Barking Up the Wrong Tree Read online

  I snort and shake my head. Dropping my sandwich, I type. See you at seven. But I’ll pick you up. I’m not riding in that ridiculous little car of yours.

  ♦

  “So this is your idea of a fancy dinner?” Jake asks as I slurp down an oyster with just a dab of tabasco on it.

  “I don’t need fancy,” I say as I swipe at my mouth with my napkin. “Just good food.”

  “I’ll give that to you,” he says before shooting his own oyster back. “This is good food.”

  I’d taken Jake fifty miles east to Topsail Island, offering him either calabash-style seafood or an oyster house. He chose wisely, although I can put a hurtin’ on fried seafood as well.

  Jake takes a sip of his beer while I pick up another oyster from the tray. We’re sitting at a bar and there’s a server on the other side wearing thick rubber gloves who is shucking oysters for us as fast as we can eat them.

  “Let me see if I can get this straight,” Jake says as he turns on his stool slightly to me. I slurp my oyster down, and then take a break… reaching for my beer. “Your mom is from Whynot, a Mainer and a farmer. Your dad was a Marine and is from Pittsburgh. He retired and stayed down here. Pap came some years later, settled in, and opened Chesty’s.”

  “Yes,” I concur. I’d told him my entire family story on the drive here.

  “Five siblings total. Trixie’s the oldest and a lawyer. Lowe’s next and a handyman. He just recently got married in Vegas.”

  “Too true,” I agree.

  “Then there’s you and your twin Larkin, and finally Colt.”

  “That’s the brood,” I tell him. “Seems pretty small, huh?”

  Jake nods. He’d shared with me all about his family on the ride down, and he has eight other siblings—two boys and seven girls total. His father died several years ago, and his mother just retired to a golfing community in Pinehurst after having taught high school English for twenty-seven years.

  Actually, we both shared a lot on the drive, and continued talking nonstop through our meal. Most of it was about each other personally, prompted by specific questions the other asked.

  For example, Jake wanted to know what my favorite holiday was growing up. I admitted it was always Easter because I loved the frilly dresses Mama would dress us up in for church. Jake laughed and said I was adorable.

  My reply shut him up fast. “He who is mama to a baby goat shouldn’t cast the first stone.”

  “I managed to hire someone today,” Jake says, and that jolts me out of my thoughts. “Guy by the name of Carlos Romero.”

  I nod in recognition. “He’s worked Mainer farms before. Really dependable. I seem to recall he had to go back to Texas a few months back because of a sick mother or something?”

  Jake nods. “She passed, and he came back to this area.”

  “Has he worked with goats before?” I ask. I know he’s desperate to get someone in, but I want him to make a wise choice where the animals are concerned.

  “He hasn’t,” Jake admits. Before I can even utter a word of concern, he says, “But… I made a deal with Eustace Roop.”

  My eyebrows shoot up as I realize… Jake is indeed a businessman and has done his homework. Eustace runs a small organic farm over near Milner, and she has a ton of goats. She even opens her place up to the public, allowing school field trips and private parties to be held there.

  “What was the deal?” I ask.

  “I’m going to give her five of my does. In return, she’s going to train Carlos,” he says smugly.

  “Really?”

  “Really,” he says with a smile. “I like Carlos. He has good references, is a hard worker, and most importantly, he’s no stranger to farming.”

  “Yes, but all you really have is goats,” I point out. “Isn’t the rest of your land leased?”

  “Most of it. But there’s fifty acres I want to develop.”

  I nod in understanding. “You mean you want to lose money on it so you get a tax break.”

  “Guilty as charged,” he says with an unrepentant grin.

  I can’t help but laugh because what do I care? As long as the animals are well provided for, that’s all that really matters.

  We eat more oysters, finish our beers, and talk the entire way back to Whynot. Jake wasn’t kidding… he had to get back to feed Miss Goatikins, who greets him at the barn door with such excitement that she keeps jumping up and kicking her little legs out. I swear, if that little doeling could have done it, she’d jump right into Jake’s arms.

