“What?” I rub the back of my neck.
She shakes her head and sniffles again, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’re a natural with her. I knew you had nothing to worry about.”
But as I watch Katherine with Izzy and how gently she holds her and talks to her, I know she’s the natural. Thank God because I’m fucking clueless.
When Katherine returns to the kitchen, she turns on a little machine, and the sounds of Izzy babbling in her crib fill the room.
“Baby monitor.” She points to the speaker. “We have four or five of these. They reach all the way to the barn and into the adjacent field, which is great because then I can feed the animals while she sleeps in the morning. Well, when she sleeps in.”
Katherine looks exhausted, like she hasn’t slept in days. I’m about to tell her that she should go to bed and we can talk in the morning when I realize what she just said.
“Animals? How many are we talking about?” I knew Cal lived on a farm, but until this moment, I hadn’t really thought about what that meant.
“Not that many. This isn’t a farm farm.” Something about that statement starts to put me at ease until she shrugs. “We have about a dozen chickens, a horse named Sampson, and two pygmy goats, Stella and Stanley.” Then she mumbles a few more words I can’t quite make out.
“I’m sorry. What?”
“I said we also have a baby raccoon named Bandit and a box of kittens.”
“And why do we have a box of kittens, a baby raccoon, and”—I tilt my head—“two goats named after characters in A Streetcar Named Desire?”
A breathtaking smile spreads on her face.
“Because Mel took in strays. She could never turn away someone in need.” Katherine pulls at a loose thread on her t-shirt. Her voice lowers to a whisper. “Which might explain why I’ve been living here since the end of May.”
“Oh. I don’t know why I thought you were a neighbor. Do you work for Mel and Cal?”
“Kind of? I guess you could say I’m their live-in nanny. But I also helped them harvest the crops in August and prune their fields this fall.”
“The fields?”
“You really have no idea, do you?” She laughs. “Mel owns one of the largest lavender farms in the Texas Hill Country.” Her eyes tighten around the corners. “Well, I guess you own one of the largest lavender farms.”
I run my hand through my hair for the hundredth time today. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. I still need to talk to their attorney and find out if there’s a will. I’m here to plan… all of the arrangements this week.” The thought turns my stomach sour. “My mom thought the farm should go to someone in Mel’s family.”
“Their attorney called this afternoon. Said he’s in court tomorrow but he’s gonna try to call you afterward. As far as family goes, Mel’s dad died a few years ago. She didn’t have anyone else.”
Why does that make me feel worse? I press the palms of my hands into my eyes.
Her soft voice interrupts my impending panic attack. “I’m sorry I cried all over you earlier.” I drop my arms and look over at Katherine, who shifts awkwardly before she twists her long hair into one of those messy bun things girls do. Before I can respond, she darts across the kitchen. “I don’t know where my manners are. You traveled all day. You must be starving.”
A moment later, she has her head in the fridge, and I’m treated to a full-on view of her tight, round ass. Damn. This girl should never wear anything but yoga pants.
“I could make us migas.” Her head pops out of the refrigerator, and she looks at me expectantly.
My eyes dart up. Hopefully, she doesn’t think I’m checking her out.
“Please don’t go to any trouble on my account. Wait. What are migas?”
Her eyes widen and she starts waving her hands as she explains. “They’re eggs scrambled with fried corn tortillas. I also like to toss in some jalepe?os, onion and cilantro. Does that sound good?”
“Jesus, yes. That sounds amazing.” I laugh, a little in love with her accent and the way she rolls her R’s. Now that I look at her, I realize there’s something exotic about the shape of her eyes and her golden-caramel skin.
“I love to cook, so it’s no trouble at all. The eggs are really fresh. They’re from our chicken coop. But I could make you whatever you’d like.”
The earnestness in her expression as she waits for me to tell her what I want for dinner is too sweet. Too tender.
I clear my throat. “Can I ask a question? I know it’s rude to ask a woman’s age, but you look really young, and...”
Her cheeks flush. “I’m twenty-three.”
Those big hazel eyes turn down, and I feel like a jerk for embarrassing her.
“Hey, I’m sorry. It’s just that if you’re staying here, that’s probably something I should know.”
“Of course. I understand. I’m not offended.” She shifts uncomfortably, and I can tell that might be a little white lie, but then she shrugs. “So... migas?”
My stomach growls, and I smile awkwardly. “I guess that’s my answer.”