8.
Calvin It was just after nine when I finished with the evening chores: feeding and watering all the animals, bringing the sheep in from the pasture, putting Gretchen and George back in their stalls, and dealing with an animal that refused to listen. I was done much later than usual because I had to prep for shearing. My sheep were sheared once a year, and it was a grueling task that I never looked forward to. Pulling my shirt up to my face, I wiped the sweat from my brow and made my way up the porch steps. I hadn’t seen Grace since this morning and wondered what she had done all day. My mind kept going back to her, no matter what chore I was doing. Cutting the grass, Grace. Cleaning the horse stalls, Grace. Fixing and fortifying a shed, Grace. She was staying in my home and living in my mind. I was consumed by her.
I slid off my work boots before going inside. An unfamiliar smell invaded my nose as I pushed open the door. Earthy and sweet and acidic and meaty. It definitely wasn’t anything I had ever cooked. I strolled into the kitchen and found Grace at the stove, dressed in those leggings she was wearing earlier today. She was swaying her hips while stirring a wooden spoon in a frying pan. A country song played softly on the radio, and a glass of wine and an open bottle sat on the counter beside her. She clearly hadn’t heard me come in, and I was appreciating the time I got to watch her, to examine her. Goddamn, she looked good in those leggings.
Leaning against the wall, I dusted my shirt off so I was somewhat presentable.
“Whatcha doing, Grace?”
She jumped a little, turning around quickly. Her mouth was partially open but she forced it into a smile. Grace set the wooden spoon down and grabbed her glass of wine, bringing it to her lips for a slow sip.
“I’m cooking you a proper meal.” She raised one eyebrow just over the rim of her glass.
“Is that so?” I slipped a hand in my front jeans pocket. I was never sure what to do with my hands when I was around Grace because I wanted to put them on her.
“Oh, it is,” she said, setting the glass down.
“I thought the meal I prepared for you last night was pretty proper. But I’m intrigued, Miss Grace. What’s a proper meal to you?” I smirked.
“Come here, and I’ll show you.” She beckoned me with her hand and returned to stirring one of the pots.
Just as I started walking over to Grace, I heard it. Clucking that grew louder, faster, and more persistent. Immediately, I realized the grave mistake I had made.
“Shit,” I yelled, running into the living room. I grabbed the 12-gauge shotgun from the fireplace mantel and slipped on my work boots.
“What’s wrong?” Grace called out. I heard her footsteps padding behind me as I burst through the screen door onto the porch. There was no time to explain, so I didn’t answer.
The chickens and ducks were huddled in a group off to one side of the pond, moving in sync. The ducks practically screamed and the chickens clucked nonstop. I took off running toward them, spotting a couple of chickens on the other side of the pond, lying still. Heads were completely ripped off and blood pooled around their open necks. A light shined behind me, and I turned quickly to find Grace just a few yards back with a flashlight in hand. Smart girl, I thought. She moved it in all directions as I got closer to the pond.
I held the shotgun up, ready to shoot, as I looked for the creature that did this. Technically, I had a hand in this too. Grace was only a couple of steps behind me now, and she gasped when she spotted the dead chickens. Death was something you just got used to way out here. Too many predators. Finally, there it was, chomping on the head of a chicken. Three feet long from nose to tail and weighing at least thirty-five pounds. The creature’s eyes lit up like yellow orbs. The body of the chicken laid a couple of feet away. I held the gun steady and fired off a round, missing by a few inches. Lucky bastard. The raccoon quickly scampered off. The second shot missed too. Shit. There was no time to reload. The animal was gone, and four of my chickens were dead. I had gotten lucky too though. A raccoon could kill a flock in minutes.
I let out a deep breath and lowered the shotgun, wiping the sweat from my brow.
“Are you okay?” Grace asked. She was standing beside me, looking up at me with those blue, blue eyes.
“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head.
Grace was clearly confused by my answer and my body language. I was fine, but I was pissed at myself for making such a careless mistake. What if this had happened to one of my more valuable animals? It could have cost me everything.
“I forgot to put the chickens and the ducks in their coop, which is the equivalent of ringing a dinner bell out here for predators.” The birds were much quieter now that the animal was gone.
“I can’t believe a raccoon did this,” she said as her eyes scanned over the bloody carcasses.
I looked over at Grace, drawing my brows together.
“They may look cute and cuddly but don’t let them fool you. They’re vicious killers.”
Her eyes met mine. “What do you do now?”
“I’ve gotta get rid of the dead chickens. They’ll just draw in more predators, and there’s no shortage of those around here. Then, I gotta get the rest of them secured in the coop.”
“I can help.” She didn’t even hesitate to offer.
“I’ve got it. You go in and eat.” I waved a hand dismissively.
“No, I want to help, and then we can have that proper dinner together,” she said. Grace didn’t smile, but it was like her eyes did.
I nodded and returned the smile she hadn’t given me. Most women couldn’t stomach the harsh reality of ranch life. But Grace clearly wasn’t most women.
I showered after we took care of everything outside. Grace got the chickens and ducks back in the coop while I disposed of the dead ones. She had surprised me again by staying out and helping me with the worst part of ranching. Walking down the hallway dressed in a clean tee and sweatpants, I could smell that sweet, acidic, earthy scent again. It was late, and I had told her she didn’t have to wait up for me while I showered, but she insisted on sitting down for dinner.
In the kitchen I found Grace taking her seat at the table. She set two glasses of red wine beside two plates that were already served.
“It smells amazing,” I said.
She looked up and smiled. “It tastes even better. Take a seat.” Grace gestured to the chair across from her.
“What do we have here?” I asked while I sat down.
Grace pointed to the plate. “These are balsamic-and-honey-glazed brussels sprouts with bacon. I picked them myself.”
“You know how to pick brussels sprouts?” I raised an eyebrow in a teasing way.
“Of course. They sell them by the stalk at the farmers markets in the city.”
I let on a grin and nodded.
“This right here,” she pointed, “is honey-glazed salmon with a spicy soy sauce.”
I laid a napkin in my lap, never taking my eyes off of her. “You are an impressive woman.”