He eats with happy grunts and snuffles, and I smile gleefully with my hands on my hips.
Wes passes me a shovel over the gate and parks a dirty wheelbarrow next to the stall. “You good to get your own hay? Tripp’s tacking up the horses so we can go check for new calves.”
I nod, taking the shovel and brushing dirt off my hands. “I’ve got it. I might check in on Pops later this afternoon, so call me if you need anything.”
“Sawyer is making supper at our place. If you want to swing by later, you’re welcome,” he says, wiping sweat off his forehead with the tail of his shirt.
“Okay, I’ll see where I’m at once I finish with Pops.” I heave a shovelful of muck into the wheelbarrow. “See you later.”
He waves and stomps out of the barn.
Once I finish mucking out Winston’s stall and putting away the supplies, I grab some gloves and decide the flower garden that was Grams’ pride and joy looks like it could use a good weeding.
It’s not exactly warm, but after mucking, the sun and physical labor have me overheating. I pull off my sweatshirt and toss it on the grass to kneel on while I pull weeds. It’s only March, but we’re in what locals call fool’s spring—warm days that make you think spring has arrived, only for it to turn cold and possibly snowy again.
The sound of horses pulls my attention to the stable where Tripp and Wes are mounted. Wes’ horse, Luci, trots off toward the pasture, but Tripp pulls June to a stop in front of me. He lifts his hat in greeting.
“Hey,” I say, squinting at the sun’s glare.
“Hey yourself.”
I look up at Tripp astride the horse with a Stetson on his head and the sleeves of his western shirt rolled to his elbows, revealing thick, muscled forearms etched with tattoos. My eyes flick over the dark lines on his tanned skin—and I catch him glancing down at me at the same time, his gaze lingering.
“How’s Winnie the pig?” he asks, pulling me from my appraisal.
“He’s good. I think he’d be more comfortable in a pen out here,” I say, pointing to the stretch of lawn under the apple trees, buds decorating the limbs. “I’ll need to fence it, build a little shelter, maybe add a shallow pool for him to wallow in.”
Tripp nods. “You planning on doing all that yourself?”
I shrug. “Unless you’ve got a trick up your sleeve on how to get Wes to do it all for me.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. Get Sawyer to ask him.”
I wrinkle my nose. "I’m not asking Sawyer for any more favors. I still owe her for transporting Winston."
“Just name the day, and I’ll help you put the pen together.”
“You don’t need to.”
He rolls his eyes and squints down at me. “Shut up, Quinnie. I’m not letting you do it all by yourself, and Wes has a full plate right now. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to help.”
I pull a face. “I’ll consider it.”
Tripp snorts as he glances to where Wes is riding in the distance. “I don’t have time to argue with you right now. Wes is gonna be pissy if I lag.”
I laugh. “My brother’s always pissy about something.”
“Don’t I know it. We’ll finish this talk later... or I’ll just show up and build you a pen in the middle of the night.”
“Don’t you dare.”
He chuckles. “See you later, Quinnie.”
I offer him a smile and a lame wave and then get to work trimming the overgrown plants and bushes before I pull the weeds.
It’s a relaxing task—mindless in a way I’ve needed. It helps clear my head and think about what’s next.
Pops is stuck in the nursing home for a couple of weeks. Once he’s home, I’ll be tied to wherever he is until he gets stronger. Then I’ll have to start looking for another job.
