“Blah!” she yelled and returned to stripping needles from the Christmas tree. This was the weirdest place I had ever had the misfortune of being stranded in, and that counts the three days trapped at a new age music festival that had no toilets, showers, or Hawaiian coffee beans.
Mulling over what to do next, I sipped my coffee, my sight moving from Bitsy chomping away on tree number three to the woodstove. The barn was quiet, aside from the sounds of animals drifting up the stairwell. The smell of animal crept into the room as well. Rising with a sigh, I padded over to close the door and keep the stink of cow poop where it belonged. Bitsy rolled along after me, the wheels of her buggy thumping along the uneven floorboards.
Feeling as if I should let Mr. Melios have some space, I poked around his home. There wasn’t much to get into truly. A few books were piled by the sofa, most dealing with farm topics such as haying, beekeeping, and first aid for large animals. I grew bored with that fast and made my way to his desk. The computer was old. Like, so old it probably ran Windows 95. The modem was also an antique. I ran my fingers over the keyboard, startling violently when a log in the stove popped.
“Silly me,” I whispered to Bitsy, who was sniffing at my hand.
I petted her long nose once and then reached for the photograph sitting beside the lamp. It was a picture of Acosta hugging an incredibly thin young woman with short black hair and big brown eyes. His lips pressed to her cheek. Behind them was a beach with sands white as snow and water blue as sapphires. It looked a great deal like Kathisma, a Greek beach, that I’d vacationed at with my friend and sometimes fuck buddy Rally Callahan two years ago. What I wouldn’t give to be in the Ionian Islands right now. Hell, I’d rather be in cold old Pittsburgh than here on this old farm stranded with a man who hated me. I’d known this would be a tough sell, but the sheer loathing emanating from Acosta was chipping away at my veneer of self-confidence.
Sighing heavily, I studied the picture in the cheap silver frame. It was obvious that Acosta adored the woman he was snuggled up with. The wind had snarled his hair around his head. Both of them were tanned and lean, the woman a mere wraith with delicate wrists that rested on Acosta’s wide shoulders. A young couple very much in love. A wife perhaps? I’d not read any other name on the deed of this parcel other than his. Perhaps just an old flame on a long ago holiday somewhere warm and sandy.
He seemed happy. Far less dour and unforgiving than he was now. Then again, Iwashere to try to get him to do something he was very much against. He was much nicer to people he didn’t loathe, I was sure. Like this sylph of a woman on some glorious beach.
“Okay, I have successfully made myself feel like crap,” I told the goat as I placed the photo back then flopped down on the sofa. It was a terribly uncomfortable thing, with sunken cushions and worn arms. It also kind of smelled like goat. Or was that duck? Well, it smelled of animals plural, so I simply sat on the edge, knees together, toes pointing inward, and let my elbows rest on my knees with a hearty exhalation. Bitsy rolled over. I gave her big nose a pat. She seemed to like that, so I scritched under her chinny, chin, chin. Her long lashes fluttered, and her eyes closed in ecstasy. “You’re silly.”
She placed a foot on my leg, digging at me like a dog that wants to be picked up. I eyeballed the massive goat. There was no way I could get her up and onto the sofa. She must weigh a hundred pounds. But she kept pawing at me—or I suppose hoofing would be the correct term—and so I caved. It wasn’t as if she could make the ratty old couch look or smell any worse. With great care, I unbuckled several Velcro straps that held her withered back legs up and in her wheelie. Once she was free, she used her elbows to hoist her upper half onto the couch. I lifted her backend, which was much lighter than I had imagined, and there she was. Lying next to me on the couch like a Great Dane.
“I can see that you tend to get what you want around here, don’t you?” I asked, stroking one pendulous ear as Bitsy let her head drop to my lap. With all the wriggling, pulling, and jostling, my spine now rested on the back of the sofa. I reached behind us, found an old quilt of many colors, and covered myself and my new caprine friend up. She snuggled in close, her eyes closed, her breathing slowing. Smiling and rubbing her long neck, I let my eyes drift shut too. The soft sound of the storm outside mixing with the snaps and pops of the fire lulled me into slumber in no time flat.
* * *
The noisefrom someone moving past on creaky floorboards woke me. My eyes flew open. Acosta paused, mid-step like a thief caught prowling about the house by a homeowner, his lean face haggard. I sat up, smiled, and rubbed my eyes with my fingertips.
“I fell asleep. Bitsy is a good bed partner,” I said around a yawn. He stared at me as if I had seahorses doing the Humpty dance on my head. “I hope it’s okay for her to be on the sofa. She seemed to be pretty adamant about getting up. Did I do something wrong? Was it bad of me to take her out of her buggy?” He just continued to look at me as if I were some strange newly mutated microorganism and he a befuddled virologist. “I can get her back in her wheelie cart…” I tossed the quilt aside. Bitsy lifted her head and yawned. Oh hey, she did have teeth on the top, but they were only molars. Molars that needed some Crest and a firm toothbrush by the looks. And by the smell as well. “Oh hey, she has teeth on the top! What happened to the front teeth? Did she get into a fight with one of the mean girls and had them knocked out?”
“No, that’s how goats are. They have what’s called a dental pad like most ruminants.”
“Sure, yes, of course. My See ’n Say did mention that.”
He snorted. Like an actual snort of amusement. Both of our eyes flared at the sound. Man he was pretty. Those eyes of his were incredible. The rest of his wiry body wasn’t bad either. I bet his hair was soft like kitten fur. It looked it even with bits of hay and chaff stuck to it. I could comb those out for him. In the shower.
Shower?!
What? No. Showers. No showers. Shit.
“She’s fine on the sofa. You two can share it. I just came in for coffee and a bite.” He made a beeline to the kitchen area.
Mm, he can bite us anywhere he likes.
Oh. My. God. No, he cannot. Stop it, Richard!
There was nothing worse than when Dick took over the internal monologue. He tended to lead me into compromising situations and problematic moments.
Bitsy complained a bit when I slid my leg out from under her head. Rising then stretching, I followed my host to the kitchen table, using it as a buffer between us, my arms folding over my chest defensively.
“It’s quite late.” I had no idea what time it was, but it felt late. “I’m sure we can share the sofa.” He threw a glance over his yummy flannel-covered shoulder that said he would rather share the sofa with a colony of red ants. “I promise I will not try to have my wicked way with you even though you’re wearing plaid flannel.”
That brought him around to face me in a big hurry. “You have a flannel fetish?”
Yes!
“No mercy no! Not a fetish. Just a passing fancy for it. On certain types of men.”
“Oh? And what kind of men is that?” He crossed his arms over his chest. It wasn’t a massively wide, barrel chest, but it was a nicely formed one. Wider than mine by a few inches.
And it’s all covered with soft, warm flannel. Just like your sheets at home only better because there’s a hunky outdoorsy guy under it instead of memory foam.
Richard, honest to God, I will neuter you. I bet Mr. Melts-in-your-mouth Melios has a tool for doing just that lying around here somewhere.
