20. Chapter 20 – Lucy
H olding class at the Madrone Acres Farm was my idea, but I already regretted the field trip. Working around live animals was unpredictable. Working around Gran, doubly so.
Clay brought the tables and chairs in his truck, and with Mark Ritter’s help, we set up in the barn. The earthy smell of manure and hay provided an aromatic backdrop to go along with the rustic wood building. Thankfully, it was well-lit, large fluorescent lights hanging above the main space.
Mark had set up temporary pens for a mama pig and her piglets.
The alpaca, George, munched in one corner, tied off to a stall.
He eyed me balefully, and I kept my distance.
Maybe alpacas didn’t have the reputation that llamas did, but they still spit.
I was hoping for a drool-free farm experience.
A much smaller cage held Smoky, the rabbit.
A gray and white barn cat twined around my ankles, and Mark had promised to bring out his German shepherd, Butter, when the kids arrived.
Our grade school class was thrilled by the animals. They were more interested in petting and cooing over our subjects than drawing them.
Ali, a chubby little third-grader, seemed particularly smitten with the rabbit. “Can I hold her?” She turned pleading brown eyes Clay’s way, and I watched him melt into a puddle in the face of her request. He carefully extracted Smoky, the bunny, from her cage and placed her gently in Ali’s arms.
“She’s so sof.” Ali stroked the bunny, nuzzling her button nose into its fur.
Clay looked on indulgently. I shook my head, guessing what would happen next.
“I want to hold the bunny!”
“Me too!”
“Me three!”
There was a rush on Clay and Smoky, the rest of our students eager for their turn to hold the rabbit. Smoky’s nose grew increasingly twitchy, overstimulated by all the small hands touching her fur.
D’Andre was holding Smoky when his expression turned to one of revulsion. “She pooped on me.”
“It’s okay, D’Andre. Let’s put her back in her cage. She probably needs some privacy.” Clay took the rabbit from his arms. The little boy held out his hands, disgust in every twist of his features. “You’ll be okay. Let’s go to the sink, and you can wash up.”
A few minutes of vigorous scrubbing later and D’Andre returned to his table.
Clay looked relieved when our young charges boarded the bus, and I couldn’t blame him. The chaos of the animals and our students meant we didn’t get nearly as many finished projects as usual.
The high schoolers were more nonchalant about their live subjects, their interest in the petting zoo fading in favor of something more familiar – each other.
They sketched away at their drawings, half-heartedly watching the animals while their real focus shifted to the kind of teenage drama that had nothing to do with goats or rabbits.
Gangly sandy-haired Cooper leaned in close to Nessa, nudging her with his elbow, his voice low as he whispered something just for her.
She giggled, tucking a strand of dark hair behind one year, her lashes sweeping down before flicking back up in that deliberate, practiced way all teenage girls seemed to master without trying.
Nessa swayed closer to Cooper—they were more interested in each other than their sketch pads. Maybe they were just as interested in petting after all. Just not the innocent kind that involved fuzzy animals.
“The hormones in here are getting to me,” Clay mumbled in my ear.
I grinned, trying to mimic Nessa’s lash-sweeping maneuver. It hadn’t escaped my notice that he’d been admiring my backside a few minutes ago while I’d been helping Lilla with her drawing of the alpaca, George. “Are you sure those aren’t just your hormones?”
He settled an arm around my shoulders, at once familiar and new. I snuggled closer. Even a few weeks ago, my first instinct would have been to stiffen. To pull away. But Clay had charmed me as surely as he charmed everyone else.
We finished class with the older kids and sent them on their way before welcoming the seniors to the barn.
They arrived in small groups, much like the first night of class.
Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, but that might have had something to do with it being Mr. Blacksmith’s turn to bring drinks.
After Gran Fenwick’s impromptu wine tasting at their first session, they’d divvied up classes and assigned volunteers to furnish booze.
Edwin Blacksmith ran a small gin distillery near Roche Harbor, and he treated his liquor like an art, which I could appreciate, even if I wasn’t a gin girl.
He'd brought his own tasting table. While I respected the commitment, enough classmates were tipsy that Clay and I would need to give half the class rides home.
Gran Fenwick had found a kindred spirit in George, settling down near the alpaca with a tiny snifter of gin. She sketched studiously, and I was a little afraid to interrupt her. But a quiet Gran was probably a scheming Gran.
“Everything okay over here?” I asked.
“Yep. Just trying to get this right.”
