“Exactly!” I shoved to my feet, tossed my soup spoon to the table, then stormed to the door, only to lose steam as my fingers found the knob. “Ugh, what am I doing?” I turned from the door, all the air rushing out of me. “He’s not going to respond well to me jumping on him about his manners. Does anyone like being scolded about treating a houseguest poorly?”
Bitsy burped up a cud and rolled over to the trash to poke around inside the bin. I shuffled over, lifted the can to the counter, and dropped down to one knee.
“I think I’ll miss you most of all,” I whispered, hugging the goat tightly for a moment or two. Who the hell would have guessed that Decker Fitzgerald of the Pittsburgh Fitzgeralds would be hugging a goat? Certainly not me. Ever. But here I was. Bitsy sighed contentedly as we embraced. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said as I pulled back to look into her funny goat eyes. “Do me a favor, will you? Try to tell him I’m not a villain. And that…well, and that I genuinely like him. Not just as a potential contract, but as a person. He’s nice, sullen yes at times, but pained from the loss of his sister, even a goat can see that.”
“Blah!”
“I didn’t mean that as an insult. Obviously, you are quite the astute caprine. Such a smart goat. He’s just nice, mostly, well, when he’s not glowering at me or calling me a planet killer. Youwilltry to make him see that signing over the mineral rights to this parcel will make his life and yours so much better, won’t you? He won’t have to live in this cold barn, for starters. The royalties alone will—”
“Blah!”
“Right, yes, of course, he is a stubborn man. That’s obvious. He will have to come to those conclusions by himself.” I patted her head gently. Her long lashes fluttered. “Just do your best to let him know that I’m an okay sort even if I do work for Mephistopheles.”
I kissed her Roman nose, then rose, sighing heavily as I gathered up my clothes.
Within an hour, we were off. Me following behind Acosta in his old green Ford Ranger pickup along snowy, winding dirt roads. The scenery was breathtaking as we crept along. The woodlands were white and green, dark browns and grays, snow plowed up four feet high in some locations. I spotted a deer or two alongside the road as we made our way into Miller’s Lake. Both leapt over the snowbanks with ease, graceful and beautiful, tails raised. They darted into the forest, knocking snow from low-hanging boughs. I didn’t even realize that I’d stopped in the road to enjoy the whitetails until Acosta’s brake lights flashed.
Rolling into town, I had to smile. It looked like a Norman Rockwell painting with the small shops, snowy sidewalks, and red and green lights in all the store windows. There wasn’t much in this tiny rural town to speak of. A motel with ten bedrooms, a grocery store, a library, a fire station, and a feed mill. The motel sat across from the fire hall, which was gaily lit with festive lights and a towering pine tree out front. I parked in one of five available slots, cut the engine on the car, and sat there staring at the homey exterior of the Miller’s Lake Rest Awhile. It was a small place, red brick, snow clinging to the walls as well as the windows. Green lights blinked lethargically in the wide front window. I chanced a look at the beater truck idling next to me. Acosta was staring right at me. When our eyes met, he ripped his sight from mine. Wonderful. Stupid Dick. Honestly, my penis needed a leash. Or a shock collar. Or a rolled up newspaper. Anything that would make it mind when important things such as this contract were on the line.
Blowing out a breath, I cut the engine on my car, stiffened my upper lip, and exited the vehicle. A brisk wind blew across the parking lot, tickling my nose with frost. I hurried to the driver’s side of the Ranger. He rolled the window down, his sight fixating on the scarf wrapped around my neck.
“So,” I opened with, “this looks charming.” I waved at the motel. “Nice and festive. Thank you for escorting me here.”
“Yep.”
Yikes. Could thisgetany more awkward? I gently kicked at the icy ball of junk hanging off the wheel well. “Right. Well, I should check in. I’d hate to have all the rooms taken while I stood out here chit-chatting with a handsome man.”
That brought those smoky eyes of his up in a big old hurry. His brow furrowed. It was evident he was wrestling with something mighty.
“Yeah, you should check in. About tomorrow…”
“Yes! I’ll be at your place bright and early.” My breath fogged before me, then rode an icy zephyr northward.
He bit down on the inside of his lower lip. Dang, but that was sexy. “I’m not sure—”
“I am. I do not make a wager and then back out of it. I will be there at six in the morning with bells on. Well, probably some work boots if I can find some in town. But I’ll be there!”
“Oh. Yeah, okay.” He cranked the window upward with haste, slapped the Ford into reverse, and left me standing there, mouth agape, as he hightailed it to the feed store just down the road.
More than a little miffed, I stomped to my car, grabbed my bag, and threw myself into the motel lobby. A teenager riddled with acne and wearing a red ball cap seated behind an old wooden desk glanced up from his phone. A skinny fake Christmas tree sat in the corner, blocking a wall-mounted TV playing country and western music videos.
He stared at me as if I were a creature from an alien planet. Perhaps I was. A town this small probably didn’t see men with such flair and bearing sashay into their establishment. I dare say it was unlikely that much sashaying took place in Miller’s Lake unless it was from the local dairy queen and her court as they made their way to the 4th of July float. Ugh, that was snippy of me. This town could quite possibly be quite progressive.
“You lost?” Gangly Pimple Boy asked with more than a little repugnance.
Or not.
“No, I am not. I’d like a room, please. The best suite you have available.” I scanned hisDuck DynastyT-shirt for a nametag but found none. “The name is Fitzgerald. Decker Fitzgerald.” I dug into my over-the-shoulder tote for my wallet and fished out my black Am Ex. He gaped at me, then the credit card before gingerly reaching out to lift the card from my hand with care. “I’ll be here for at least a week, perhaps more, so make the checkout date TBD.”
“You sure you aren’t lost?”
“I’m right where I wish to be. Can you please register me? I’d like to find a store that sells barn boots.”
“Barn boots?” He stared at me, credit card still in hand, as if I’d just sprouted another head.
“Yes, chore boots.”
He blinked pale blue eyes several times. “You work in a barn?”
