Page 25 of Flint

“Mira doesn’t know yet,” I explain. “She’s my best friend, and if Cord knows, Mira will know.”

He frowns. “I don’t get it.”

Something nags at me, but I dismiss it. “That's how couples work. You tell one half something and the other half knows.”

“Then consider my lips sealed. Unless you need my lips for other things that I’m very happy to provide,” he says with an eyebrow waggle.

I chuckle even as my nipples tighten, remembering how it felt to have his beard against my breasts. “We’re not doing that again. We’re strictly roommates now.”

“Friends,” he corrects me with a smirk that has me wanting to kiss him.

Chapter 12

Flint

“Whoa, it’s big!” Branson says, peering into Hilda’s pen where the massive hog is rolling in the mud to cool herself off.

“It’s loud!” Brock breaks into a giggle, delighted by the loud grunts she’s letting loose with. Hilda has never been bothered by people staring at her.

“She’s a hog named Hilda,” I explain as they stare at her with wide, delighted eyes. Guiding them around the farm today has fresh grief welling up for my dad. I wish he could see the twins. He’d love them.

He was a tough guy, a drill sergeant who could have raised me with some crazy idea that being macho means being loud and commanding, but he didn’t. He used to tell me that the gentlest man in the room is the strongest one. It’s a lesson I appreciate a hell of a lot since meeting these two.

“Can we ride her?” Brock asks.

“No, hogs aren’t horses. They can’t be ridden,” I answer.

“Can you ride her?” Brock asks.

“Nope, not even I can ride Hilda.” I didn’t realize how many questions kids ask until this weekend.

“Can we ride horses?” Branson asks.

I glance toward the pasture where Kane has brought out two ponies. For such a grump, he was all too happy to help me out with my plan. I gesture him over.

When he joins us, I drop to my knees in the tall grass next to the fence. Kane goes down to his knees too.

“This is my friend, Kane,” I tell them.

“He can ride Hilda?” Brock guesses.

Kane snorts. “No.”

“But you can ride horses today,” I tell them before I have to explain the exact anatomy of hogs and why they shouldn’t be ridden by anyone.

“Me first!” Branson says.

“No, I want to!” Brock insists.

“Hold on there, you both get to ride if you make me one tiny promise.” I put my fingers just an inch apart to give them something to focus on.

They nod solemnly in unison.

“Horses are big, so you listen to me and Kane. If we tell you something, do it, okay?” For a second, I study their faces and I almost think they’re listening to me.

Then Branson opens his mouth, “We’ll be the best at riding!”

“Real cowboys!” Brock adds.