I peeked over her shoulder. And wished I didn’t. She’d drawn George. Sort-of. If George were a minotaur. The very human head was disturbing. And familiar.
I choked out, “Is that … Mr. Reyes?”
“Yep.” Gran nodded serenely.
She’d done a good job with his likeness, which only added to the surreal effect. George’s fluffy alpaca body, with Ollie Reyes’s jowly but still-handsome features. And a very human-looking appendage. Welp. I knew where Gran stood on the internet-old question of minotaur peen.
Loud and proud, a very erect member jutted from the minotaur-alpaca’s front legs.
I coughed. My airway still felt tight. Obstructed. Maybe it was secondhand embarrassment for Mr. Reyes. If he got a look at Gran’s drawing before he finished for the night and decided to retaliate, I might end up with another senior in Chaz Underwood’s naughty corner.
I eyed Edwin’s gin table. How bad would it be if I drowned my sorrows and Clay had to cart me home too?
I caught his gaze across the room. Something in my expression must have warned him.
He sidled over, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
Wordlessly, I gestured to Gran’s drawing.
He choked off a laugh. I pinched him below the ribs.
“Has Mr. Reyes seen this?” I whispered, too low for Gran to hear. “Too many more of these, and Chaz is going to need a bigger curtain.”
Clay’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, and I glared. Sure. It was funny to him. But both our names were going to be on the program for the charity event. Did he really want his name associated with lifelike minotaur porn?
Pride warred with dismay. Gran had turned into a damn fine artist over the last few weeks. If she’d been a worse student, Mr. Reyes wouldn’t be quite so recognizable.
“Be right back,” Clay said.
I watched him make a beeline for the gin table, pause, and continue on to Shirley’s workstation, as if he too had considered fortification and thought better of it. Unless we rubbed the gin in our eyeballs, there was no unseeing what Gran had drawn.
He said something to Ollie, then caught my gaze, shaking his head subtly.
Thank goodness . Now we only had to wait for Ollie Reyes to catch wind of Gran’s depiction of him and watch the fireworks.
Was it wrong to hope he’d get huffy enough to accidentally destroy her artwork?
One tipped cup or well-placed match was all it’d take…
I held my breath as class wound down for the night, keeping an eagle eye on Gran.
Luckily, she seemed just as intent on hiding her artwork from her elderly nemesis as I was in avoiding drama, waiting until he’d dropped his project on our finished works table before sliding hers beneath one of the drawings from earlier in the night.
After making sure everyone who’d over-imbibed had a designated driver, Clay and I thanked Mark and his wife, Leah Ritter, for the use of her barn and animals, and carefully stowed the artwork in Clay’s truck.
“I can’t wait to see Chaz’s face when we deliver these.” Clay’s eyes danced. A broad grin stretched his features, including me in his good humor.
“ What’s New, Friday Harbor is going to be buzzing after this show,” I warned.
“Thankfully, we’re a long way from my brass in D.C.”
“Yes, but we live here .”
He chuckled. “Where’s my give-no-fucks Lucifer? Gran’s just cementing her legacy as a local legend.”
“I know, I know. Art is about expression. Some people like tea; others like coffee. But not that many people are into minotaur peen.” I winced. “Especially with a face they’re used to seeing at the grocery store. I do not want to be thinking about Ollie Reyes’s junk.”
“Relax, Luce. It’ll be fine.”
“Remember this when I say ‘I told you so’ later,” I groused.
Maybe he was right. It wasn’t like I had a sterling reputation on the island to begin with. I was a relative newcomer. No one would really expect me to be able to control Gran. She was a force of nature.
Clay squeezed my hand. “Can I talk you into coming back to my place tonight?”
“What did you have in mind to convince me?” Like I hadn’t already packed a bag to stay over and tucked it into my trunk.
“We can play another round of guess the mole message.”
“Is that just an excuse to get me naked?”
“Absolutely.”
I lifted one shoulder, pretending like my heart didn’t beat faster every time I thought about exploring his body again.
“I suppose.”
Clay’s lip twitched, his expression turning sardonic. “Lucifer, you always play hard to get, but I like it. Ma—”
“Shh…” I held a finger over his lips. “I can’t take you seriously when you’re proposing.”
“How do you know that’s what I was going to say?”
I fixed him with an unwavering stare. His shoulders rose to his ears in a casual shrug.
“Maybe my next words were going to be ‘make love to me.’ You don’t know.”