Page 23 of Cabins Cows Critics
“I don’t think my answer will help convince you that you’re safe out here.”
“Why?” I ask, unable to hide the smile from my tone.
“I listen to a podcast about the criminally insane,” he finally says, kicking his toe against the gravel path, sending tiny rocks skidding ahead.
“You listen to serial killer podcasts?” I ask, my pulse quickening at the thought that we might share more than an interest in cock.
He nods.
“It’s weird, I know—“
“It’s not. I listen to them, too. Wen thinks it’s why I was convinced our neighbor was a serial killer, but the signs were there, and I swear when he’s unmasked in a decade, I will have no problem telling her I told her so.”
He laughs, and it’s light and carries on the breeze like a song.
“Why do you think he’s a serial killer?”
“He had boxes of large black trash bags delivered before he even moved in and is always leaving at all hours. Wen reckons he’s just going to work, but he crochets blankets he sells online, and he does that from home, and no way is he dropping orders at the post office at that hour.”
“I’m with you, total serial killer vibes.”
A rustle of leaves to my left draws my attention, and I sidestep into Connor. His hands grip my shoulders gently.
“There’s nothing on this part of the ranch that will hurt you,” he says, my heart racing.
“You sure? There is more than one place you could easily bury a body.”
He laughs.
“Better to chop it up and feed it to the pigs.”
“Ummm—“
“I heard. On the podcast, that is.”
“Sure. So what else do you do for fun out here?” I ask, and he nods up ahead to the pool. Really, it looks like a pond. The edges were made to look like real stone with a rock waterfall on one end, surrounded by reeds and plants, and wait… “Is that a llama?”
“Fucking Chewie.” He sighs, jogging over to the fence.
“Can you grab me a rope from back at the cove?”
“Sure,” I reply, turning on my heel and heading back the way we came. I find a rope and am back in time to watch Connor walking out of the shallow end of the pool, soaking wet. He flips his drenched hair back, sending a fan of water into the air and it’s like I’m watching some GQ photoshoot, then he starts unbuttoning his shirt, and I stop walking. I stand there just outside of the glow of the lights surrounding the pool, watching him strip off his wet shirt, revealing his chiseled abs.
“I’m building them a fully enclosed cage just for you,” he tells the llama, splashing it behind him, who only snorts in reply, and I laugh.
Connor looks up then, lips spreading into a wide grin that makes my chest swell.
“Fucker came over for a pet, and when I reached out, he grabbed my sleeve and pulled me in.”
I meet him by the fence and hand over the rope.
“I can’t say I’m entirely mad about it.” I laugh, watching him wring out his shirt, the cool air coming off his warm body in a soft mist.
“Can I borrow your phone? Mine is drenched,” he says, reaching out.
“Sure. But who are you calling?”
“Skye. He’ll come take Chewie home so I can get changed before I freeze.”