  We chat while he feeds the baby goat. I have to turn away to hide a laugh as Jake lays a blanket over the baby after she curls up in her stack of hay he’d apparently freshened.

  When he stands up, he gives me a mischievous grin. “I smell like baby goat now.”

  “I’m a vet,” I remind him. “I’ve smelled far worse.”

  “Stay the night with me, and I’ll take a shower first,” he says. Even though I knew this moment was coming, I’m still unprepared for the flutter of excitement that ripples through me.

  Yes, Jake and I made easy conversation all night, but there was nothing neighborly or friendly in our banter. The flirting got heavier and heavier. Innuendo became a little clearer.

  It was clear the offer was coming when I admitted to him on the drive back how much I liked his beard, and he said with such confidence that we both knew it was true, “You like it on your skin and for no other reason.”

  I was a goner then.

  “Okay,” I say, but it comes out all breathy. I don’t care, though. The air in my lungs seems compressed right now with the possibilities of what we’ll do once we are in bed together.

  As far as lovers go, Jake is stellar. Perhaps the best I’ve ever been with.

  Not that I’ve been with a lot, since I don’t let myself think about getting tied down. But out of the few who have been cool with accepting the casual nature of our dating, none have really compared to Jake.

  Before I know it, Jake’s hands are in my hair and he’s pulling me up to my tiptoes for a kiss. Man, is it good. Just like that first night, except I’m not drunk.

  I’ve been thinking about it and craving it all night.

  He’s leaving tomorrow evening to fly back to Chicago, so I’m definitely going to take advantage of his offer.

  CHAPTER 9

  Jake

  Laken stirs in my arms, and a smile comes unbidden to my mouth. I could get used to waking up next to this warm and sexy woman.

  She lets out a groan and then a tiny yawn before pulling an arm out from underneath my grip so she can look at her watch.

  Groaning again, she turns her body. I loosen my arms just enough to let her do so bringing her front to mine. She pushes her face into my neck and mutters, “Why I agreed to de-worm Mrs. Gandry’s heifers at seven on a Thursday morning is beyond me.”

  I give her a squeeze and chuckle. “De-worm? Can I just say gross?”

  “Relax, city boy.” Laken breathes against my neck, and other parts of my body start to wake up. “It’s done by injections. She’s too squeamish to do it herself.”

  Rolling Laken to her back, I come on top of her but hold my weight suspended by my elbows pressing down into the mattress. I give her a smile before bending to brush my lips against her neck. Lifting minutely, I whisper, “You can be late, right?”

  I’m rewarded with a tiny whimper as my teeth scrape her collarbone, and that makes me smile wider.

  But then she’s pushing me off with another groan and sliding out of bed.

  “I really wish I could be late,” she says as she walks around the room, gathering her clothes. I tuck my hands behind my head and just enjoy the show. “But I’ve got to get home and take care of my dog first. And Mrs. Gandry is a stickler for punctuality, and well… while most farmers do a lot of the routine medical treatment of their animals, she doesn’t. She’s a pretty big customer of mine.”

  I give her a reassuring smile. “It’s all good, although I’m goi
ng to say I’m disappointed.”

  “You should be.” She grins at me as she shimmies into her jeans. “I totally rock your world in bed.”

  Yes, she certainly does.

  “When are you coming back to Whynot?” she asks casually before pulling her blouse over her head. Last night she wore her typical jeans, but she paired it with a flowing white blouse with wide sleeves. It was an oddly romantic look on Laken, although she’s not a woman I’d peg as being that.

  “I’m not sure,” I tell her, which is the truth. Yesterday, it would have been a lie as I knew I wouldn’t be back for at least three months. Not until mid-November for my mother’s birthday. I’d planned on staying at her house in Pinehurst for a few days to get some golfing in. Then I figured I’d swing by the farm and check on it. By then, I’d have Darby Culhane moved to Whynot and working with Carlos. He’d keep the main part of the farm running while she developed the new peach orchards I want to establish.

