I pouted at the honeyed carrots. “I’ll think about it. I do love a good steak.”
“Even after spending time with Wilma and Betty?”
“Ugh! Fine, no cow or goat. But mean roosters and lurking turkeys are still on the menu,” I said quite firmly. He made that funny snort laugh sound again, then fell back into mute mode. That was fine. I’d made some real progress with him today. He had to be impressed with my vow to be caprine and bovine free. Heck, even I was pretty damned awed with myself.
ChapterSix
Bedtime was a battle.
We stood on either side of the sofa, which, to my surprise, was a pullout couch that revealed a double bed. Just a double. For two lithe people of which Acosta and I were. It would be tight, but I was willing to have my backside tight to his backside. Or his front side. Dick really didn’t care. He was vers as was his owner.
“I insist we share,” I stated firmly for the seventh time since we’d spent two hours sitting on opposite ends of the couch, Bitsy between us snoozing without a care in the world, reading and sneaking peeks at each other in total quietude. “No, please, don’t argue. I feel terrible sending you off to sleep on the floor of a pen like an animal.” The goat made a sleepy, squeaky sound as she slumbered away. I motioned to the caprine sacked out with a comfy purple Afghan draped over her backend. “Even the animals have better beds than a sleeping bag on the cold concrete.”
“I have a cot.” His words were clipped and chilly. Just like the damn floor of the barn. The man had a skull of pure concrete.
“Ugh, cots are the worst. Mr. Melios, please, sleep here with us.”
He rolled his lips over his teeth. “I promise I will not make any advances.”
That made his knotted eyebrows fly up. “What? I never assumed you would try anything.”
“Well, good, see, we’re making progress already. You, a straight man, feel at ease with me, a gay man. See how easy it is when we drop all our preconceived notions about other groups and identities?! You just wait. We’ll be the best of friends before this week is over.” He chawed on that for a moment and with a huff of extreme exasperation, he threw his hands up in defeat. “Yay! Now, if you’d lift Bitsy, I’ll get the bed pulled out and we can go to sleep. Tomorrow will be another busy day! I love farm work. It’s so…uhm, physical.”
“Uh-huh.” He slid his arms under the sleeping goat, picking her and her blanket up. As he cradled Bitsy, who was now awake but happy to snuggle with her nose resting on his shoulder, I waged war with the couch. The bed did not pull out easily, and my muscles were tender from all that poop moving, but I didn’t give up and eventually I had the bed out and ready for two. Oh. Well, I guess it would be three. That was going to be incredibly cozy.
He carried her to a spot by the stove and placed Bitsy atop an absorbent bed pad that was intended for children who have nighttime bedwetting accidents. She settled right in after Acosta covered her with an old, knitted throw.
Acosta wiggled in on the left side, and I curled up on the right. A scary thought about cuddling close to Acosta’s rump danced around my head for a second. Not that it would have mattered if I were curled around a sexy farmer. As soon as my head hit the pillow—my host had graciously given me his lone pillow and was using a wadded up sweatshirt to cushion his head—I was out like the proverbial light. The barn could have fallen in on us and I would have heard nothing. It took several shakes the next morning to rouse me. I blinked into consciousness with a start, caught in the middle of a dream about a murderous turkey with my blood smeared on his waddles. I shouted in fear, slapped at the fowl beast attacking me, then rolled to the floor with a yelp. My tailbone hit the wooden planks. The yelp turned into a whimper as I lay there on the cold floor, staring up at Acosta, who was already dressed.
“My ass,” I whined. “I think I broke my ass.”
“It’s only cracked.”
Even though my tailbone was throbbing, I had to credit the man staring down at me with barely disguised amusement.
“Was that a joke?” I asked, sitting up slowly and resting my arms over my bent knees. “Did you just make a funny?” He shrugged, his cheeks glowing red. My God he was adorable! “Youdidmake a joke. That’s wonderful!” I laughed lightly, easing my sore ass up from the floor. “You see, we can get along quite well when we don’t mention gas wells or mineral rights or—”
And with that, the light of potential acceptance in his gaze fizzled out. Damn my mouth!
“Meet you in the barn.” He stalked around me, the blind cat and his duck escort following behind him. Bitsy rolled over, bumped my thigh with her head, and then hurried after Acosta.
“Well shit,” I grumbled to myself. When would I learn to keep my mouth shut? Ugh, I made myself so mad! I made a vow right then and there that I would not say a single word that was not work related the whole day.
That vow lasted exactly forty-three minutes.
“Why do all your animals crap so much?” I enquired after seeing that the same pens we’d cleaned yesterday had to be cleaned again today.
“Everyone poops. That’s a book my sister liked to read when we were little,” he replied from the cow pen next to me. I’d been told to stick to the goats as they made little nanny berries that were easier to tidy up than the big cow flops Betty and Wilma made.
“Well,obviouslywe all poop. Why do they do it so often?” I leaned on my fork as the lady goats—does I’d been told earlier—were enjoying some grain from little buckets that hung off the side of the pens. Bitsy was in with the mean girls and so far there had been no name calling, but I was keeping a close eye on Fawn. She was trouble. “I only poop once a day. I think that white goat…what the hell happened to her ears?!”
“She’s a Lamancha, that’s how their ears are supposed to be.” He talked and worked. It was amazing. I’d never quite grasped how he did that. I reached out to touch the little white fold that served as ears sitting close to the goat’s head. Huh. Well, I never. “Her name is Bianca. There are several breeds here. Nubian, Lamancha, Alpine, Saanen, and a pretty little Sable. I love dairy goats. They’re all so friendly and loving, and the kids just adore them. They’re not as intimidating as cows or horses to small children. Also, their milk is incredible. Rich and full of nutrients as well as being easier for folks who are lactose intolerant to drink according to various studies.”
Wow, that was a rush of words. He seemed most at ease talking about the animals he rescued, so I kept up the chatter. It was nice to see a smile on his sensual lips instead of that scowl he wore when glancing my way.
“I did notice there isn’t a horse here,” I said as I made my way to the fence. The goat bedding could wait. The girls were eating. No one liked to have someone cleaning when they were trying to enjoy their breakfast. My mother was a fussbudget about that. Well, that and a lot of other things, but no cleaning in the house was permitted while we were dining. Seemed only fair to give the goatie girls the same respect.
“We did have one. Marcus. He came to us from a circus that was closing down. Marcus had been used as a ride for kids, and he spent seventeen years either in a tractor trailer or walking in circles. When the circus folded, a call went out for help from an equine rescue center downstate that was filled up. My sister and I went to get Marcus. He was in pretty poor shape, but we brought him here and nursed him back to health. Got him a good farrier and large animal vet. He was the first animal on this farm, and Cassie loved him so much. She always said that she would have liked to ride him. She was a fabulous equestrian, but we both felt he deserved to live out his golden years without someone on his back. He died two years after we opened the doors. Cassie was devastated.”
