Chapter 6
Six
Most visitors to the barn looked at twenty-pound dogs and thought they were well on their way to full grown. They forgot that these Newfoundlands were barely puppies, complete with wiggling tails, squirming bodies, and heaps of energy.
Cretia seemed to have no such misconception.
Finn put his hands on his hips as he watched her play with them, her scratches teasing and joyful. There was no surprise and less fear in her expression, her eyes alight with laughter. And the puppies responded in kind, happy yips filling the yard.
“Ow!” she said, pulling back from Paul and giving him a soft glare and a contradictory belly rub.
“Sorry. They’re still a little bitey—new teeth and all.”
She looked at the side of her hand and laughed. “I noticed. But thanks for the warning.” Her smile returned in a flash, her attention back on the dogs. As she flipped her mass of dark waves over her shoulder, his stomach took a similar spin, and he nearly choked on his own tongue. His heart slammed into his ribs. Then again for good measure.
Sweet cinnamon rolls, she was beautiful.
It wasn’t just the way the sun made her black hair glow like obsidian or the deep tan of her skin or the pert line of her nose. It was all of those things and the slightly crooked front teeth in her smile. And the light in her eyes. And the dimple in her left cheek. And the joy in her laughter.
No wonder people watched videos of her exploring the world.
She was literally in his backyard, and he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her any more than the puppies could stay away or Joe Jr. could leave her side.
Finn squinted at the older dog, who lay along her leg, his chin resting on her knee and his eyes closed. Joe didn’t sit calmly beside anyone for very long. Even Finn. But five minutes in, he hadn’t moved a muscle, despite the Fab Four nipping at his ears and tail.
“Are you just going to stare at us, or are you going to join in?”
The tips of his ears burned, and Finn shoved his hands into his pockets as he dropped his gaze to his boots. “Sorry. You’re good with them. You have a dog when you were a kid?”
Something like pain flashed across her face, but she schooled it back to neutral so fast that he couldn’t fully identify the emotion. “No. We had ... cats. But I always wanted a puppy. Just a little one.”
“Why didn’t you get one?”
She shook her head. “No reason, really. My mom just ... I guess she thought they wouldn’t fit into our home.” Her tone carried something deeper than the easy dismissal, but her expression confirmed that she didn’t want him to push.
“Well, you’re welcome to play with these puppies or any of my dogs as long as you’re here.”
“Thank you.” She picked up a tennis ball, rolled it toward her extended feet, and John tumbled after it. “How many dogs do you have?”
“Eleven for now. More on the way.”
Her jaw dropped, her mouth hanging open for several long, silent seconds. “More? Why would you want more? How do you even keep up with them?”
Finn chuckled, swiping his hand through his hair. “It’s what I do. I breed and train Newfoundlands.”
Those telltale lines between her perfectly arched eyebrows appeared. “Why?”
He snorted a laugh as he plopped to the ground, facing her. John tromped over and dropped the ball in his hand, and he rubbed the pup’s ears. “Because it’s what we’ve always done. It’s what my dad did and his dad.”
His explanation didn’t make a crack in the confusion written across her face. “But why? I mean, what do you do with them?” Paul with his blue collar jumped into her lap, and she hugged him close as though protecting him from ending up in a cage somewhere.
“Oh, you know. They end up here and there.”
“Here and where? In good homes? Like, where they’re cared for?”
With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Finn grabbed George under his front legs and stared into his little face. His slightly sour puppy breath easily carried the distance between their noses, and George barked with glee. “You think I’d spend months raising these guys only to send them off to be mistreated?”
The tight line of her lips began to relax, but worry still flickered in her narrowed eyes.
He couldn’t remember the last time anyone in North Rustico—let alone on the island—had questioned his care for the dogs. It was his name on the business, his family’s reputation on the line.
Her doubts stung like a snapped rubber band. Not that he didn’t deserve them after he’d questioned the validity of her job the day before.
Forcing a loose grin into place, he said, “Most of them are raised as rescue dogs.”
“Like what Joe did for me yesterday.” Her voice was small, almost apologetic, and Joe looked up at the sound of his name before resting his head back on her leg and feigning sleep.
“Exactly like that. It’s in their blood. They’re strong swimmers, fearless in storms. Good trackers.”
“And the rest of them? You said most .”
“A few go to good homes—families who want a new friend. And a few become therapy dogs.”
Her nose crinkled, confusion in her eyes.
“They help people with high anxiety, neurodivergence, and PTSD challenges. Because of their size, they can be intimidating, but they have such gentle spirits that they tend to calm down those around them. My dogs have gone to therapy clinics, nonprofit organizations for veterans, and individuals needing some support.”
She started to crack a smile. “I’ve seen plenty of emotional support animals on airplanes, but I can’t picture one of your Newfoundlands fitting under the seat in front of me.”
