Page 18 of Captivating Anika
“Ohh, look at them,” she coos, sinking down on a hay bale beside the pen. “They’re so pink.”
I step over the barrier and scratch Petunia behind her ear, and she immediately grunts with pleasure.
“Gonna borrow one of your babies for a minute,” I mumble at the sow, picking up the runt of the litter.
The little one squeals, proving there’s nothing wrong with her lungs, and I carefully hand her to Anika. She immediately starts babbling nonsense at the piglet, who instantly quiets. Two minutes later it’s curled up on Anika’s lap, its eyes closed as it gets its tiny head rubbed.
Lucky damn pig.
I don’t know who’s more blissed out, Anika or the critter, and when Franco walks by a few minutes later and has a question about an order, neither of them notices me walking out with him.
By the time I return, the piglet is back in the pen nursing, and Anika has moved on to the goats who have a part-indoor, part-outdoor enclosure.
“Careful, they’ll start chewing your clothes if you give them a chance,” I caution her.
They say pigs will eat everything, but they clearly haven’t met our goats.
“Seriously?”
I nod. “Last week those damn cretins chewed the tread off a new wheelbarrow’s tire.”
Her peal of laughter is unexpected, and when she throws her long dark mane back, exposing the beautiful curve of her slender throat, the blood starts throbbing in my veins.
I faintly register the surprise in her eyes when I hook a hand behind her neck and pull her toward me. With my nose almost touching hers, I pause.
“Say no,” I whisper in a low voice.
But instead of doing that, she lifts up on her toes and presses her lush lips against mine.
Holy shit.
CHAPTER SIX
Anika
“Told you you wouldn’t get her back.”
I grin as I watch my mother try and keep Cherry from her mother’s reach.
Lindsey called earlier, asking if she could pop in with the baby because she was going stir-crazy at home. Of course when my mother called half an hour ago and got wind of that, she was over here in a flash.
Like most Sundays, my plan had been to work on the house. I want to finish up the painting in my main bedroom, but I only managed to get one coat up this morning. Then my body announced it was done, which worked out great, because no sooner had I put down my roller when my phone rang.
“Since my only grandchild is too old for snuggles, I have to grab opportunity when I can,” is my mother’s excuse.
Tucker is my brother’s stepson and was already a gangly teenager when he and his mother, Trin, entered our lives. At the time, Mom had been reminding us regularly all her friends were already grandmothers. The arrival of Tucker relieved a bit of the pressure on Bodhi and me to procreate.
Of course, since then the not-so-subtle hints have picked up again. Mostly focused on me these days, since my brother had a talk with Mom last year to get her to back off. He explained he and Trin are well into their forties, they have a life they enjoy, and with Tucker heading off to college in the fall of this year, are looking forward to maybe doing some traveling. He made it clear babies don’t fit into that picture.
So that leaves me, and to my mother’s despair, I’m fast approaching my forties with no viable baby-daddy prospects in sight. It’s not that I don’t want children—because I do—but it’s not something I’ve actively pursued.
I did at some point look into the possibility of having a child by myself, but then I started struggling with my health. After receiving my diagnosis last year, it took quite a while to regain some balance in my life, and at this point, I’m not sure I’d physically be able to manage my salon, my condition, and single-parenthood.
For now, I’m happy with my role as Cherry’s honorary auntie. I was invited to be present at her birth about a month ago, and I will treasure that experience for the rest of my life.
“She does need to nurse,” Lindsey points out to Mom as she plucks at the wet spot on her shirt.
“Mom, give Cherry back. Linds is starting to leak,” I tell her firmly.