“Years now. Since she first started the business.” Martinez grins. “Watched her build this whole operation from nothing. Pretty impressive woman.”
Reed’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “Yes, she is.”
An awkward silence stretches between them until Martinez clears his throat. “Well, I should check on that donkey before I go.” He gestures toward his legs. “I made sure to grab the thick chaps.”
I laugh as Reed looks perplexed. “Chiron’s protective of me,” I tell him as we head toward the donkey’s enclosure. “Don’t take it personally when he tries to bite you.”
Chiron stands in the center of his pen, a furry dictator with ears pinned back and hostile eyes locked on Martinez. When the farrier approaches, Chiron snorts and backs away, shaking his head.
“Easy, big guy,” Martinez murmurs, moving slowly. “Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
Chiron disagrees. Violently.
What follows are ten minutes of the most ridiculous chase scene I’ve ever witnessed. Martinez tries every trick in the veterinary handbook—treats, gentle coaxing, strategic positioning—while Chiron evades him with the determination of an animal who’s offended by the entire concept of medical care.
“Jesus,” Martinez pants, leaning against the fence after his latest failed attempt. “That donkey has serious trust issues.”
“Tell me about it.” Turning to Reed, I add, “He’s been like this since I got him. Won’t let anyone near him except me, and even then, it’s on his terms.”
Reed has been watching the whole spectacle with growing interest and moves closer to the fence, studying Chiron with scientific intensity. “Has he been tested for mineral deficiencies?”
“Uh…” Martinez looks between Reed and me with new respect. “That’s a really good question. Eliza?”
“That sounds expensive,” I mutter. “He’s probably fine.”
Martinez shrugs. “You want to hold him for me, so I can at least peek at his feet?”
Martinez and Reed mutter about donkey nutrition as I watch Saint Nicholas transform to the easygoing, quirky guy I hung out with in the greenhouse. Reed knows things about copper and how that affects shiny coats, and Martinez seems impressed. Until Chiron bites him in the thigh, and he leaps out of the pen with a string of Spanish curses.
“Let me try something,” Reed says, pulling a carrot from the bag he brought.
“Reed, I really don’t think—” I start, but he’s already moving toward Chiron.
My demonic donkey, who just spent ten minutes evading a trained animal professional, stands completely still as Reed approaches. No pinned ears. No threatening posture. Just curious attention as Reed extends the carrot through the fence.
Chiron steps forward, sniffs the offering, then gently takes the carrot from Reed’s hand.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Martinez breathes.
I stare in shock as Chiron allows Reed to scratch his neck, actually leaning into the touch, he’s enjoying it with a feline purr. This is the same animal that bit the mailman and refuses to let anyone except me put on his halter.
“Good boy,” Reed murmurs, offering another carrot. “You’re just misunderstood, aren’t you?”
I watch this man I’m supposed to hate sweet-talking my vicious donkey, and there is nothing I can do to stop the flood of heat soaring to my center.
Martinez approaches slowly, and this time Chiron tolerates the examination without protest. Within minutes, Martinez completes his checkup and declared the donkey’s feet in perfect health.
Reed steps back from the fence, looking as surprised as the rest of us. After Martinez leaves with reminders about his invoice and the suggestion that we hide vitamins in Chiron’s carrots, Reed and I stand by the donkey pen in awkward silence.
“That was…” I search for words. “Chiron doesn’t like anyone.”
“Maybe he recognizes a fellow outsider,” Reed suggests quietly.
Something about the way he says it makes my chest tight. “Reed, about last night?—”
“I should have defended you.” The words come out rushed, practiced. “When my father called you my assistant, I should have corrected him immediately. You’re not my employee, you’re…” He trails off, struggling with the words.
“I’m what?”