Just the idea of Joe Jr. trying to squeeze under a chair made him chuckle. “Yeah, they’re more the open spaces kind of therapy. Not exactly portable when they’re full grown—unless you have a big truck.”
She matched his smile and pointed at the Fab Four. “What about these guys?”
“They’re already sold to a couple of rescue teams in Newfoundland and Labrador.”
The corners of her mouth dipped. “That sounds like hard work. It’s cold up there.”
Ruffling Paul’s thick coat of black curls, Finn shook his head. “These guys are made for that kind of weather. And when they put on another hundred and thirty pounds, they’ll be nearly impervious to the snow.”
Her glance shot up from the pup in her arms. “A hundred and thirty?”
With a shrug, he chuckled. “Give or take. Joe Jr. is pushing one sixty, and he was the runt of his litter.”
Cretia looked like she’d swallowed her tongue. “ He’s the runt? But he rescued me like I was nothing. And you...” Her gaze dipped, shadowed by her full eyelashes.
He remembered. Plunging his arm into the water and pulling her out. He’d had to do it more than once with dogs that refused to leave the harbor during their training. At least she hadn’t fought him like they sometimes did. But he said only, “There was a lot of adrenaline in the moment.”
“Well, like I said before, thank you.”
“I’m happy to help for as long as you’re here.”
The muscles in her neck contracted around a swallow as Ringo pounced on her leg. “So could I borrow your computer for a few minutes?”
“Marie sent you down here for that?” He couldn’t contain a snort at the irony. Marie had to be up to something. Not that Finn wasn’t happy to offer his setup and eager to make up for his misstep the day before, but there were a dozen other places Marie could have sent Cretia. Even Brooke in the front office of the church would have been happy to share her sleek new laptop.
“Was she wrong? I can go somewhere else if there’s a public library or something. I don’t mean to be a bother.”
He reached to pat her knee, but Joe Jr.’s head snapped up and a low growl came from somewhere deep in his body. It wasn’t threatening, just a caution. Slowly pulling his hand back, Finn tilted his head at the dog. Joe had clearly decided that Cretia was his person—his to protect, his to save.
Only Finn didn’t know who or what she needed to be protected from.
He shook off the questions rolling through his mind and caught her gaze. “You’re not a bother. It’s just that ... Never mind. I’m happy to help.”
Her mouth pinched slightly, lines appearing around it. “Do you have time now?”
With a glance toward the barn, he said, “I just need to feed the kids really fast. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
Her face twisted in confusion, her lips pursing to the side as the wrinkles between her eyebrows returned. “Aren’t they at school?”
“School?”
“Yeah. Marie went to an awards ceremony or something for Jack today. Do they go to the same school?”
“Do they go to the same school?” He tried to stop himself from repeating her words. He just couldn’t figure out another way to make sense of what she said.
Cretia nodded slowly. “Yes. The same school. Or are they older?” She shook her head. “No, you’re younger than Marie, aren’t you? I mean, you look younger. Not that she looks old. It’s the beard. Your beard is throwing me off. But maybe you had kids really young.” She sucked in a sharp breath and blinked twice. Slowly. Decisively. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “That should have been inside processing.”
“Inside processing?” Again with the parroting. He could bite his tongue off.
The prettiest shade of pink bloomed in her cheeks, and he couldn’t look away, even as George gnawed on his wrist.
“I...” She looked toward the hayfield on the other side of the corral fence and tucked her dark hair behind her ear. “I spend a lot of time alone, but I do better when I can verbally process things. It’s no big deal when I’m on my own. A little more awkward when it spills out in front of other people—or worse, the person I’m talking about.”
A chuckle bubbled deep in his chest. He tried and failed to cover it with his hand.
The color in her cheeks deepened, stretching toward her neck, and she pressed her fingers to her throat. “I swear, I’m better in front of the camera.”
“I don’t think it’s possible you could be more charming.”
Her eyes flew to meet his, her gaze tangible. The skin on his arms tingled under the weight. It wasn’t like the touch of the sun on a cool day. It was like a welcome fire, rushing through him. Unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.
His own neck began to burn, and he swallowed hard against the lump there. “You’re right, processing that inside would have been less awkward.” Tacking on a grin, he added, “But no less true.”
“Okay.” Her nostrils flared and her lips twitched. “So you need to feed your kids? And then you can help me?”
“Indeed. Maybe you want to help me ?”
She gulped audibly. “You want me to meet your kids?”
Pushing himself off the ground—to the clear dismay of George, whose green collar jangled as he wiggled and jumped, begging for more attention—Finn winked at her. “I think you’ll like them. They’re pretty friendly.”
