Page 83 of Always Meant for You
Always.
And it ruins me, how much I still do.
She smiles up at me. “Do you want to feed him? There’s not much left. He’s tearing through it.”
I rise slowly from the bale, stretching my back. “I’m sure he prefers you.” I glance around the barn, trying to find my footing. “You good here? Can we call it a day?”
She yawns, and for a breath, I think she’s about to agree. But she shakes her head. “No, we can’t turn in yet. We still have work to do.”
“We do?” I ask, my brows drawing together.
“Yes. And it’s because of you. Let me get Cal the Goat settled first.”
She sets the drained bottle on the ground and hums quietly, easing the kid into the basket with a tenderness that steals the rest of my breath.
“We can work in the cottage,” she says.
It takes me a second to catch up. “I live in the cottage.”
She bites back a grin. “I know. That’s where the whiteboards are—with all your numbers.”
“You’re serious?” I ask.
“We have to get to work, Cal. You’re the reason Margaret suggested a trial period. Remember? Mr. Nay Vote? Now I’ve got to make the next farmers’ market a success if I want a paycheck. Time’s ticking.”
She’s not wrong. That one’s on me.
The goat’s nearly asleep, milk pooled at the corner of his mouth, belly rising and falling slow and steady.
I adjust the quilt. “What are you doing with him?”
She pats his head. “He’s coming with us.”
“Into the house?” I blurt.
“You’ve got thirty-seven cats and a dog in there. One more won’t tip the scales.”
I exhale, already knowing I’ve lost this round. “The goat stays in the basket. I don’t want him roaming around.”
“We’ll see,” she says, fussing with the quilt. “But don’t you worry. He’s exhausted. He won’t be any trouble.”
I pick up the basket and follow her across the gravel, my boots heavy with more than mud.
The worst of the rain has passed, and now crickets sing low around us. A breeze drifts in, cutting through what’s left of the heat.
As we near the main house, I notice the porch light is on. Elias is still awake. Did Abe or Kenny mention the goat disaster? Did he hear any of it? I’m turning that over in my head when Mabel calls out to me.
“Cal, what does one-four-six-four mean?”
She’s already inside the cottage.
I step into the mudroom and find her in front of the whiteboard, reading the number I scribbled in pink this morning.
I shift the basket under my arm and close the door. “It’s something I keep track of.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a number, Mabel.”
