Page 5 of Wishing Hearts

Harrison’s lips twitch. “Thought you worked in Animal Control.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” I say, sending him a wink.

He shakes his head just a little before refocusing on the sheep. “I don’t own a pool,” he finally says.

“One step at a time.”

He huffs a little laugh at that, and I practically preen. The man definitely isn’t shutting me down. That’s something.

When Harrison is finished with the sheep’s stomach, I carefully maneuver her so he can run the shears over the rest of her body. Her skin is red in places, patchy and sore from carrying over-matted fleece around for much too long. The poor thing. All the animals here are in similar condition. I swear to God, if I ever find myself alone with that Mr. Calhoun…

“What was that?” Harrison asks.

“What?”

“That sound,” he says. “Were you growling?”

I smile a little sheepishly. “Maybe so. I just… There’s nothin’ that makes this right, y’know? This isn’t a week’s worth of neglect. It’s years’ worth.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harrison says softly, his voice barely discernible over the noise of the clippers.

You’d think, by now, I’d be used to this sort of thing. And I am, in a way. I’m accustomed to seeing the cruel nature of humans. Doesn’t mean it ever gets easier, though.

“It’s fucked up,” I say, vocalizing my thoughts.

Harrison nods. “Totally fudged.”

“I’m sorry, what now?” I ask, chuckling when Harrison shakes his head in response.

“Nothing. She’s all set,” he says, turning off the clippers and running his fingers lightly over some of those sore spots I noticed. He sighs before hefting the mound of dirty, oily fleece off to the side. “Let’s do the next one.”

Harrison and I get through all three sheep with minimal fuss. There are dozens more outside in their small pasture—and probably all of them will need to be sheared—but it’s progress, at least.

“This is gonna take days,” I note.

Harrison nods, features pinched.

“Well, look at the bright side,” I say. “It’ll give us plenty of time to get to know one another. Neighbors really should be friendly, after all.”

Harrison’s lips press together, all pouty and cute, but his eyes are sparkling. “Is that what you are?” he asks. “Friendly?”

“Mhm.” I give him a big smile. “The friendliest.”

Harrison loses his battle not to laugh, and I have to bite my lip to keep from propositioning him outright. The man’s smile has me feeling all sorts of weak in the knees.

But I have time. Days, in fact.

“Get me another sheep, Sam,” Harrison says, trying to hide his amusement by turning back toward the exam table.

“Yessir,” I reply happily, backing away. “And it’s Sammy.”

Grabbing a lead, I turn and head out of the barn. The sun blasts me the moment I step outside, making me realize just how much cooler it was in the shade. A little more stifling, though, without the breeze. The pen around the rest of the sheep is worn down, the wood splintering and broken in parts, but the sheep are too docile to care much about escaping. They do scatter a bit as I approach, but I move slowly, sweeping my gaze around the flock and looking for injuries.

I spot an ewe with a limp right away. Pulling a few food pellets from my pocket, I approach at an even pace, and although her eyes are wide and frightened, she doesn’t move away as I hold out my palm and wait. Her nostrils flare, sniffing out the food, and then she takes a step closer, snatching it up as I slip the lead over her head. The sheep doesn’t object to being led toward the barn after that, but I still go slow, not wanting to exacerbate her injury.

Harrison looks up when we step inside the barn, eyes dropping immediately to the sheep. His gaze is so soft, so compassionate, and it makes that empathetic part of me flare in response.

“Leg,” I say unnecessarily. The man can tell.

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