“I’m not generally meanspirited,” he informed me through clenched teeth.
“That makes me feel better. So it’s just me you hate. Noted.” I sniffed, my fingers scrunching my hair, my eyes locked on the blocks around the stove pipe poking through the roof.
“No, that’s…no, I don’t hate you. I hate what you represent. I hate how your company has forced every one of my neighbors to—”
That got my goat. Not Bitsy. She was rummaging through the bread drawer that Acosta had left open. I spun to face him, tipping my chin up to glare into turbulent gray eyes.
“My company did not force anyone to do anything!” I poked him in the sternum. It was a firm chest. Very firm. And flannel-y. Very flannel-y. “All we did was present a contract to people and sit down to converse with them. We offered them royalties that are making their lives easier. We’ve not forced anyone off their land or strong-armed any nuns from their convents.”
“Convents?”
“Yes, convents! And another thing that you should know. Fitzgerald & Sons Well Services is one of the most ecologically minded well companies in the United States.”
“That’s an oxymoron.”
I poked him again. Hard. His lips flattened at the jab. Good. I was really teed off now. “You’re an oxymoron!”
His smoky eyes flared. “How can you spout off about the virtues of causing earthquakes, methane pollution, toxic water runoff that causes cancer in humans and kills livestock? How the hell do you justify giving people a few measly thousand bucks when you’re raking in billions?”
“Fitzgerald & Sons Well Services did not cause all the above incidents. We follow all the DEP governmental regulations to the tee. Perhaps if you did some research on us instead of assuming we were some fly-by-night crew, you’d find not one complaint has ever been lodged against us. By anyone. I would not work for a company that was killing this planet and the good folks and goats that live upon it!”
“Blah!” Bitsy blatted around a mouthful of what looked to be a hamburger bun.
“See! Even the goat knows that Fitzgerald & Sons Well Services is lowering the cost of energy, improving air quality by reducing carbon emissions, providingmuchneeded well-paying jobs across the country, and improving our country’s energy security. So you can put that in your uptight pipe and smoke it, Mr. Melios!” I gave him one final poke.
He studied me attentively. I thought he was going to fire right back. His gaze darted from me to the goat, the fire leaving his eyes when he saw Bitsy.
“Damn it,” he snarled before stalking off to close the drawer and wrestle the bag of buns from Elizabeth.
It would have been funny if I’d not been so mad. The goat decided to make a break for it, bread bag in her mouth, bits of busted bun falling to the floor as she raced around the area, knocking aside chairs as Acosta chased after her, cussing madly. I jumped back when the buggy came my way. Opting to be a decent man, I grabbed her by her straps when she skidded around the stove. That brought the goat, me, and Acosta into a three-way pileup of arms, legs—both human and goat—and a wheel wedged into my butt.
Bitsy was lying atop me, her front legs dangling over my shoulders, her lips beside my ear as I lay splayed out over my grumpy rescuer. His gaze was molten. I wasn’t sure if he was turned on by my scrawny body pressed to his or if he was mad at the world. Probably the second scenario. When a goat tongue lapped at my ear, all the anger and hurt that I’d been feeling drifted off. A giggle broke free, then another. Acosta’s eyes rounded. One corner of his sensual mouth twitched as his goat nibbled on my ear.
“I generally prefer my lovers to be more male and far more human,” I managed to say between my titters. Acosta nodded just once before pushing free of my weight and the goat’s, wiggling around underneath me until my belly rested on the floor.
“Sorry. I should put up a warning sign to visitors about the dangers of rampaging goats.” He got to his feet and slowly untangled Bitsy from me. When she was back on her feet and wheels, she paraded off to chew on the Christmas tree. I sat up, wiped at my dusty chest, and then let my sight skim up the attractive front of Acosta. His eyes met mine. I couldn’t read what he was feeling now, but his jaw was far less tight. He offered me his hand. I smiled softly before placing my palm over his. He hoisted me to my bare feet with ease. “Did you get hurt?”
“No, just a hickey on my ear,” I said as I tugged on my right earlobe. “I’m sorry for the chest pokes. That was unprofessional of me.”
“Sorry for calling you scrawny and unprincipled. I’m sure there are some reputable well companies out there. I’ve just not seen mention of many.”
I held onto his hand throughout the apology session. He did not seem to mind and didn’t that make Dick all kinds of happy. Dick was a real slutty boy at times.
“Perhaps I’ll change your mind over the next month.” I gave him my most charming smile.
He seemed skeptical, but there was something else in those stunning eyes of his. Distrust lingered, yes, but something new was sparkling in those depths. Admiration, I hoped. Lust would be even better, but since I knew he was straight I’d have to settle for admiration.
“We’ll see how things go. Meet you in the barn,” he said before taking off, his goat rolling along behind him at full speed. I watched the door shut, blocking out the calls of several dozen animals looking for breakfast. When the latch clicked, I blew out a long breath, rubbed at my tingling ear, and listened to the muffled sound of Acosta shouting “Good morning!” to his charges. That was cute.Hewas cute. This was all going to work out just wonderfully, I knew it. I just bet chores would be way more fun than he’d led me to believe.
* * *
Nope.I was mistaken. There was nothing fun about farm chores. Not one damn thing.
It was astounding just how much poop farm animals created. As Acosta led me through the barn, pointing out each pen and telling me each animal’s name—it would take me months to recall them all—I marveled at the mounds of poo. It was everywhere! Bitsy rolled along in our wake, touching noses with her fellow caprine buddies. The mean girls were being relatively nice it seemed, until a brown goat with black stripes on her nose rose up and drove her head into the metal gate right in front of Elizabeth. I jumped and yelped.
“That’s Fawn, the herd matriarch. She’s kind of miserable at times. I think the buggy makes the other goats leery, as it’s something new. Some are coming around, but some are hanging onto their hate of others.”
I stood there in shock, sliding in front of Bitsy in goat/sofa friend protection mode. I was a goat bodyguard.
