Page 109 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
“Did you say something? I heard you mumble,” Raz grumped.
She patted her donkey—the donkey she expertly guided from the trailer. “It appears you’re having some issues with your Beefcake. You both seem to share similar qualities,” she replied sweetly.
He parted his lips, but good old Beefcake, the donkey, beat him to it and let out another shrill donkey complaint.
“It’s not about strength Raz,” Bob said, intervening in their little tête-à-tête. “It’s a balance of strength, patience, and determination. Climb up into the trailer and start there. Remember, the donkey knows.”
“The donkey knows,” Raz muttered skeptically as he entered the metal enclosure. Beefcake gave another round of foot stomps, then stilled as Raz approached.
“There you go,” Raz said, throwing her an arrogant grin when an echoingBLAARRTcut through the air.
And then came the smell—or more aptly described as the stench.
“Whoa,” Bob called, nearly falling over.
Libby and Maud turned away.
“Did you fart, Dad?” Sebastian pressed, moving away from the trailer.
Raz’s cocksure demeanor faded as he pinched his nose. “That was not me, Sebastian. It’s the blooming donkey.”
“Are you sure, Dad?”
“Yes,” he grunted, pulling on the lead rope, as the two beefcakes battled in a foul-scented game of tug-of-war.
“The donkey isn’t your opponent, Erasmus. You’re on the same team. Maybe in the boxing ring, you’re on your own, but in burro racing, you’ve got to trust your partner,” Bob instructed.
“How is trust supposed to get this beast to budge?” Raz bit out, pinching his nostrils with one hand while pulling with the other.
Wobbly Bob and Maud shared a concerned look when a voice called out.
“Easy, there, Beefcake. Your buddy Zen Dougie is here.”
Zen Dougie?
It was as if a whole new donkey had emerged. Beefcake brayed a cooing, lovesick sound as his long ears perked up. The animal stopped fighting and allowed Raz to lead him out of the trailer. The beast craned his neck, looking past Erasmus. Libby followed the animal’s line of sight and turned to find a strapping man in a cowboy hat with a bouncing mane of blond hair striding up the drive toward them.
Where did he come from?
With the appeal of a rustic runway model, the man had to be around Raz’s age. He wore a plaid shirt and jeans that might have been a size too small and looked as if he’d walked off a photo shoot forHandsome Cowboy Weekly.
“Who’s that?” Sebastian asked.
“Bob’s grandson, Doug,” Maud answered brightly as the new arrival embraced the woman.
“People in town call me Zen Dougie,” the man said, pressing his hands into a prayer position and bowing. “Namaste. You must be Libby.”
Libby shifted her stance. “Namaste, yes, I’m Libby Lamb.”
“They also call Doug the donkey whisperer,” Bob added, clapping his grandson on the back. “He’s the reigning Ass-in-Nine champion. He’s got three wins under his belt, and he’ll be racing again this year.”
Doug shrugged off the compliment. “I’m ajackassof all trades,” he said with what sounded like a practiced chuckle. “I’m here for the summer teaching yoga classes at the resorts over in Aspen and helping my grandad and great aunt before heading off to Tibet.”
“Tibet?” Libby blurted.
“Yes, I take my spiritual journey seriously. May I?” the man asked, then gestured toward her hand.
“Okay?” she answered warily.
