She was right. We were alone. And we needed a friend, canine and human both.
I looked down at the puppy, and it looked up at me, its little pink tongue darting out and its needle nails shredding the outside of my hand. I glanced toward its tail.
“One problem.”
“What now?”
“This one’s a boy.”
With a relieved laugh, she rolled her eyes. “I swear, I know my way around genitalia.”
We shared a look. The color in her cheeks flared enough to see even in the near dark.
Her chin lifted. “I stand by that statement in any context.”
I held the puppy out for inspection. “Kevin’s a dumb name—only accountants are named Kevin. He looks more like a Rhett.”
“Ugh, you country people. Why can’t Kevin be an accountant? Just let him live his life already.”
“A farm dog needs a good old-fashioned name. Like Buck. Hank maybe. Nash? Ryder? What do we think of Ryder, buddy?”
“So he needs to be a cowboy?”
“Anything’s better than an accountant.”
She stepped next to me to assess the puppy with me. “What about Bowie? You can pretend it’s after the knife, and I can pretend like it’s of the Major Tom variety.”
A quiet laugh puffed out of me. “Bowie, huh? I don’t hate that.”
“That might be the best any of us can hope for, Jake.”
I tucked it back into my chest. “What are you gonna name yours?”
“She’s so furry and cute and blonde …” She paused. “Maybe Dolly. Think I can teach her to howl ‘Jolene’?”
“I dunno. I think she might look more like a Jolene than a Dolly.”
Olivia looked up at me, then at the puppy. “You know, I think you might be right.”
“I’ve been waiting to hear you say that for weeks.”
She snorted a laugh. “Asshole.”
The goats yelled at us in a chorus from the fence, their heads sticking out between fence rungs. I jerked my chin at them.
“What were you doing in the goat pen?”
Her face lit up like I’d screwed in a lightbulb. “Well, I was so excited about the puppies, I knew I’d never sleep, but your lights were off or I woulda come over and given him to you. So I thought I should take them to see the goat babies, and then all the babies could be friends. But then Brenda got all excited and kept trying to head-butt them to death and I got scared and then you walked in.”
“Brenda wasn’t trying to murder your puppies.”
“Our puppies,” she corrected.
“Fine, our puppies. But that’s how kids play. You’ve never seen them do it?”
“Well, we’ve only had them for like twelve hours, so no.”
“Come here. Watch them.”
We walked over to the pen, and I reached into the bucket hanging high on the post for a handful of feed. Four seconds later when they finished it, the adults went back to sleep, and the kids started playing. It was admittedly alarming to watch—they took turns making leaping dives for each other’s heads, cracking their buddies square between the eyes. One was so good, he landed at least two hits midair.
I glanced over at Olivia—her fingers were over her lips in abject horror.
“Don’t be scared. They’re the most hardheaded animals on the planet.”
“Well, I’m surprised you all don’t get along better.”
“Never said we didn’t get along. Just said I didn’t want the pain in the ass.”
She cast me an amused, sidelong look. “If only we all could run away from things that were pains in the asses.” Her brows quirked. “Pain in the asses? Pains in the ass?”
“I get your meaning.” Jolene squeaked from Olivia’s arms. “They’re little. I think we’re gonna have to bottle feed them.”
She whirled toward me with her face all lit up. “Oh my God—please tell me you’ll feed it in a rocking chair with no shirt on for my calendar.”
“What calendar?”
“The one I just thought of. Twelve Months of Mantitty, Featuring Jake Milovic,” she said, motioning like she was reading a marquee.
“Not on your life.”
“Oh, come on. Be a good sport.”
“Whenever have I been a good sport?”
“What would I have to do?” I opened my mouth to say give me the farm, but she stopped me with the point of a finger. “Not that. What else would I have to give you?”
“You can’t afford me, Olivia.”
She laughed and used that pointing finger to poke me in the chest. I hadn’t realized how close we were until she touched me.
“That’s what you think, buster. Come on, I know you can think of something humiliating for me to do.”
“Oh, I can think of plenty, but there’s no chance in hell I’m posing for a calendar.”
With a shrewd look, she said, “Fine. Then I’ll have to take some when you’re not looking. So if you could please shirtlessly feed Bowie tomorrow night at six thirty in the rocking chair out front, I will absolutely, positively not be hiding in the bushes to take pictures of you for illegal distribution to raise money for the farm.”
An unbidden laugh slipped out of me, and she softened at the sound. Her eyes traced the lines of my face with an unfamiliar emotion behind them. It was a sort of fondness, an admiration.
“I love it when you laugh. You never laugh. Or smile. Has anyone ever told you you have nice teeth?”
“Wouldn’t you know—that’s the first thing anyone says about me,” I teased.
With a laugh of her own, she tried to bump me with her hip, but because she was drunk, she just sort of fell right into me. For the second time in ten minutes, Olivia’s body was flush against mine.
But this time, it wasn’t just the sweet scent of her that I noticed. It was the length of her dark lashes, the endless depth of her eyes. It was that smart little nose and the valley that connected it to her lips. Those lips were full and wide with a bow so deep and sharp, it looked like it’d been carved there by a sculptor. I could have counted the smattering of freckles on her cheeks or the creases in those plump, rosy lips, which parted just a little. Just enough for me to capture one if I tried.
Except she busted out laughing.
Confused, I blinked down at her.
Her eyes pinched shut, her chin kicked up, a riot of giggling rolling through the air. “Jake, oh my God. Were you about to kiss me?” A snort ripped out of her, and a peal of laughter spilled out behind it.
“That’s it,” I said, trying to tamp down a smile, unable to be sour with her laughing so prettily. I turned for the barn door and snagged her arm. “You’re going to bed.”
“Why? Wanna come with me?” Another snort, followed by a halt as she hinged over, laughing. A gasp of air, and she stood again, waving her hand like a windshield wiper. “I’m sorry, it’s just so funny. You. Kissing me.”
“What’s so funny about that?” I asked with a teasing tone to cover the rejection as I guided her out of the barn, closing the door behind me.
“Only that you’d want to kiss me. You hate me.”
“I dunno if I’d call it hate.”