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“His name is Maurice,” I eventually admitted, which only made matters worse.

“You told me you didn't have a donkey.”

“I don't. He lives here, which isn't the same thing.”

Apparently Ash found that distinction hilarious.

The moment Maurice saw me, he started pacing along the fence, following my progress while Ash wandered closer and attempted to attract his attention. Maurice sniffed Ash's offered fingers for perhaps three seconds before dismissing him and returning his attention to me.

Ash folded his arms across the top rail. “He doesn't seem particularly interested in me.”

“He isn't interested in me either. He wants food.”

“Does he have food?”

“He has hay, pasture, and a deeply unreasonable belief that he's starving.”

Ash watched Maurice continue to follow me along the fence before asking whether I happened to have carrots.

I should've lied.

Instead, I stopped, reached into the outside pocket of my bag and pulled out the carrots I'd asked to have left in the SUV before we arrived.

Ash didn't say anything.

He didn't need to.

“This proves nothing.”

“I haven't said a word.”

“You're thinking very loudly.”

Maurice nearly climbed over the fence when I returned, and I told Ash not to encourage him while handing over the first carrot, and explained the donkey had been neglected before he came here and consequently possessed no concept of reasonable boundaries, which was the only reason I tolerated his behavior.

Ash's amusement softened immediately. “Neglected how?”

I wished I'd kept my mouth shut, but there wasn't much point avoiding the question now. “His owner died about four years ago, and when people went in to deal with the estate, they found him in a dirt enclosure behind one of the barns. His hooves were a mess, he was underweight, and nobody knew how long he'd been living like that.”

Ash reached carefully toward Maurice, letting him sniff his fingers before touching his nose. “So you rescued him.”

“The horse rescue didn't have room, and somebody needed to take him.”

“Of course they did.”

There was something suspiciously knowing in his voice, and I narrowed my eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

I was rapidly beginning to dislike the way Ash said nothing.

Before I could demand an explanation, the back door of the farmhouse opened and Claire Beaulieu came down the steps, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

“Maxim!”

I barely had time to put down the carrots before she reached me.

Claire was sixty-three, barely five feet tall, and completely unimpressed by either professional hockey players or dragons. She wrapped her arms around me and kissed both my cheeks before stepping back to examine me with the same critical expression she'd been using since the first summer I owned the farm.