Soft blue eyes. A gentle kiss to my forehead. A…
Sniff from the front seat.
“Sorry,” the driver says as we take a right and pull into a small dirt parking lot. “It’s just good to see that romance is alive and well.”
“Whoever would have thought grumpy, broody Damon Connors would be a romantic at heart?” I tease lightly.
His eyes dance, but he just presses a kiss to my nose beforelooking forward. “Thanks for the ride,” he tells our driver. “And if you want to come back in three hours, I’ll pay you in cash for a lift back to our hotel.”
She turns in her seat, eyes coming to mine. “I’ll see you then.” A wink at me. “Enjoy the romance.”
Damon pops open the door, holds out a hand for me.
Then we’re in the cool fall air…
And it’s not ten minutes before I’m living one of my dreams.
“Moo!”
I squeal softly and lean closer, scratching the baby Highland cow—orcoo, as our Scottish transplant guide calls them. The adorable fluff ball, my absolute favorite animal on the planet, moos again and shifts so I can get on scratching the spot he really likes—behind his ears.
And I’ve melted.
Or maybe I did from the moment we walked onto the farm and met our guide, hearing the story of how the farm came to be—a drunken bet and a long journey with just five cows…that have now become a herd of thirty.
We brushed the juveniles, dropped hay for the adults, posed in a 4x4 by the prettiest coo in the world (complete with the fancy fashion magazine covers to prove it), and now we’re in a large barn, getting to love on a trio of baby cows, all of whom were rejected by their mothers. Which is the only thing that gave me a blip of sadness—that they weren’t out there with the rest of their herd family—but not for long.
Because we got to enjoy them.
And because they’ll have a nice, peaceful future withplenty of hay and a pasture to graze on when they’re old enough.
“Moo!” his bro exclaims, nudging in for some of my scratching action. And who am I to deny him his loving?
But even as I’m giving cuddles and scratches all around, I’m trying to brace myself.
Because my three hours are almost up.
Because our guide has a life and duties to get back to.
Because our ride is back in the parking lot, waiting to drive us home.
“Maybe I’ll quit my job and start a farm,” I say, only half-joking.
“We could keep the job and get one as a pet,” Damon says, and my heart practically explodes at the gentle way he cuddles the last baby.
“I’m not sure our jobs our conducive with cow raising.”
“Who are you kidding?” His lips twitch. “The guys would love a mascot on the plane.”
I grin, imagining one of these goofballs mooing their way across the country, then I give them all one more scratch and straighten, committing this to memory as I say my goodbyes and then thank our guide.
Damon follows my lead, tipping our guide before we wash up and head for the car.
Before we make it that far, I take his hand, drawing him to a stop.
“You good, Red?” he asks, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear so gently that my heart pulses.
Or maybe it’s just open and raw and vulnerable and…fallinghard and fast.
