Summer Days (Fool's Gold #7)

Rafe shook his head. “No. Just curious.”


He paid for the lumber and other supplies and arranged for them to be delivered in two days. When he returned to his car, he pulled out his cell and made a quick check of his email. There was a note from Nina Blanchard. He scanned it, then dialed her number.

He was put through immediately.

“Rafe,” Nina purred.

Purred was not a word that would come to his mind under most circumstances, but there was no other way to think of the smooth tone of her voice.

“Nina.”

“You’re being elusive. Can you guess it’s not my favorite characteristic in a client? All your rather formidable assistant would say was that you were out of town.”

“She’s right. I’m in Fool’s Gold. Do you know it?”

“I’ve been a few times. They have charming festivals.”

“So I’ve been told. I’m here on a family matter, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back in San Francisco. We’ll have to table our plans until then.”

“Don’t be silly. If you can’t come to the ladies, then they’ll come to you.”

He glanced at the lumber yard. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? You’ll be in neutral territory. If they won’t make the drive, they’re not worth the trouble, right? You’ve hired me to find you the perfect wife. I take that responsibility very seriously.”

“Fine. If one of the candidates wants to come here, I’ll meet her.”

“Thank you. Now, let me get you some names and we’ll take it from there.”

“Sure.”

He hung up, knowing he should probably be more enthused than he was about the whole idea of getting married. Honestly, if he didn’t want kids, he wouldn’t bother with a permanent relationship. But he couldn’t seem to shake the traditional idea of a mother and a father when it came to children. He’d watched his mother struggle after his dad had died.

He had a feeling that his idea of perfect and Nina’s might not be the same. He’d done his best to explain he wasn’t looking for love. He’d tried that once and it had blown up in his face. This time, he was going to be realistic. Find someone he could be friends with, someone he would enjoy sleeping with, and with whom he could imagine raising children. Nothing else was

required. Love was a myth, and he was too old to

believe in fairy tales.

* * *

HEIDI RELEASED ATHENA back into the goat corral, then stripped off her gloves. Three very fat, very sassy cats gazed at her expectantly.

“Where did you come from?” she asked, even as she poured fresh, still-warm goat milk into an old pie pan and set it on the wooden floor of the goat house.

The first of the cats had shown up about a month after the goats had arrived. Heidi had been milking, minding her own business, only to be startled by a very demanding meow. Foolishly she’d given the black-and-white cat a taste of goat milk. From then on, the cat had shown up exactly at milking time, every day. Eventually it had been joined by a tabby and an all-gray cat with a pushed-in kind of face.

The cats waited until she put the pie dish on the floor, then began lapping the milk.

Their coats were in great shape and they were obviously well fed. They must live around here, but where? And how had they learned to tell time? She only milked once a day, and the cats always arrived a few minutes early, then waited patiently until she was finished.

She supposed she could simply stop giving them milk. After all, she wasn’t much of a cat person. But there was something compelling about the way they stared at her, as if their feline minds should have the ability to direct her actions.

Still chuckling at the thought of cat mind-control, she carried the fresh milk toward the house. She was halfway across the yard when she realized that an SUV and a Mercedes were in the yard. Vehicles she recognized. Rafe and May had dropped by early.

It had been two days since their last visit—when she’d gone riding with Rafe and had found herself oddly attracted to the one person who was out to get her. Chemistry, she thought as she walked into the house. It could make a fool of you every time.

“Good morning,” she said, setting the clean metal buckets on the counter.

May sat at the table with Glen, a box of pastries between them. Rafe leaned against the counter. While his mother was all smiles and hellos, Rafe regarded her with an unreadable expression.

“Oh, you were milking. I’d like to see that,” May said. “Do you think I could learn how to do it?”

“Sure. It’s not that hard. The main rule is to keep everything clean and sanitary. A challenge when it comes to goats.”

“You sell raw milk?” Rafe asked, his tone very similar to the one a person would use to ask if the entrée contained poop.

“Every day.”

“So many people see the benefits of organic goat’s milk,” May said with an enthusiastic smile. “Oh, Rafe, this is going to be so fun.”