Chapter 40
MAGGIE
I'm halfway to the house before I remember the state of the porch. There's laundry strung across it — mainly work shirts, underwear and old towels. It's fine. It's how the porch always looks, but Richard Archer is a distinguished man and I don't want him sitting next to my underwear.
"Actually," I say, turning back, "why don't I bring the coffee around to the bench at the back? It's cooler under the oak this time of morning."
I head inside and take a deep breath while I start making coffee. Get a grip, Maggie. Two days I've spent telling myself it was a mistake and a thing that wouldn't happen again, and one glance over the roof of a car has undone all of it. I want her and that's not an option.
Sloane looks beautiful as always and it's clear she's been back to her old life. Her hair is shiny and straightened and her skin is glowing. But she's also wearing work clothes, and the combination of the salon hair and the farm clothes is incredibly sexy.
While the coffee brews I set out a tray with mugs, sugar and milk.
I want to offer Richard something more than just a cup of coffee.
He drove four hours, spent the night in that terrible motel, and bought my pigs a bath and my donkey a sack of apples.
There's almost nothing in the house — just a packet of oat cookies, so they'll have to do.
I fan them out on a plate like that makes them fancier, pour the coffee and load everything onto the tray.
Sloane and her father are at the back with Hank.
Richard is holding the apple out flat on his palm and Hank takes it whole, crunching away, while Sloane fusses over him. Hank has his ears soft and his eyes half-closed. He's letting a complete stranger feed him by hand because Sloane is telling him it's safe.
I stop to take in the sight, and Richard is watching Sloane too with something between disbelief and tenderness.
I clear my throat and bring the tray to the bench, then pull in a folding chair for myself.
"Coffee," I say. "Please, sit."
"You're very kind." Richard sits on Mom's barrel bench and takes a cup like it's bone china rather than a chipped mug that says CRAZY GOAT LADY. "Thank you, Maggie."
Hank joins us and the goats come trotting across the paddock in a loose delegation — Beyoncé first climbing onto her half-barrel, then Derek, then the others — and line up to assess Richard.
"Ah." Richard's face lights up. "These must be the troublemakers. Sloane told me about the goats." He looks around the paddock. "So they just roam freely?"
"Absolutely. They've all been rescued and they deserve as much freedom as I can afford to give them."
Derek chooses this moment to rear up and headbutt Beyoncé off the half-barrel, and Beyoncé retaliates. Within seconds the others have joined in — Patsy bleating at full volume, Lorraine charging in circles for no reason, two others bouncing sideways with all four feet off the ground.
Richard — a man who I would guess has not knowingly been within fifty feet of a farm animal since a childhood petting zoo — laughs, the cup wobbling in his hand.
"Incredible," he says. "Just incredible.
" He wipes his eyes. "I ordered them some climbing things, by the way.
At the same place we got the bath, while Sloane was picking it out.
Wouldn't fit in the car, so they're getting delivered this afternoon.
Platforms, ramps — whatever it is goats like to climb on.
I'll be honest, I have no idea what exactly. "
Sloane turns to her father. "You bought the goats a playground?"
"I bought the goats some apparatus," Richard says with dignity. "Apparently they enjoy elevation."
"Richard, that's — you really don't have to do all this," I say. "It's too much."
He waves it off. "I give a great deal to charity every year, Maggie, and most of it disappears into accounts I never see the end of." He takes a sip of his coffee. "What you've built here is impressive and I'm even more impressed by the work ethic you've managed to instill in my daughter."
"Dad," Sloane says, rolling her eyes.
"It's true. You're welcome to be embarrassed about it." Richard suddenly goes still, staring past me toward the back of the paddock. "Maggie," he says. "What in God's name is that?"
I follow his gaze. Thelma and Louise have come around the side of the barn and are making their way over to investigate the commotion, necks high, walking with the strange prehistoric gait that still makes me do a double take some mornings.
"Those are the emus."
"Yes, I can see that." He sets his cup down. "You have emus."
Louise breaks into a sudden run, and Richard watches a six-foot flightless bird sprint across a paddock. He laughs again, and I'm thinking this might be the strangest morning since Sloane's first day.
We sit and make small talk while Richard watches the animals. He's completely out of place here but he's also having, as far as I can tell, a lovely time. Eventually he checks his watch and sets the cup down.
"Thank you for the coffee, Maggie. I should probably make a move.
It's a long drive and I have a meeting later today.
" He stands, brushes a single speck of nothing off his chinos, and looks at Sloane.
"Although — I confess I'm curious. Perhaps Princess Pigpen might introduce me to the pigs before I go? "
Sloane snorts. "Don't call me that."
"Everyone else does."
She sighs but there's a humorous smile around her lips. "Why don't I give you the full tour? Pigs, chickens, horses, the lot."
I stand and gather the cups onto the tray. "I'll take this inside so Hank doesn't steal the sugar cubes, but I'll come and see you off before you go, Richard. And please get your father some eggs to take home, Sloane."
"Fresh eggs?" Richard says. "That's very kind."
"Sloane can box them up for you on the tour," I say. "She collects them herself now."
"Do you?" He looks at her.
"Every morning." There's a note of pride in it she doesn't bother to hide, and Richard hears it too.
I watch it land on him and smile. I'm not really ready for him to go. As long as Richard's here, there's a buffer between Sloane and me, and I'm nervous about being alone with her. I hope Luis turns up soon.