Page 31 of Sinister Secrets

I invite Chelsea to stay for dinner. It seemed rude not to, and there’s certainly enough food to go around. It also gives me a chance to get to know her better, build a little trust before I turn over the care of the animals to her.

The issue is, she’s a nonstop chatterbox. I’m already exhausted. I try to remember if I had that much energy when I was at the opposite end of my thirties, but I don’t think I did. I can’t fault her for being energetic, though. Or enthusiastic about getting to know the animals.

But there’s something about her that I can’t quite put my finger on. She reminds me of someone. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, but the odd familiarity has me feeling strangely protective of her.

“Wow, I’m stuffed. You’re an amazing cook, Cassie.”

“That she is,” Jake says, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“If you keep feeding me like this, they’re going to have to give me my own zip code.” She gives me a grin as she pats her nonexistent belly. “Why don’t you let me do the dishes to burn off some calories.”

I’m not sure how to respond. As much as I appreciate the offer, I’m ready to relax and start winding things down, whereas something tells me her night’s just getting started.

Fortunately, Jake jumps in and saves me. “How about I take care of the dishes and Cassie introduces you to the animals real quick before bed?” I give him a grateful smile, not missing the meaningful look he gives me as I lead the way outside.

Though the night air is still humid, it lacks the brutal heat of the day. A chorus of crickets creates a steady backbeat that the frogs raise their voices to be heard above, the gentle whisper of our steps across the dry grass adding to the melody.

Hearing our approach, Sam and Daisy stick their heads over their stall doors. Stephano jumps over his and starts frolicking over to us.

“It’s really peaceful out here, isn’t it?” Chelsea asks as we step into the barn. Before I can answer, she spots the pygmy goat. “Oh! He’s so cute!”

“He is, but he’s also a bit of a troublemaker, which is why the number one most important thing is keeping the feed room door closed. If he gets in there, he’ll help himself, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that pygmy goats are especially prone to fatal cases of bloat.”

“Really?” she asks, eyes growing round.

“Yes.” I search her face for some sign that what I’ve just told her is vaguely familiar but see none. “So please make sure the door stays closed at all times.”

“Yeah, you got it. Of course.”

Trying to be casual, I ask, “What types of animals do you have experience with?”

“Oh, you know. The small kind.”

“Rodents?”

“Um, no. Like cats.”

“So no experience with farm animals?” The thin threads of anxiety that I’ve yet to get rid of today once again grow into thick coils of rope, threatening to drag me down under a sea of worries.

“No, but I’m eager to learn.”

“You haven’t come into contact with any during your classes?”

“Not yet. I’m only a first-year veterinary student.”

What was Jake thinking? I draw a deep breath and remind myself that everyone has to start somewhere. Though I had hoped to find someone with more experience, I suppose all we can do now is make the best of it—even if it means putting in extra effort to get her up to speed fast.

Noticing that Ricki is washing her food in Daisy’s water bucket, I open the stall door and point as I swing the raccoon onto my hip. “Would you mind rinsing this and refilling it for me?”

“Sure.” Chelsea steps around me with a smile that quickly vanishes, replaced by groans and curses as she tries to take enough weight off the bucket to unclip it from its hook on the wall. “How much does this weigh?”

I glance at the three-gallon bucket as I set Ricki down. “Less than twenty-five pounds.”

“Is that all? It feels like fifty.”

If she thinks that’s heavy, just wait until she tries pushing a wheelbarrow full of manure. How’s she going to help if she can’t do half the work we need her to do?

Finally, she pushes her knee under the bucket and uses her leg to leverage it high enough to unclip. Her cheeks turn pink as she carries it with both hands, waddling out of the stall and to the hose faucet at the end of the wall.