  “Well…” Laken says as she snags her sandals off the floor and walks to the edge of the bed. “Give me a call if you want when you come back. This has been fun.”

  She looks down at me, hair all tangled, and the knowledge she was just sleeping naked in my arms less than two minutes ago has me feeling off kilter. Now she’s ready to skip out of this room without a backward glance.

  My arm snakes out and wraps around the back of her thighs, and I pull her hard so she tumbles down on top of me. She does this with a yip and then a laugh as I once again flip her so she’s on bottom and I’m on top. Her hands come to rest on my shoulders as I peer down at her beautiful morning face.

  “I’ve never met a woman quite as casual as you about hookups,” I tell her honestly. “I can’t decide if it’s refreshing or totally dinging my self-esteem.”

  “Your self-esteem should feel quite confident.” She grins up at me, those dimples popping at the corners of her mouth. “Last night was wonderful. But really… what do you want me to do? Pine for you?”

  “It would certainly make my ego feel better if you did,” I grumble, but she hears the teasing in my voice. Still, I wouldn’t mind if she acted a little sad I was leaving.

  “Jake,” Laken says softly, almost in sympathy. But I hear the goodbye and the finality of it within her voice. “You’re a city boy. I’m a country girl. You live in Chicago, and I live in a town you’ll forget by tomorrow.”

  My words are rash and impulsive and I wish I could snatch them back the minute they leave my mouth. “What if I came back more often?”

  Laken’s eyebrows shoot sky high, and a slight bit of wariness creeps into her voice. “Why would you do that?”

  I grin down at her before planting a quick, hard kiss on her mouth. “Miss Goatikins. She’ll starve without me.”

  Laken snickers, but then the breath is knocked out of me when her arms curl around my neck. She pulls me back to her for a hard kiss.

  “Gonna miss this beard, city boy,” she murmurs before giving me one last kiss. A quiet one that says farewell.

  Once again, she slips out from underneath me. As she’s walking out the door, she reminds me that this wasn’t all fun and games.

  She turns and leans in, her hand on the doorjamb. “Oh, and when you get a minute, text me your email.”

  “Gonna email me dirty pictures or something?” I ask with a grin from the bed.

  “No,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “I want to send you my bill for all my services. It will pay my mortgage and utilities this month.”

  I snag a pillow off the bed and whip it at her with a laugh. She ducks to the side, and it sails past her out the door.

  She shoots me a wink and then she’s gone.

  I have no doubt that when I do text her my email, the only thing I’ll get in response is a veterinary bill. I’ll pay every cent of it happily because Laken has pulled my butt out of the farming fires quite a bit lately.

  I think I’m going to miss her.

  ♦

  After Laken leaves, my day goes downhill fast.

  For two hours, we try to entice Miss Goatikins to take the bottle from Carlos. She’s having none of it, preferring to hide behind my legs as she peers around at him skeptically, or she crawls into my lap and pushes her head under my hand, trying to nudge me to get the bottle.

  I’m forced to give in when I hear the little doeling’s belly rumbling, and I take the bottle from Carlos with a well-timed swear word. Carlos chuckles and heads out of the barn. Eustace will be by soon to look over the goats and start imparting some advice.

  Scooping Miss Goatikins into my arms, I hold the bottle at the right angle and walk out of the barn. I consider texting Laken, but it smacks of desperation and I’m not ready to give in yet. What I find interesting, though, is that the dam is certainly not ready to give up on her baby. She follows me from the barn, showing no interest in joining the other does in the pasture. I’m not worried about her running away as she seems devoted to her doeling, even if it won’t feed from her.

  The sound of tires crunching on gravel catches my attention, and I turn to the driveway. A light blue pickup truck comes rumbling up, and I recognize it immediately as Colt Mancinkus’s truck. It was just here two days ago with a roll of no-climb fencing he’d brought to help me replace the sliced portion the herd had escaped from last week.

  I wait for the truck to come to a stop next to my rented Porsche, which has become quite dusty within a matter of just a few days of being parked out in front of a farmhouse.

