My body turns icy cold. “Yes.”
She nods to Piggie. “We liked those too. You should have named these guys Leo and Johnnie.”
“They’re female,” I say, though that doesn’t matter, does it? Technically Elephant is male.
Callie laughs. “Fair enough. So, should we feed them?”
It feels weirdly dishonest not to tell her how intimately familiar I am withLeo and Johnnie. Instead, I’m grateful theconversation passes so easily. I half-expected her to ask why a full-grown man was naming his horses after children’s book characters to begin with, but she seemed to accept it easily.
If there’s one thing I’ve come to appreciate about Callie in the short few days I’ve known her, it’s how little she seems to pass judgment.
Well, except for how deeply she has evidently been wondering why I’m still single. But I’m not going to think too long about that. I gesture to the ladder that leads up to the loft. “Come on. I’ll show you. Have you ever used a pitchfork?”
Callie laughs. “Have I ever used a pitchfork? Please.” She blows a raspberry. “Farm girl, remember?”
“Okay, time to prove it.”
We climb up to the hayloft. The window is small and dirty, so it’s fairly dark. I open both trap doors to the troughs and pick up the pitchfork. “Give them each a good scoop of hay.”
“You got it, boss.”
Callie knows what she’s doing. The horses are both fed reasonably quickly, and we brush them down and fill their water.
“Do they still need to go outside?” she asks.
“Aye, of course. I’ll let them out this afternoon when it’s warmer. They aren’t used to these winters yet.”
She nods. “Oh, I’ve missed?—”
My phone rings. “Sorry.” When I see the name on the screen, I have to swallow an audible groan. I swipe it to answer. “Hiya, Douglas.”
“Listen, I know it’s storming,” he says gruffly, “but I was hoping you could help me oot.”
“I have someone staying at my house, Douglas.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Remember my cousin Hamish?”
“Aye, Young Hamish. I recall the lad.”
“He’s coming for Christmas, and he’s bringing a fair amountof his wife’s family with him. One came early, and she’s here now.”
“I see.” Douglas is silent for a moment, and I can picture him in his house, looking at his sink and debating whether he should still pretend it needs to be fixed. “Trouble is, boiler’s gone out already, and my knees are bad. I’m not sure I can get back up again if I get down on the ground to light it.”
“The boiler this time?” It’s been a good while since he’d used that one. Too bad he didn’t wait until after he’d called to put the light out. Just picturing him taking all those stairs down to the basement feeds me with guilt. I force myself not to let out the sigh my body inherently feels.
“Aye, Gavin. I could try to light it myself?—”
“No, leave it, Douglas. I’ll be over soon.” The last thing we need in the middle of this storm is an actual injury.
“Sorry—”
“It’s no bother,” I assure him. “Truly. I don’t mind. Give me a moment to finish feeding the horses, and I’ll be over.”
“You’re a good man, Gavin.”
“Cheers.” I ring off and slip my phone in my pocket.