Cretia shifted to her knees, and Joe let out a long yawn while stretching his body to find a new comfortable spot. “I used to be a nanny, but it’s been a long time since I was around little kids. I don’t know if I’ll be much help.”
He managed to smother his chuckle this time as he imagined her reaction to the kids waiting for their lunch. She was in for a surprise. “Sure you will. It’s not hard.” Reaching out his hand, he nodded to indicate she should take it.
She reached for him as though moving through water, slow, thoughtful.
But there was nothing gradual about the rush of lightning that zipped up his arm when her fingers touched his. If the flash in her eyes was any indication, she felt it too. But she didn’t pull back or acknowledge it beyond that. She let him pull her to her feet before immediately dropping his hand and following him toward the barn.
Cretia blinked hard in a vain attempt to acclimate to the dim light within the barn, assuming Finn was leading her to the sliding door and the house beyond. He was still right in front of her, and she had to fight the urge to reach for his back. He clearly knew his way around, but she’d never even seen the layout. Shuffling her feet to make sure she didn’t miss a step, she tried to stay close enough to hear the even fall of his boots against the solid flooring.
When he stopped, she did too. When he stepped to the left, she followed. Rubbing her fingers against her eyes, praying she could make out more than dark shapes, she tiptoed in his direction. And promptly ran right into his shoulder, her nose bouncing off the soft fabric of his Henley.
“Oops.” He chuckled, slipping an arm around her back. “You okay there?”
“Yep. Fine. It’s just a little bit dark in here.”
“Sorry. Some of the animals don’t appreciate it if it’s too bright.”
She tilted her head up and frowned, assuming he could see her. “Joe Jr. and the puppies seemed to have no problem in the sun.”
His throaty laugh made her lean in, but she swayed back quickly.
“They don’t mind the natural light, but Joe is an animal all his own. And he’s spent most of his life in the house. He has no idea what it’s like to live in a barn.” His voice grew slightly softer as he turned his head. “So I try to make it as comfortable as I can for the rest of them.”
“The rest?”
Before Finn could answer her question, something across the open barn bleated. Then again. Then several more times. Or maybe several others. Joined almost immediately by a cow lowing.
Those were definitely not dogs.
She blinked hard and rubbed her fists against her eyes, and when she opened them, a row of stalls along the far wall came almost into focus. The wooden walls between the pens were maybe six feet, but the front gates were more like half that. The enclosures spanned the entire length of the barn, hay and grain spilling over onto the cement floor in front of them.
A bark from the dogs on the other side of the barn made her spin toward the seven happy faces behind chain-link fences. Sunlight glowed through a large opening in the wall beyond them, which seemed to lead to another yard on the outside.
She looked up at Finn and tilted her head toward the stalls. “What’s in those other pens?”
He shrugged. “Mostly strays.”
Halfway toward the middle pen, she whipped around to him. “But they’re not dogs?” The words came out far too much like a question, like she wasn’t sure she could trust her ears. Apparently, she didn’t.
Another lift of his shoulder. But this one came with a Cheshire cat grin. “Go on. See for yourself.”
As she shuffled toward the middle gate, her eyes finally adjusted to the light. She took the last three steps at a jog.
From the other side of the wall, three long, fuzzy faces looked up at her. Their eyes were strange, with horizontal pupils that made her pull back for a second. Then one of the little ones bleated at her, flapping its ears.
She couldn’t help but giggle. “Goats. You have goats.”
Somehow Finn had made it to her side without her knowing. So when he spoke close enough to stir her hair, she jumped. “And mama goats have babies, which are called...”
Heat flushed through her, and she covered her face with both hands, shaking her head. “Kids,” she whispered through her fingers. She refused to look up to see the spark of humor in his eyes that she already knew followed that deep chuckle.
“You must think I’m an...” She stopped herself and dropped her hands quickly. “Wait. How was I supposed to know you weren’t a dad?”
The corner of his mouth ticked up, though it was hard to tell under the volume of his beard. Maybe there was a dimple under there.
Too bad you’ll never get to find out.
No. Not too bad. She just wasn’t going to know. It was as easy as that. Because she wasn’t going to stick around.
She never did.
Not in Barcelona for the waiter. Not in Vienna for the guy who had brought her endless cups of coffee. Not in San Luis for Carlos, her high school boyfriend.
Staying meant having a home. And a home was only good for one thing.
She didn’t need that in her life.
Finn cleared his throat, which sounded suspiciously like he was covering another laugh, but it was enough to drag her thoughts back from their wayward track.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “Everyone around here knows I’ll take in just about any animal without a home. But I see how it would be confusing.” He sighed. “My mom would much rather I have human kids than the goat variety.” His eyes flew open. “I’m sorry again. That was probably way more than you wanted to know.” Scrubbing a hand down his face, tugging on his beard at the end of the motion, he quickly moved on. “So this is Jenna and her kids Sonny and Cher.”
