“Fuck you.”
Dylan wouldsohave fucked Joe for real if the opportunity had ever arisen, but there was more chance of him turning vegan than coming around to Dylan and Angelo’s way of life.
Sighing, Dylan rolled onto his back. “I’m pretty much sick of handling raw meat products, but I think tomorrow’s dinner is going to be epic... if you like fruitcake in your stuffing.”
“Say what?”
“Ask Angelo. He’s gone crazy Italian mama on me.”
Joe chuckled and set his plate aside, then he stood and drifted to the window, surveying his ramshackle kingdom. “Did the donkeys get done?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Yes.”
“What the fuck for?”
“Because you always know what everyone’s doing, even if you don’t know why they’re doing it.”
Dylan sat up. “That’s not true.”
“Uh-huh. Where’s Harry?”
“Mucking out the stalls.”
“George?”
“Measuring out the feeds for tomorrow so you don’t have to.”
“Emma?”
“Wrestling that mad, black beast you call a horse in the top field.”
Joe’s grin widened, though he still wasn’t looking at Dylan. “What about Lacey and her mate from uni? I know they didn’t rock up until late—”
“They didn’t stay,” Dylan cut in. “Lacey was hungover, so she called Toby instead. He’s with the donkeys, Angelo’s at the clinic, and Rhys and Jevon, in case you were wondering, are still in bed... hanging too, I reckon, unless they’re freaking out because Jevon saw my dick, which is too bad if they are, because they’re next on my breakfast route.”
Laughter burst from Joe, deep and warm. He turned away from the window and flicked a stray bread crust at Dylan’s head. “See? You’ve got that shit covered.”
“What shit?”
“Keeping tabs on everyone... on the details that matter. You can’t help yourself, and I wish I’d had you around years ago when I first came back here to run the farm. I’d have saved myself a lot of aggro if I’d had someone who knew one end of the business from the other.”
“I don’t know anything about running stables, Joe. I barely know one end of ahorsefrom the other.”
“Not about the nags, though, is it? It’s about the money—everything is—and there’s loads of farmers around here who need help with that.”
“If this is your roundabout way of suggesting I go into farmyard financials, don’t bother. I’ve already halfway thought about it, but I don’t think it would work.”
Joe came back to the bed and sat down. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t know enough about farming to offer workable advice. Domestic finances are easy—I know exactly what’s going to happen if someone doesn’t pay their gas bill or their mortgage. It’s different for businesses, particularly agricultural ones, and I don’t have the knowledge to be truly helpful to anyone.”
Dylan figured Joe would understand, but the challenge in his eyes remained.
He pulled a notebook from a drawer and scribbled something in it. “That’s Emma’s number if you can’t catch her in the yard. She’s got the knowledge you need but not the tools to distribute it. Maybe you can help each other.”
Dylan took the number without comment and left Joe to his forced morning off. The idea had legs—serious legs—and a glimmer of hopeful enthusiasm carried him downstairs, merging with the vague Truro-based idea he’d been floating to himself since his afternoon with Rhys and Harry.
