The problem?
I didn’t account for how much I’d enjoy her company or how her sunny disposition would have a way of getting under my skin. No matter how hard I’ve tried, her presence has found cracks in my walls.
“Am I doing this right?” Noelle calls over her shoulder.
Once I’d shown her all of Maple’s tricks, she offered to help with the chores.
I glance up from where I’m changing out Maple’s water. Noelle is leaning over the cow, brushing her coat, but her strokes are so light they barely skate over the top coat.
“Try a little more pressure so you’re lifting the hair,” I suggest.
She gasps. “I’ll hurt her.”
“You won’t,” I promise.
She nibbles her bottom lip, her eyes flitting back and forth between Maple and me, still doubtful.
I’m about to lecture her for overanalyzing but think better of it. She’s likely never handled farm chores or brushed down a cow before. What’s routine for me is probably intimidating to her. It’s evident that she has a big heart, and her compassion extends to people and animals alike. If she’s worried about hurting Maple, I have to be patient and reassure her by guiding her through how it’s done safely.
“Here, I’ll show you.”
I step behind Noelle, my chest brushing her back as I take her hand. Her breath hitches at the contact, but she stays put. I lean closer, breathing in the sweet smell of vanilla and sugar cookies. It must be the holiday body wash I found in the shower this morning. I take in another deep breath, her scent wrapping around me—sweet, warm and addictive.
It takes me back to the snowmobile ride when her chest was flush against my back, her hands roaming to keep warm.
Christ, get a grip, Shep.
She’s barely half my age and will be gone as soon as the storm passes. All the more reason I shouldn’t entertain the thought of spinning her around and claiming her mouth.
My hand remains over Noelle’s as I guide the brush down Maple’s side, pushing firmly enough to get through her thick coat.
“Keep the strokes long and steady.” My voice is tight as I repeat the motion.
I can feel Noelle’s fingers relax beneath mine as she matches my rhythm. Eventually, I let her take over. I glance at Maple, who’s lazily chewing on hay, entirely at ease.
Noelle glances back at me, her eyes shining with pride. “Maple really enjoys having her coat brushed.”
Her magnetic joy brightens her expression.
“You’re doing so well with her, Sunshine.” The nickname leaves my mouth before I can wrangle it back.
Where the hell did that come from?
I’m not the type to hand out nicknames, least of all to blue-eyed city girls blowing through town. Getting attached is the last thing I need. I’m starting to think the old rule about never naming a puppy if you don’t plan to keep them applies to people and nicknames, too.
I take a measured breath and step back. “I’m going to bring in another bale of hay from the shed out back.”
She turns around to face me. “Is there anything else I can help with once I’m finished brushing Maple?”
“Want to feed the chickens some mealworms? They’ll never say no to a snack.”
Her lips curve into a smile. “I’d love to.”
“Great.” I move toward the stall entrance. “There’s a bucket with a scoop next to the feedbags on the bottom shelf.”
“Perfect. I visited a rescue farm in Upstate New York on a field trip in junior high, and feeding the chickens was my favorite part—though the horse ride was a close second.” I glance back to see her smiling fondly at the memory. “The whole experience was so memorable that I spent an entire year begging my parents to move to a farm. I even made a posterboard presentation, complete with a detailed chart of when I’d feed the livestock before and after school.”
“Did they go for it?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.