Cretia raised her eyebrows and shot him a questioning look.
“My mom liked them a lot when she was young. Figured I’d throw her a bone.”
She bit her lips together to keep from laughing and gave him a simple nod instead. Sonny and Cher looked up at her through their weird slitted eyes, and she grabbed for the phone in her pocket to capture their sweet faces. It was empty. Which she should have known.
Resigning herself to not recording this moment, she asked, “So are they rescue goats, like the dogs?”
His laugh wrapped around her, full and warm, filling a space in her heart she hadn’t realized was empty. “Not so much. Though I don’t think anyone has ever tried training them for that job. Maybe we should.” Reaching over the gate, he scratched Jenna’s head just like he did Joe’s. The mama flapped her ears and closed her eyes, and Cretia could swear she smiled. “They’re more like rescue goats in that they had nowhere else to go.”
“Strays.”
“Basically. Jenna belonged to a family near Cavendish, but then they realized their daughter was allergic, and they had to find her a new home. Immediately. Or they were going to have to put her down.”
“And Sonny and Cher?”
“Jenna was already pregnant. It was a package deal.”
Cretia gasped as a fist around her heart squeezed. “They were going to kill a pregnant goat?” She didn’t wait for his response. She didn’t need it. “You saved them.”
He shrugged. “I had the room.”
“That was ... That was a nice thing to do.”
“I guess people around here have me figured out. They know I’m an easy yes when it comes to animals in need.” He stabbed his fingers through his hair as he ducked his chin, and if the lighting had been just a little bit better, she had the feeling she’d have seen his cheeks turn pink. “That’s how I ended up with Roberta too.”
She glanced in the direction he nodded and was greeted by a black face hanging over the door of the last stall. A white patch covered the spot where the cow should have had an eye. Light from the opening behind her gave her a near halo, and she didn’t seem concerned with anything but chewing her cud.
“Roberta, huh?”
“She’s a good girl.” Finn strolled over and scratched the middle of her face. “Her owners let her get sick, and she got an infection and stopped producing milk, so...”
“Was she from the dairy farm across the street?”
“Definitely not. Justin Kane takes great care of his herd.” With a gentle rub of Roberta’s ear, Finn leaned in toward the cow’s only eye. “She came from a family that didn’t know how to care for animals. And didn’t care to learn.”
“And you did—I mean, do—know how to care for livestock? It seems different than raising dogs.”
He chuckled. “I didn’t have a clue what she needed when I got her—Jenna either. But that’s the great thing about being friends with a dairy farmer and having a vet on speed dial. I’m willing to learn, and I know who to ask for help.”
Cretia wrapped her arms across her middle. Something about the way he spoke and the warmth in his voice felt like a jacket on a cool day—like his dry shirt had around her soaking shoulders the day before.
He spoke simply. Directly. Humbly yet confidently.
He didn’t need to brag about his knowledge, yet he un doubtedly knew what he was doing. These animals were safe with him.
And for the immediate future, maybe she was too.
“Come on. You can help me feed the kids.” He nodded toward a small room just inside the barn’s sliding door. “We just have to heat up their bottles.”
“Like baby bottles?” She sounded like an idiot, but he wasn’t making sense.
He chuckled again as he strolled toward the room, the sound of his boots dampened by the light coating of hay and dirt across the floor. He pulled a chain hanging from the ceiling, and a single light bulb lit up the square window overlooking the barn.
Cretia took a step after him, and the cow’s enormous eye followed her every movement. Roberta’s chewing turned more serious, and she stamped a hoof against the ground. Her body swayed into the side of the stall, and the wood groaned.
Throat dry, Cretia shuffled back a step, bumping into a furry body at her hip. “Joe.” She forced the word out on a shaky laugh before scratching the dog’s back with a few quick strokes. “How long have you been here?”
The dog let out a low bark, which might have been an answer. Or maybe not. Either way, it seemed to make the cow glare at them more intensely, her hooves rustling the hay in the floor of her stall.
Cretia swallowed quickly and pressed a hand over her suddenly speeding heart.
It wasn’t like the cow was trying to get out. Or like it could even if it wanted to. And if it could, it probably wasn’t going to attack.
Probably.
Not that Cretia had much livestock experience. Or any, really.
She’d visited Pamplona to see the Gothic churches, not the Running of the Bulls. And though she’d received several requests from her followers for videos from a dude ranch in New Mexico, that was a little too close to her childhood and a little far outside her comfort zone.
Dogs were one thing. Dogs were normal animals.
Cows were ... decidedly not normal.
She gave Roberta a wide berth as she scurried after Finn. Roberta might not like her, but the cow had every reason to love Finn. There was no way she would attack the guy who had saved her and fed her every day.
Probably.