Page 39 of Home Hearts Hooves

“I’m sure it’s not choosing Dean over you. It was a surrender. It’s probably just a little traumatized, and Dean smells like…”

Connor glances my way, tipping his hat a little.

“What does Dean smell like?”

“You know, like the ranch,” I say, and he nods and goes back to feeding one of the highlands a bottle of milk.

“What do I smell like then?”

“The ranch, too, just…different.”

“Right, sure.”

He nods like he’s agreeing, but the cheeky grin on his lips tells me he knows I’m full of shit.

“So, it’s been with Dean this whole time?” I ask.

“Yep. The thing lives in his arms. We’ve been an hour behind every day this week because Dean’s working with one hand.”

“Why doesn’t he just put it in here? I’m sure it will settle after a little while.”

“You’d be thinking wrong. Cried and screamed like a newborn baby for hours. Can’t have people trying to cuddle these cuties with that going on.”

“I’ll check on it, maybe there’s something I can do,” I reply and head out to look for Dean. Usually, he’s finished the chores for the day and is in with the birthing heifers, but I find him still adding bottles to the calf hutches inside the blue barn. It’s more of a shed than a barn, and it’s where they have a bunch of hutches set up for all the new calves. They get to see their moms every day out in the pasture, but to be sure they’re getting enough and growing right, it’s best to keep them all together in a separate barn. Someone decided generations ago to paint this one baby blue, and while it might be peeling a little on the outside, I’ll guarantee when it gets repainted the color won’t be changing.

“Here you are, you’re running a bit late,” I say, and he looks up at me from under his favorite hat, an exhausted smile on his lips.

“I’m not cut out for this,” he says, his gaze moving to the sleeping mini goat on his shoulder. “It’s like having a new babe, except I bet those let you put them down every now and then.”

“How long have you been holding him?”

“Since the crack of dawn. Can you grab those other bottles?” he asks, and I put my vet bag down and grab four bottles, passing him each one as we work down the line together.

“Please tell me it will grow out of this?”

I shrug. “I’ve never treated a Nigerian dwarf, but I can’t say it’s normal for it to be so attached. Can I try?” I ask, and he nods, and I reach over, sliding my fingers between the goat and Dean’s warm skin. It stirs a little, then when Dean’s hand releases from under its hind, it lets out a scream, and Dean cringes, returning his hold and silencing the thing.

“Okay, well, that didn’t work.”

“I’ve tried everyone on the ranch. He doesn’t like anyone but me.”

“Have they tried getting your…umm, your scent on them first?” I ask, and he quirks a brow my way.

“What kind of scent are you suggesting, Doc?”

“Your clothes, sweat, umm, you know, whatever that cologne is that you wear.”

“I don’t wear cologne, but we haven’t tried the clothes thing. Here, let’s try that,” he says, and with his free hand, he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“Here?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“Good a place as any. Besides, if this works, I’ll be able to finish up in half the time.” He wriggles his way out of his orange flannel shirt and passes it over to me.

“Put that on and maybe rub it up your neck and on your hands a bit. We want my scent to cover yours.”

I can’t help but stare at the broad, sweat-glistening chest as I slip his shirt on over my thin cotton one. I’m immediately surrounded by his heat and the sweet, woody scent that I’ve come to find so fucking irresistible. I breathe it in, in shallow breaths, trying to keep my cool and work the collar of the shirt up my neck.

“Okay, here goes,” he says, stepping right up to me. I dip my head to the side to miss the brim of his hat and spot something written in faded black marker under the brim that I can’t make out. I’d assume it was his name, but it’s written all fancy and looks like it starts with an H. He wears this hat more than any other. It’s old and weathered, but clearly his favorite. Then I remember, his mother’s name was Harriett. Could his favorite hat be his mother’s? He moves closer, and the fluorescent lights of the blue barn catch the hairs on his neck, shimmering like strands of gold against his skin.

---