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Chapter 11
The day after he’d had an actual conversation with Luna McKinley, and then made out with her in the Ryker Falls grocery store, which hadn’t been a slick move on his part, he got up with the sun to head to the ranch.
He’d had a cold shower when he’d got home, then another before bed because he couldn’t stop thinking about how her body had felt pressed to his. He’d then spent the night dreaming about her in his bed naked. Those long legs were wrapped around his waist, her hair spread over his pillows.
“Not your finest hour,” he muttered, heading downstairs.
At least now they were on speaking, and making out, terms, the people in this town, and his sister, would leave him alone.
He opened the door to the thud against the wood.
“We discussed this yesterday. You have a pen. I made it for you, and it has shelter, Monica. I live here, not you.”
He’d put some wire around the shed where he had his tools. Temporary, until her owner came to take her home. He’d also trimmed her little hooves and washed her. That hadn’t gone so well, and she’d tried to take a chunk out of him, but he’d won. He then cut her mane and forelock so she could see.
“At least you smell good,” he said, opening the door wider. She trotted in behind him. It was the squawk that had him turning back to the open door.
“Who the hell are you?” A duck waddled in. It was limping. Its head was green and body beige and brown with a bit of white. “Is he a friend of yours, Monica, because this is not rent a room.”
Monica trotted into the kitchen with the duck on her heels.
“I’m serious here,” Nash said, following them. “What’s wrong with your foot?” He bent to pick up the duck and put it on the counter. He found a piece of wire had wound itself around the leg. Holding it still, Nash opened his kitchen drawer and pulled out something to remove it.
Monica nudged his leg.
“I’m helping your buddy here, relax. He’s not going in a pot, I promise.” The pony snorted. He removed the wire and took some of the aloe vera he had growing on his windowsill. Squeezing out some of the jelly-like substance, he rubbed it into the raw mark the wire left behind.
“You try to stay off that now, duck.” He lowered it to the ground.
Nash then headed outside to feed Monica and her duck.
“You both need to head back to where you came from.” He looked at them. The duck was standing between Monica’s front legs. “Seriously though, you don’t expect me to believe you’re actually friends?”
They kept looking at him.
Shaking his head, he left them to their breakfast and went inside to eat his, then filled his thermos with coffee. Finding his keys under a book, he went back out and checked on the animals. Duck was settled in the hay he’d spread out last night. Monica was watching him.
“Later,” Nash said, climbing in the driver’s seat. He was soon heading out the driveway. Looking in the wing mirror, he saw Monica was following. Stopping, he opened his door.
“Go back, you foolish animal. I’ll be home later.”
She jumped through the open door, over him, and settled on the passenger seat.
“You’re not serious?”
She looked out the window.
“I can’t take you to the ranch. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
She ignored him.
“I’m serious here. You can’t come.”
She turned and gave him a look, all sad and pathetic. Nash slammed the door and opened her window so she had some air.
“I’m picking the music though.” Country music soon filled the cab.
It wasn’t a long drive and one he could do with his eyes closed. He’d been on the road for about five minutes when he saw her and Mr. Goldhirsh. He’d recognize those long legs and fine ass of Luna’s anywhere. Nash thought it was best he drive by, maybe wave or something, because a) he was fixated enough on that woman, and b) he had a pony in his front seat who had her head hanging out the window.
