Page 66 of Single-Minded
“Doesn’t get much better than this,” I said, holding up my half-eaten cob and gesturing to my meal. “You make a mean burger, Ben.”
“As long as we’re not secretly eating llama meat,” Chance said with a grin.
“The ladies are right there in sight,” Ben said, nodding toward the corral where his horses and llamas grazed together.
I’d spotted the horses earlier, but at the moment, only the white llama was visible. I assumed the others were blocked from our view by the barn.
“If Esmerelda isn’t begging, I don’t know what she’s doing,” Luke said.
I turned to look. Sure enough, the long-haired llama was at the fence closest to us, staring a hole in my back.
“She’s fine,” Ben insisted. “She just likes attention.”
“Attention or cookies?” Knox asked.
“Well, both. As long as she’s in my sight, I can be sure she hasn’t escaped. Every drama-free night is a win in my book.”
“I wonder how llama tastes,” Luke said, keeping an eye on the animal as he lifted his beer to his mouth.
“Probably tastes like chicken,” Knox said.
“Don’t let the hens hear that,” Ben said, grinning.
“Isn’t that Emerson’s SUV?” Chance asked, nodding toward the intersection of Ben’s long driveway and the county road.
“It is.” Ben frowned as he watched his wife drive in our direction. When she stopped near us, he stood. “Is something wrong?” he asked when Emerson rolled her window down.
At the same time, the back door on the passenger side opened, and Ruby ran toward the house, wearing her swimsuit and flip-flops. “Hi, Daddy!”
“She forgot clothes to change into,” Emerson said. “Hi, guys.” She waved at the rest of us, and we called out greetings.
The backseat window lowered, and Xavier hollered, “Hi, Dad! Hi, everybody!”
We said hello to Ben and Emerson’s only boy, whose attention was diverted to one or both of their other girls in the vehicle.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Emerson said. “We’ll be out of your way as soon as Ruby changes.”
Ben set his plate on a side table, went to the driver’s window, and planted a kiss on his wife as we discussed the concert they were heading to by a local group.
Ruby zipped out of the house and ran straight to her dad, who caught her in a hug. “Esmerelda wants her cookie, Daddy!”
“Esmerelda has become spoiled rotten,” Ben told her. “It’s not even Tuesday.”
“She likes cookies on any day,” Ruby, who was one year behind my twins in school, informed him.
“She’ll have to wait,” Ben said. “You’re going to be late for the concert. Let’s get you buckled in.”
He walked her around the vehicle and helped her in as we dads made jokes about Ben’s llama devotion.
Once Ben’s wife and kids had left, relative quiet settled around us, save for the periodic clucking of a hen or two. Discussion turned to the book Knox and Ava were releasing in a few months, the third in their first trilogy together.
“How’s that partnership going since Bronte’s birth?” Ben asked. “Self-employment doesn’t always allow for maternity leave.”
“Not officially. Ava took a few weeks off, but she’s slowly getting back into the swing of it, working part-time for now. We finished the manuscript a week before Bronte arrived, and I’ve been handling the editing. Quincy takes care of Bronte three days a week now.”
“How’s Quincy handling that?” I asked.
Knox had confessed to us a few months back that he and Quincy had been trying to get pregnant since day one of their marriage nearly a year ago with no luck. Quincy was the most natural nurturer I’d ever met. She thrived on caring for kids and did childcare in their home for a handful of rugrats. It didn’t seem fair she was having trouble conceiving her own babies.
