Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Hank
“Daddy, Daddy, you gotta wake up. I missed you.”
Through the fog of sleep, it gradually seeped into my brain that I was not at home.
I was in Jasper’s bed, and he was apparently up and raring to go.
Sunlight streamed into the bedroom. My bedroom had a boring comforter that I picked up from Walmart back in high school.
I’d put exactly zero thought into it except for the size, and I even managed to screw that up.
This room was nothing like mine. The walls were painted sage green with creamy white furniture.
It could’ve looked girly, but the polished wood furniture was masculine.
The art on the wall was mostly landscapes of the Hill Country.
There was no mistaking the limestone bluffs along the Frio, or the abstract renderings of Lost Maples and Enchanted Rock.
I liked that he skipped the bluebonnets.
Damn, Jasper had talent for putting this stuff together. Bert would lose his shit with it.
“What time is it?”
“You slept super-duper late, Daddy. It’s after seven. I’ve been up for hours and hours.”
Jasper was ready to take on the day. My brain was still trying to remember what my name was.
“Seven a.m. is very early.”
“Really? ’Cause I see you come outside sooooo much earlier.”
“Spyin’ on me, sugar?”
“You’re silly. I drink my tea on the front porch every single morning. I like to watch you in the fields.”
“Pastures.”
“Pastures, fields—same difference, Daddy.”
“That sounds an awful lot like a spy.” It was entirely too early to explain the massive difference between them. Fields grew. Pastures raised.
“Noooo,” he said with a cheeky laugh, “I gotta watch ’cause what if you fall and hurt yourself.”
“Fall off the ATV?”
“It could happen. Then you’d be sad and dirty and scared.”
“I’m pretty sure I’d be more mad than scared, sugar.” This conversation was too much in the morning. It didn’t matter that I’d been getting up before five-thirty my whole life. Still fucking hated it. I was born to be a night owl and destined to be an early riser.
“If you say so, Daddy.” His sing-song tone was sparkly and twinkling and…grating?
I groaned into my pillow. “Are you always so, uh, cheerful in the morning? It’s just early.” My intended tone was conversational, but I missed that mark by a wide mile.
All that sunshiny happiness that had burst into the room dulled very quickly at my words.
Goddammit, I should’ve kept my fucking mouth shut.
Where Jasper had been tugging at my hand as it lay across the bed, he immediately let go and scooted back.
I felt the loss of his touch in a way I didn’t even know how to describe.
The loss was sharper than it had any right to be.
“I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget that not everyone’s a morning person.” Jasper’s voice was halting and jerky, forced. A moment ago, he’d been in his happy-go-lucky little space, and the abrupt departure from that was entirely on me.
I was an absolute asshole in the morning.
“Sugar, come back, please.” I waggled my fingers at him, enticing him across the bed like I was trying to coax in a skittish colt. His hesitancy made me want to kick my own ass. “I’m sorry, Daddy is growly in the morning.”
“You kinda are, Daddy. It’s not nice.”
“You’re right, and I’m sorry. I’ll try and do better.”
At my apology, Jasper sat back on his haunches. His expression was thoughtful as he calmly contemplated me. I held my breath while I watched emotions play across his face. After a few beats, Jasper gave a decisive nod and pounced on me with a snuggly hug.
Thank god. I wrapped my arms and legs around him. He was imprisoned in my clutches. He didn’t seem to mind too much since his giggles spilled out around the room.
“And you are absolutely right to wake me up, sugar. If it’s seven o’clock, then I’ve got animals who’d very much like to be fed this morning.”
“If you want, I can help. I gotta feed my goat-a-roonies.”
“You want to help?” Jasper was enamored with his small herd of goats, but he hadn’t shown a lot of interest in my animals. This might have been the first time he mentioned them.
“Yeah, but I allowed?”
“Why wouldn’t you be allowed?”
“’Cause they special.”
“Special?”
“Yeah, Daddy. They’re the extra-special ones, Daddy. The kind for labs and schools and stuff.” I craned my neck back to look at him properly. He hadn’t dropped back into the little space that I’d jerked him out of. Jasper continued, “I look at ’em, but I know I gotta stay away.”
“Sweetheart, is that why you’ve never asked about them?”
“Yeah. You said not yours,” Jasper agreed with an earnest nod. “’Member? You told me.”
