Page 14 of Lucky Baller
She laughs again, and I love the sound. “Heaped is fine.”
“Noted.” With my heaped scoop in one hand and the cell phone held to my ear with the other, I make my way back outside to Buckwheat. His head rises, and I swear his eyes grow wide when he sees the scoop of feed in my hands. “This is for you, buddy,” I tell him. “Come on.” I hold it out, letting him get a whiff, and he sticks his tongue out, trying to take a bite, but I pull the scoop away. A little of the feed falls from the scoop to the ground, so he bends to try and devour it. “Come on, Buckwheat, this way.” I hold up the scoop and slowly walk into the field. I’m glad that I left the gate open earlier.
“Is he following you?” Tessa asks.
I turn to look over my shoulder. “He’s thinking about it. Where do I feed him?”
“Just on the ground is fine. There’s a bare spot next to the water trough. You see it?”
“Yes.”
“That’s where we usually feed him.”
I dump the scoop of feed onto the ground and hear galloping feet. I turn in time to see Buckwheat come to a halt and begin to eat. “He’s in,” I tell Tessa.
“Oh, good.” I can hear the relief in her voice. “Now, some hay.”
“Right.” I make sure the gate is secure and head back to the barn to return the scoop and make sure the lid is sealed tight on the drum. “The bale of hay lying beside the feed?” I check.
“Yeah, just a chunk.”
“How big is a chunk?”
“I don’t know, about a four-inch piece. He gets grass, but we still like to give him hay because that’s what he’s used to.”
“Okay. And where do I toss this?”
“Next to his food.”
“Easy enough.” I toss the hay over, but Buckwheat doesn’t seem to notice as he’s still hoovering the feed that’s spread out on the ground. I don’t have to ask where the water is, as there is a spout that hangs over the trough. I pull the handle and lean against the fence as it fills. “How’s the ankle?” I ask.
“It hurts, but I’ll be fine. I’ll go home and rest it tonight, and she’ll be good as new.”
“It’s your right foot.”
“Yeah.”
“You can’t drive.”
“Autumn will come and get me.”
“Or I could take you home. Maybe we can grab some dinner on the way there.”
“Landon, we’ve talked about this.”
“No, you said no to dinner, not a ride home.”
“No.” She says the words, but it’s not with the same conviction as before.
“Come on, Tess. You know who I am. It’s not like I’m some mass murderer.”
“That’s comforting,” she says dryly.
“Let me finish up whatever you need doing here. We’ll hit a drive-thru or order pizza, and I’ll take you home. Easy.”
“I’ll need my car.”
“Who says you can drive tomorrow? I have to be at the field at nine. I can swing by and pick you up.”Or I could stay,I think, but keep that thought to myself.
