Page 18 of Hogging the Hunk
Greg’s eyebrows shot to his hairline at the same time Ellie’s knit low over her eyes. “How do you know my dad?”
“He’s out at my family’s farm pretty frequently. You know how often goats hurt themselves? Turns out, a lot.”
“You have goats?” No one missed the sharp, delighted intake of breath Ellie sucked in at the word goats.
“So many goats.” Beckett rolled her eyes, pretending they were a hassle. It was a ruse. After watching Beckett handle the milking, I knew she had a soft spot for them. Even with Becky, there was an understood truce. “You should come by and see the babies sometime. They’re getting to the really cute age when they’re so feisty and naughty it’s impossible not to love them.”
The eagerness in Ellie’s face turned my innards into goo. There was an undeniable tug on the soft parts of my heart and I silently thanked Beckett for going with Ellie’s emotional roller coaster without flinching. Spurred by Ellie’s delight and Beckett’s invitation, I remembered my promise to earnestly consider a pet for Ellie. I’d tossed around the idea of a ferret or a bunny, but hadn’t pursued anything beyond thinking about it. Honestly, none of those kinds of animals felt right. If I was going to have an animal take up residence at my house, I’d hope for one I enjoyed, too. Goats were on that list.
“Hey, Maren doesn’t happen to be selling any of the kids, is she?” I asked.
Greg choked on his tongue. Coughing, he sputtered, “People sell their children here? That’s illegal, you know. I don’t care how backwoods we are here.”
Beckett pursed her lips. What I might have laughed at annoyed her. “Goat kids, Greg. We might be small town rednecks out here, but that still doesn’t mean we’re so horrible that we sell our children off to the highest bidder. Keep up.”
Greg’s cheeks flushed, and he dipped his chin. He was kicked down another rung. I was with Beckett—I liked him a little bit less for the implication that anyone in Button Blossom would even consider such a horrible thing.
Beckett returned her attention to Ellie and me. “Would you believe Maren was lucky enough to have all females this round of kidding? As far as I know, she’s keeping every single one of those does.”
Ellie had worked out the reason for my question and all it took for the air to leak out of her excitement was Beckett’s honest answer. There’d be no goat for Ellie. At least not from Maren and Beckett’s herd.
“I see,” I said.
“Why?” Beckett asked. “Are you missing milking goats with me in the wee hours of the morning?” As if the thought of waking early reminded her how tired she was, Beckett let out a loud yawn which she covered with the back of her hand. “It’s not nearly as exciting after the first day. Especially with Becky nagging you to get out of bed when all you want to do is stay wrapped up forever.”
“Who’s Becky?” Greg asked. “And what’s he doing helping you milk the goats?”
The more Greg opened his mouth, the more I wanted to step in and intervene, buffering Beckett from him. I didn’t like his proximity to her. Especially his history with her as her boyfriend. An uncomfortable emotion I couldn’t quite name turned my stomach.
Not your fight, man. Remember?
“Milo was out checking on one of the goats that morning and he could tell I was in a rush when I ran into him. I was wearing my pajamas and smacked so hard into him that I toppled over. It’s not unheard of for people to be neighborly and help each other out. That happens all the time in Button Blossom.” Beckett flushed as she answered and the more she rambled, the worse it got. “The pajamas were entirely inappropriate for the cold, and I only had one sock on because Granny hadn’t finished doing the laundry. Call her old school, but she tries to hang out the laundry year round, which means when summer ends, it takes forever for the clothes to dry.”
I stepped in to corroborate the parts of her story I’d been present for so Greg didn’t have any reason to raise his disapproving eyebrows at what seemed like one big, contrived lie. “It was no big deal. I was out there anyway. I’ve never seen anyone milking goats in their pajamas. Beckett definitely looked chilly.”
“You were in the barn in your pajamas?” Greg blinked and he gave his head a little shake. I didn’t appreciate the way his nose wrinkled in disgust, like going into the barn in pajamas was the same as rolling around in the mire with pigs. “Why?”
“I was worried I’d be late for work,” Beckett said. “It was my turn to pick up the RV and drive it to the location.”
“It’s not like they were sexy pajamas,” I blurted. “I mean, Sexy was printed on it, but she wasn’t out milking goats in lingerie. That would be ridiculous.”
My mouth pulled a full stop and my tongue was paralyzed while my brain critically analyzed every single syllable I’d let slip.
What is it with you and Beckett and bringing up lingerie?
That annoying inner voice had no right to be judgmental. If he’d have been paying any attention, I would have had the self-control to stop myself in the first place.
Why don’t you pretend like you didn’t just say that and maybe magically, no one else will have heard?
Deducing by the shocked silence, there was no question every last asinine utterance had been crystal clear.
See? This is why you should stay out of other people’s problems. Trying to fix things only makes more of a mess.
“Awkward,” Ellie muttered under her breath. Not that it mattered she was speaking softly. The entire forest had gone so silent we could have heard an acorn drop a mile away. “Can we go now? Preferably before you say anything else horrifying?”
She was reading the discomfort of the adults surrounding her and was the only one with the guts to say aloud what we were all thinking. I would have appreciated her gumption for not caving to social pretenses, except her honesty speared me all the way through. It sucked to be the one who was embarrassing her.
Greg’s revulsion at sporting pajamas in a barn faded when he realized the significance of Beckett’s choice of outfits. I hated the loving look he aimed at Beckett, and my body reacted in kind. Tight fists, clenched jaw, heart palpitations.