“I’m sure you know what you’re doing, Quinnie,” Tripp says, brushing past me toward the truck. “Where do you want Wes and me to carry the crate?”
“Is there a stall open in the feed barn? He’s a little noisy to put with the horses.”
Wes glares at me, but Tripp smiles. “Sure. We can find a spot in there for now. Right, Wes?”
He just grumbles and opens the truck door, immediately stepping back and cursing at the smell. Winston has thankfully stopped his screeching. He snorts and snuffles in the crate as Wes and Tripp heave it out of the truck and waddle awkwardly toward the barn carrying it between them.
“See? He’s fitting right in already.”
Sawyer snorts and then tilts her head toward the road. “I’m gonna go get the horses settled. I’ll leave supper to you tonight since you owe me for hauling that bellowing blimp for you. The boys are bound to be hungry once they get the pig settled.”
Wes is still muttering curses, but Tripp just winks at me over the crate like hauling a squealing pig is the most natural thing in the world. Somehow, it makes my chest feel a little lighter to have one person who doesn't seem to mind the new addition.
Winnie the Pig
Tripp
Istation my hands on my hips and eye the noisy gray swine who is currently snuffling around in the fresh hay I just threw into the stall.
“He’s kind of cute.”
Wes gives me a look that says he’s questioning my sanity.
I’d like to say I’m surprised Quinn brought home a rescue animal when all she was supposed to do was check out the horses for Sawyer, but I’m not in the least. How Sawyer and Wes didn’t see this coming is beyond me.
“He’d be cuter if he weren’t in my barn,” Wes grumbles.
“What are you so worried about? You know Quinn will take care of him. He won’t be your responsibility.”
“Until she goes back to thecity...”
I groan. “You worry too much. I'm sure she'll find a good home for Pork Chop here.”
“I don’t think Quinn is gonna agree to that name.”
“Probably not, but now I’m hungry. Come on.”
We trek back up to the house, andI smile when I see my sister’s Jeep parked out front. The entire crew is here—except for Pops.
That thought is a dose of reality that hits like a splash of cold water. I miss the old man, and while I know he’s in good hands, it’s hard to know he won’t be at the table with the rest of us tonight.
I toe off my boots and hang my hat on the hook by the door when we enter the old farmhouse. My fingers run through my hair a few times as the scent of garlic, tomatoes, and something buttery drifts in from the kitchen.
Wes thuds up the stairs to wash off while I’m stuck smelling like my normal mixture of sweat, hay, and manure. Quinn is in the kitchen, stirring something in the pan, in cotton shorts and a blousy shirt with little flowers printed all over it.
“It smells good, Quinnie,” I say, trying not to let my eyes linger too long on her bare legs since Allie’s watching me from where she’s chopping up vegetables at the counter.
Quinn peers over her shoulder at me with a small smile. “It’s nothing fancy, but it used to be your favorite.”
I peek at the red sauce and spaghetti sitting on the stove and grin like an idiot. “It’s still my favorite.”
“Long day?” Allie asks, nose wrinkling at the dirt caked on my jeans as I move to the sink to clean up a bit.
“Always, but the calves we had to tag today had some real bitches for mothers.”
Quinn smirks at me. “Aw, such good mamas. They don’t want you hurting their babies.”
“God forbid we want to make sure they’re all traceable and get the vaccines they need.”
