearly as scary as George was, mostly because of their smaller size.
Before long, I’m sitting in the dirt with a small, brown-spotted goat in my lap, petting its wiry hair and smiling wide. “Look, Shay. It’s licking me,” I whisper, delighted.
I look up to find her snapping a picture of me with her phone. I’m not used to that, never the subject of my own photography beyond a hand here or a leg there. Once or twice, I’ve shown a snippet of my face, basically a close-up of my eye so that I stay anonymous. But Shayanne is taking a full-frame shot of me and little Trollie. I look down shyly, but Trollie chooses that moment to lick my face.
