Page 64 of Cabins Cows Critics
“Sure, thanks again, Denver. We’ll see you later for the scavenger hunt, right?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
Hayden snuggles up to my side.
“So that was weird, right?” he asks, eyes wide with an excited grin on his lips.
“Nial isn’t exactly known for his sure-footedness,” I reply, and he laughs, shaking his head.
“Not the fall, the way those two were afterward, like, do you think there is something there?”
I laugh.
“Nial’s got a girlfriend.”
“Oh,” Hayden replies with a confused frown in place. “I was sure I saw something. I guess it was just regular embarrassment then.”
“Probably. So, do you want to be the first one to get a photo with Winnie? She’ll probably be the first to get tired of all this and want to be left alone,” I ask, and his expression becomes an even brighter, excited smile. I love the way he lights up around the animals now. The nerves of his first visits with them are long gone; now he’s at home with them as any of us.
As Hayden poses, cuddled up with Winnie, her reindeer horn headband already starting to slip, but looking somehow even more adorable falling off her head than it did when it was on properly, the reality of this being the second last night of the Christmas Experience hits. Two more nights and it will all be over. Two nights until it’s the end of my time with him, of him brightening my days with his kind eyes and easy smiles, and warming my nights, cuddled in my arms. I take the shots with his phone and then more with my camera, all the while wondering how the hell I am ever going to say goodbye to this guy.
The rest of the guests arrive shortly after, and thanks to the coffee and cookie Hayden brought me, I get through the two-hour-long session, but now my stomach is seriously grumbling,so while the guests make a start on their scavenger hunt, I head up to the house to make a sandwich.
I’m halfway through smearing on the peanut butter when I hear voices growing louder, one of them is Dean, the other I don’t recognize.
“This is private property. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Dean says, piquing my interest, and I shove the peanut butter knife into the open jar and go to check it out.
“You’re sign out front says all welcome,” the stranger bites back, but Dean is done with it.
“I own the land. I say who is welcome and who’s not, and you are not. So get off before I call the sheriff.”
“Just tell me, is he here?” the stranger asks, and I am about to step out to give Dean a hand with escorting whoever this is off the property when he speaks again. “Are you hiding the missing millionaire?”
Fuck. I jolt back just before stepping out, pressing myself hard against the wall, hoping they didn’t see me.
“I have no idea who you are talking about.”
“A trucker reported seeing him a town over.”
“Did the trucker say he was here?”
“No, but he said he left with a bunch of people who were talking about a llama. You’re the only farm around here with one of those.”
“We’ve got three, but that still doesn’t mean I know what the hell you’re talking about. Now this is your last warning,” Dean says, and the screen door clamors closed. A moment later, I hear the skid of tires as whoever it was drives away. I step out from my hiding spot, startling Dean on his way to the kitchen.
“Shit, sorry, didn’t see you there, Connor,” he says, checking over his shoulder for who knows what. Probably judging how far away I was from the conversation he just had.
“Everything okay?” I ask, and he nods with a nonchalant grin.
“Sure, nothing I can’t handle.”
“Dean.”
“Connor.”
“It’s only going to get worse if I stay,” I say, the words stinging as much as the thought of leaving this place. But maybe I should. I thought I could claim the inheritance to give this place a sure future. But what if it brings the end of it? What if the good in this place is eaten up by the toxicity of the life I ran from? The media were all over my former life, and they’re chomping at the bit to find me and claim their fifteen minutes of fame, revealing it to the world.
“We can handle whatever happens. What we can’t handle is you leaving, brother,” Dean says, and though he’s called me that before, never has it meant as much as it does in this moment. “How did our photo shoot go then?”
