Page 9 of Tinder Embrace
I counted getting Taylor to say anything in class a major victory. I couldn't decide if he and Davis were a match made in heaven or hell. Davis wasn’t exactly the poster child for communication.
“You’re lucky. Mr. Pruitt barely lets me visit them. You must be very good with them for him to trustyou so much.”
Taylor puffed up, that hint of pride making me lust just a little harder for my grumpy farmer. Davis might not like having people in his space, but he’d intuitively understood what Taylor needed and given it to him.
“Do you think we should get a pet for our classroom?” I asked. Maybe Taylor wasn’t the only one who’d benefit from a little cuddle time and responsibility.
He dug a toe in the dirt, scuffing gently. “Like what?” he asked, sounding intrigued.
Me and my big mouth. I hadn’t really thought it through. Anything I hosted in the classroom had to have a summer home, because my apartment didn’t allow pets.
“Something that could be fostered by a family in the summer. What do you think would be a good idea?”
“A snake?”
I hid my shudder. Not forking likely. I could just imagine the nasty emails I’d get if I tried to foist a snake on some unsuspecting family for the summer.
“Maybe,” I said, not wanting to discourage him. Getting so many words out of Taylor was a feat in itself, and I didn’t want to stifle him.
“Oh, I’ve always wanted a bunny,” he volunteered, eyes brightening.
My shoulders relaxed.ThatI could work with.
“Tell you what – let’s put it to a class vote next week. I’m open to ideas; it just has to be something our principal and parents won’t mind.”
He grinned, making me feel like I’d won the lottery, prying a real smile out of him. “That sounds great, Ms. Dunham.”
I gestured to the barn. "Is he in there?" I asked, feeling a little guilty about pumping my student for information.
Taylor nodded. "In his office."
Bingo. I'd found Davis's elusive hidey-hole and done itwithoutstumbling across the entire property.
"Thanks, Taylor. I'll see you on Monday?"
He nodded, and I watched as he scampered down a well-worn path.
I slid the barn door open, careful not to let any of Davis's furry charges out. I'd managed to sneak in to visit the kitties a few times before being chased out by Davis. I'd always thought it was sour grapes, that he just didn't want me messing with his precious rescues. Now I suspected he hadn't wanted me to find his secret lair. Snorting gently, I shook my head.
The outer area I'd visited before was empty, but a golden glow emanated from an open door at the back of the building. I limped my way slowly to the door.
Davis sat in front of his computer, reading glasses perched on his nose. His hair looked like he'd been running his fingers through it. Two kittens batted toys around on the floor behind him, and I spotted at least one furry body spread out next to him on the desk. He reached absently into his lap, wincing in pain and swapping hands.
Guiltily, I cleared my throat. "Davis?"
He scowled. "I'll be done in a few minutes. Everything takes twice as long with one hand."
"Can I help?"
"No."
His tone didn't encourage arguing, and a more sensitive woman would have recognized his bad attitude as reason to leave him alone, but I couldn't resist exploring his space.
Davis kept everything important about himself hidden. Was it any wonder I was drawn to him? I loved puzzles. The more complicated, the better. Detective shows, escape rooms, they were all extremely my jam. Davis had done the one thing guaranteed to make him irresistible to me: presented a mystery. The Case of the Gruff Farmer. Why was he so unfriendly? Jo grew up with him but hadn't adopted any of his antisocial habits.
I catalogued the pieces of himself that Davis revealed in his office. A copy of his diploma from a university agricultural program. The medals and awards Pinkney Brewery had won in the Washington Beer Awards for American-style lagers and other brewing styles. A picture of what looked like a teenage Davis with a much older man and grade-school Jo. His dad? I pondered the resemblance between them. Davis and Jo's father had been a big man, barrel-chested with dark hair and a dark beard. Glancing from the photo to Davis, it was easy to see his Dad's bone structure in the planes of Davis's face. Maybe he wasn’t traditionally handsome, but something about his features spoke to stability and strength.
I meandered to the bookcase that covered one wall, tracing the spines. Davis had an impressive collection. A handful of aged fantasy paperbacks, a slew of hardback thrillers. I even spotted a few paranormal romances wedged among the mysteries. Spotting an Ilona Andrews title I hadn't read yet, I tugged it from the shelf.