  Laken was right… it’s a ridiculous car. If I come back, I’ll rent a truck. Or at least a Jeep.

  “What’s up?” I ask as Colt steps out of the truck.

  The tall man I’d met two days ago was affable and friendly. He’s the youngest Mancinkus at age twenty-seven, but he seems older than Laken in that he seems like the type of guy who bears a lot of responsibility on his shoulders.

  “You applied for the expansion grant with the state?” he demands angrily as he walks up to me with an aggressive set to his shoulders and his hands curled into fists.

  I have no clue what he’s talking about, but I’m not afraid of the way he’s advancing on me. I’ve got a good thirty pounds on him if worst comes to worst, and while this is Laken’s brother, I really don’t know him all that well. He could be a nut job for all I know.

  Of course, I’d have to get Miss Goatikins to safety first, and that just makes me realize I’m being confronted by an angry dude while cuddling a baby goat. My life has become very weird lately.

  “Mind telling me why you’re coming on my property acting like an ass?” I ask, refusing to answer his question because I can’t.

  Again, I’m clueless.

  “I just got back from filing my petition at the North Carolina Department of Agriculture for an expansion grant they award every year. One given to each county. We’ve received the grant every year for the past five, and now I’m finding out that Farrington Farms is asking for consideration?”

  Now, that must be Darby’s doing. I gave her free rein to get going on the orchards. While she can’t be down here until she wraps up things back home, she’s been working on the back end.

  “That must be my operations manager,” I tell Colt in a neutral but polite voice. “She won’t be starting here officially for about a month. Maybe a little longer.”

  “What in the hell could you possibly want an expansion grant for?” Colt demands. “Laken said you only bought this farm for a tax write-off.”

  My voice remains neutral as I choose my words carefully. “Just because I intend to use this farm for tax write-offs doesn’t mean I’m going to neglect this place.”

  He just stares at me, apparently not accepting that as a good enough answer.

  “I intend to put some money in this venture, Colt,” I explain. “An investment, so to speak, that won’t pay off for some years to come.”

  “A peach orchard,” he snarls, and I’m stunned by the vehemence in his voice. “I read the grant req
uest. And because it will take a few years for new trees to bear fruit, and a few more after that to produce enough to actually harvest for sale, you’re going to be losing quite a bit of money.”

  “Well, see,” I say in a slightly mocking tone because his anger is starting to wear thin on me. “That’s exactly how one gets a deduction.”

  “But you don’t need that grant to do it,” Colt grits out. “You’ve got plenty of money to invest. Why try to take a grant away from a farmer who needs it far more than you do?”

  I sigh and look down at Miss Goatikins. To my surprise, she’s finished her bottle and is just staring back at me with what I think might be hero worship.

  Looking back to Colt, I say, “Tell you what… I’ll get with my operations manager and see what her line of thinking is. I gave her carte blanche to do what she needed to get the orchards going.”

  “Yeah, you do that,” Colt says menacingly. “And maybe think twice before you come into town without a damn clue as to what you’re doing, and trample all over decent, hardworking people who don’t have an extra twenty mil laying around to use at their whim.”

  I certainly don’t have that much money laying around, but a stab of guilt spears through me as I realize fully in this moment that Mainer Farms—Laken’s family farm—might actually be struggling. Otherwise, Colt wouldn’t be this angry.

  Laken had told me that he’s the only Mancinkus kid who took the farming to heart and will run the farm after his parents are gone. Hell, she said he pretty much does everything now.

  Colt spins on his boot heel and starts clomping his way back to his truck.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with it, Colt,” I call out to him in reminder. “Save your anger for something worthwhile.”

  He holds up his middle finger, which makes me snort in amusement. He’s a hot head for sure and I wonder what Laken would think about all this.

  But none of that matters.

  I’m leaving in a few hours to head to Chicago. No clue when or if I’ll be back. I’m sure Darby can work whatever this is out with Colt, and well… I guess it doesn’t really matter what Laken thinks of all this.