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He turned to greet me, a smile on his handsome face. Dark scruff covered his chin, and I got a nice visual of how that would feel between my legs. Mentally shaking my head, I focused on not being a weirdo.

“One of these guys are limping but the rest of them seem determined to keep me away from him.”

I laughed and let myself into the pen. Goats were very sneaky that way. Peter distracted the other goats while I cornered the one who was limping. He was a beautiful brown goat who was quite spirited. He seemed blissfully unaware that anything was wrong with his leg.

“Can you hold him so I can get a closer look?” I asked Peter.

He easily picked up the goat, cradling the animal in his strong arms. I inspected the goat’s foot carefully, immediately finding the problem.

“He has a sore on the bottom of his foot,” I told Peter. “Probably from slipping on the snow. We should wrap it up and put some antibiotics on it, just to be safe. Is there any place you can isolate him for a while?”

“Yeah, we can pen him up in the barn.”

“Great, let’s go.”

Something hit me right in the ass, sending me flying into Peter. He was still holding the goat, who got squished between us as I grabbed Peter’s shoulders for balance.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “One of these jokers goosed me.”

The corner of Peter’s mouth quirked up.

“Are you sure that wasn’t just an excuse to get closer to me?” he teased.

I couldn’t say what possessed me, but I stood on my tiptoes and nipped at his earlobe with my teeth.

“Oh, I don’t need a goat as a wingman,” I told him. “I’ve got my own moves.”

I was lying. I literally had zero moves.

“Well, I look forward to seeing those later,” he replied with a wink.

I loved this easy teasing between us. Normally I was a pretty serious person, and I already knew Peter well enough to know that he was the same way. Even with his parents, he was pretty reserved. But somehow we seemed to bring the whimsy out in each other. I didn’t mind that a bit.

Peter and I worked together to take care of all the animals. Between the cattle, the goats, a pack of feral cats, and the chickens, they had quite the menagerie here at the Double J Ranch. I was surprised they didn’t have any dogs though. Every ranch I’d ever been to had dogs. I was a sucker for a dog.

“Hey, how come you don’t have any dogs here?” I asked curiously as we worked together to make soup and sandwiches in his kitchen for lunch.

My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since the night before.

“I had a dog when I was younger,” Peter said. “His name was Bagel. I got him when I was five. He was my best friend. Well, after Allen.”

His face turned sad. “When I was eight, he was chasing something, a rabbit or somethin’, through the wheat field and he ran right out in front of my father’s tractor. I tried to call out to my dad, but he couldn’t hear me over the noise of the tractor. He ran right over Bagel.”

I gasped, imagining the terrible scene. “Oh no.”

He nodded sadly. “I couldn’t bear to have another dog after seeing my little friend have such a gruesome death.”

This story shed more light on why the man had a cow for a pet now.

I wrapped my arms around Peter’s waist, pulling him in for a hug. Normally I wasn’t a hugger, but with the Jeffers family, it seemed kind of natural. My head lowered to his shoulder, and I inhaled the scent of fresh air, cow manure, and something that was uniquely Peter. We stood there for a few minutes, silently embracing, until Peter pulled away, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Sorry to unload all that on you,” he said, turning to dish out the soup into bowls.

“Oh please, you heard my long sad tale about foster care,” I reminded him. “Now we’ll have a bond from sharing our childhood traumas.”

“I hope that won’t be the only bond we have.”

Peter