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“Really?” She ran her fingers over a crate of straw, examining the dry hay as though it was a foreign object. Perhaps it was foreign to her. “That’s a long history you have here, Cedra Holloway.”
The sound of my name on her lips zipped through me like a burst of adrenaline, making my heart twist uncomfortably in my chest.
Chrys huffed against my shoulder, and I blurted, “This is Chrysanthemum.”
Twyla’s smile tugged at my heartstrings. “That’s a pretty name. She’s a gorgeous horse—not that I know much about them. But she looks strong. And tall.”
“She’s average for her breed,” I explained as Chrys sniffed the air around Twyla, getting a feel of our guest.
“Do I, uh, touch her?” Her eyes went wide as Chrys’ tongue shot out, catching one smooth cheek.
“Hey!”
For a moment, I thought the city girl might be offended by the horse slobber, but when an endearing giggle slipped from her lips, the fist in my heart loosened slightly.
Twyla’s perfectly manicured fingers reached up, touching Chrys’ long nose with hesitant pats.
“I’ve never had a pet,” she confessed, her smile widening when Chrys moved her face more firmly into Twyla’s grasp. “Mother always said they’re too much of a mess.”
“Your mother would be right,” I agreed, gently stroking Chrys’ side and feeling the foal move slightly. “It takes a lot of time and patience to care for animals. It’s a selfless act, really, because all you get in return is, well, fertilizer. And a few occasional kisses.”
“Good point.” Light pats had turned into long strokes over Chrys’ nose. “What kind of animals do you have in here?”
“Most of my income is from my dairy cows—you should’ve seen them outside on the way in.”
She nodded, a frown creasing her brows. “I did. They’re a lot bigger than I expected—huge, really. And I didn’t think their udders would be brown.”
I paused. “What?”
“In books, they’re always a pink color. I was surprised to see they’re actually dark brown in real life.”
“Oh.” It took a few seconds for understanding to hit me. “No, no, udders are pink. What you’re looking at is the disinfectant liquid we spray before and after milking so that any contaminants on the teats are removed.”
“Oh.”
“I could show you what I mean at the evening milking, if you’d like?”
Her large brown eyes widened even farther. “Evening milking? You milk them twice a day?”
“Yes, otherwise their udders get too full. It’s uncomfortable for the cow.”
I couldn’t remember the last time someone asked about what I did on the farm, certainly not with that warm smile.
Twyla was cooing sweet nothings to Chrys, who was loving all the attention from a new person. I fully believed if horses could purr, that was exactly what Chrys would be doing right now as she tried to burrow into Twyla’s shoulder.
Surprised by the sudden bump of the mare’s nose on her neck, Twyla reached out, steadying herself on a stall door. “I can’t imagine someone pawing at my—Ow!”
Abrupt curses tumbled from her lips, and she retracted her fingers quickly from the stall door, waving them about as though the wood had stung her.
And perhaps it had.
I saw three good-sized splinters sticking out from her index finger, although none of them looked deep enough to warrant a medic.
“What that hell are those?” she demanded, her voice high and panicked.
“They’re little bits of wood—we call them splinters. You only get them from real wood, not plasti-wood. Here.”
I asked for her wrist and brought it closer to the dim light source in the barn.