“When you brought me the coffee?” Jasper nodded in agreement. “I do remember saying something about them not being mine, but I’ll introduce them to you if you want. A couple are ornery, but there are a few sweethearts too.”
“Daddy might think the goat-a-roonies are the cutest goats in the world, but I think these are the cutest sheep I’ve ever seen. Look at that face. She’s so pretty.”
Jasper had spotted the gray-and-white sheep with his face sandwiched between his hands.
His delighted giggles teased the edges of my heart.
The old saying about can’t miss what you never had was manifesting in front of me.
Now that I’d experienced the pure joy that Jasper leaned into, there’s no way I could return to my previous stark existence.
Jasper had plopped right down in the grass the second I brought him into the pen with the Babydoll Sheep.
They wasted no time investigating the intruder.
Within minutes, they were climbing all over him, nuzzling his cheek and hair, and taking little nibbles at his clothes.
They liked the strings of his cutoffs and the edges of his crop top.
It was hard to be sad for him as he battled to keep them from it because I loved the snatches of skin I got to see.
“These are Babydolls,” I explained. “They don’t grow very big. Vineyards use them to keep the weeds down without chemicals. Their poop makes pretty decent fertilizer for the grapes too.”
“Are they always this friendly?”
“Ideally, yeah. Vineyards need animals that are safe to work around—and tour groups come through, so you don’t want anything that’ll freak out a guest.”
“Are you holding them for a zoo, Daddy?”
“No. They’re working on generational bloodlines.
Babydolls are popular with non-ranching folks, but the shearing is problematic.
You don’t want someone inexperienced doing it, so the breeders are trying to create lines that either don’t need it or shed like a dog.
Easier for folks without shearing skills. ”
“So cool. Do you get to play with them?”
“I could. Honestly, I usually don’t.”
“Do you think I could?”
“As long as I’m with you, yes. They’re not mine, so you have to be supervised.” I winked. “Not that I mind an excuse to get you out here with me.”
Jasper laughed softly, but he was already busy nuzzling little faces, petting ears, and scratching bellies.
The sheep ate it up. Watching them, I realized I probably ought to spend more time socializing them.
It wasn’t my job, exactly, but they clearly loved the attention.
Hell, maybe I needed to spend a little more time socializing myself while I was at it.
While Jasper entertained the Babydolls, I switched out their hay and cleaned up the stalls. When we were done, I asked, “Ready to go to the next one?”
Jasper scrambled to his feet, slipped his hand in mine, and followed me to the gate.
“Who we gonna see next, Daddy?”
We headed toward the Watusi enclosure. Unlike the Babydolls, these were behind triple fencing, but I allowed Jasper to come close.
“Oh my goodness, look at ’em, Daddy! They’re the biggest things I’ve ever seen!” Jasper danced beside me, eyes wide.
I let him marvel for a minute. The horns really were impressive—massive cooling vessels as much as weapons. Science was something else.
“Just remember,” I said, stopping him with a look, “you never come near this part without me. Got it?”
He nodded, serious. “No petting the Watusi.”
Good thing, too, because that was the moment Hoss wandered up.
Hoss was part of the heritage herd, but no one had told him he was supposed to be wild. He was worse than a dog for scratches—pressing against the fence until you gave in, refusing a treat unless it was hand-fed. I sometimes wondered if I could teach him to shake hooves.
“Daddy, why’s he coming for us?”
“That big guy’s Hoss. He missed the memo about being wild.”
“He’s a puppy!” Jasper giggled as Hoss wiggled and rubbed along the fence line.
“That’s exactly what he thinks he is—a damn dog waiting for his treats.
” I might’ve sounded exasperated, but the truth was, Hoss was one of my favorites.
He reminded me of Ferdinand, the Spanish bull from the storybook, who didn’t want to fight.
Hoss didn’t want to be wild. He just wanted to be somebody’s pet.
The only animal that belonged to me was Mac, but when they moved this heritage herd, Hoss included, I’d miss the pain in the ass.
“Here,” I said, guiding Jasper between the fence lines, “you can get a little closer, but only with me. Got it?”
“Got it, got it.”
I grabbed a small pail of feed and crouched by the fence. Hoss pressed up, ready for his scratches. “He likes being patted on his haunches, but don’t ever stand directly behind him. Always angle off—if he kicks, you’ll be out of the way.”
“You got gotten?”