"Mm." He doesn't move from his post. "You going to tell me what it was about, or do I get to hear it from your grandmother?"
"It's a potential investment. I'm still working out the details."
"With the winery." Wade doesn't phrase it as a question.
"That's right."
He holds my look for a beat, and then one corner of his mouth twitches in what might be the closest thing to amusement Wade Faulkner has ever displayed. "You know, I once drove forty miles out of my way to buy a saddle I didn't need because the woman selling it had green eyes and a pretty smile."
I let that one sail right past me like I didn't hear it.
"Turned out to be a damn fine saddle, though." Wade pushes off the fence rail, and then he pauses, and the twitch at the corner of his mouth spreads into something I can only describe as a real grin. On Wade, it’s about as common as snow in July. "Oh, I almost forgot. Your sister stopped by while you were gone. She left something for you."
Every instinct I have goes on full alert. Rachel's surprises have a long and colorful history. Starting with the time she signed me up for a charity bachelor auction in high school without telling me, and ending with the goat she put in my bedroom as payback for telling Gran she'd snuck out to a party.That damned goat ate my pillow and half my bedspread, and shit all over the floor before I found it.
"She left something for me," I repeat carefully.
Wade's grin widens. He jerks his chin toward a spot past the barns, out near the back paddock. "Why don't you go take a look."
"Wade, what did my sister leave at my ranch?" I don't bother hiding the alarm in my voice.
"I think it’s something a man ought to see for himself." He turns for the barn, boots crunching over the gravel. He’s gone before I can press him, which tells me he’s enjoying this. That should worry me.
I head past the barn with the same caution I’d use on a stallion in a bad mood. The late afternoon sun throws long shadows across the paddock, and the horses in the near pasture lift their heads as I pass, tracking me like they know something’s off.
I round the corner of the far barn and stop short. "Son of a bitch."
A freshly built duck coop sits in the grass beside the back paddock, complete with a small shelter, a water trough, and a stretch of temporary wire fencing that marks out a neat little yard. Inside, six ducks mill around the trough like they’ve already claimed the place. One of them looks up and lets out an indignant quack, like I’m the intruder.
I pull out my phone and call my sister.
Rachel answers on the first ring, already laughing. She doesn't even bother with hello. "Before you say anything?—"
"Rachel Marie Freeman, why are there ducks on my property?"
She laughs harder. I can hear Mason in the background saying something that sounds likeI told you he'd call.
"They needed a home, Charlie."
"They needed a—" I pinch the bridge of my nose and watch one of the ducks try to climb out of the water trough, fail spectacularly, and tumble sideways into the grass. "What the hell, Rach?"
"Evie had her heart set on having chickens and ducks." Rachel's voice carries the particular glee of a woman who has just offloaded her disaster onto someone else. "Mason was fine with the chickens, but he drew the line at the ducks. He said they're messy and loud and they'll terrorize the barn cats."
"And your answer was to bring them to me? You're gonna pay for this one, Sis."
"I found them a loving home with plenty of space and a brother who owes me for dragging him to a winery where he met a certain blonde winemaker." She pauses for effect. "Take good care of them, Charlie. Give them a real home. Evie is going to visit, and if those ducks aren't happy and thriving, you will answer to a very upset three-year-old."
"You can't just dump livestock on someone's ranch while they're out," I choke out.
"I absolutely can, and I did. Their names are Gerald, Karen, Wadsworth, Biscuit, Dolly, and the mean one is Kevin." She says this like she's reading off a list, which she probably is. "Evie named them. Don't you dare change the names."
I stare at the ducks. Kevin, if I had to guess, is the one currently mouthing off at me.
"Rachel—"
"Love you, bye!" The line goes dead.
I stand there in the late afternoon light with my phone in my hand and six ducks staring at me like they're waiting for a formal welcome. Kevin hasn't stopped quacking.
