Chapter 16
Sixteen
“Are you trying to make my cow a star?” Finn strolled up behind Cretia, looking over her shoulder at the screen in her hands.
“I’m afraid we’re past the trying stage.” A note of laughter filled her voice, and relief flooded him.
He’d wanted to know more about her—to understand where she’d come from and how she’d ended up a nomad. But hearing her story, feeling her tremble as the words spilled out on the beach three days before, had nearly torn him in two.
No one should have to carry the weight of memories like those. And the fact that anyone hefting that could find such joy in life, be so quick to laugh and strong in spirit, astounded him. She astounded him.
Slipping his arms around her from behind, he nuzzled her neck even as the dogs barked for their breakfast and Roberta glared in their general direction. The new addition to the barn looked up at them with big brown eyes through shaggy russet hair, his nose blowing hot breath at Cretia’s camera.
She leaned her head against Finn’s, her arms sagging into his embrace, an invitation to hold her close.
He hadn’t exactly waited for one. But now he knew he was welcome.
They hadn’t talked about the kiss since. He’d been busy settling the mini cow into his new home. She’d been busy fawning all over it, taking more pictures than a mother of a firstborn child. In the pasture. With the kids. And now in the last available stall in his barn.
The top of the cow’s head barely reached his waist—though it came a little higher on Cretia. “Perfect hugging height,” she’d declared, kneeling in the hay beside it.
He had to admit that the little one was pretty cute and infinitely patient. He’d suffered through Joe Jr.’s forty-point inspection with barely a moo, and when the dog had decided he was acceptable, the new addition was free to roam the grounds.
No wonder a family had thought he was pet material. The problem was, the cow didn’t always do his business outdoors. And he wasn’t great about staying off the furniture. At not quite five hundred pounds, he’d demolished a few chairs and more than one lamp. The term bull in a china shop fit, even if he wasn’t a full-size cow.
The family had been happy to hand over their little furniture demolition unit. And Finn was happy to give him a home where he wouldn’t have to watch his step.
The only thing he hadn’t been able to give him so far was a name. And the cow hadn’t been with the family long enough for them to land on one either.
“Past the trying stage?” he asked when Cretia’s response finally sank in. “You’ve already posted videos of our new friend?”
“Maybe. And they love him. Adore him! And they’ve suggested thousands of names.”
“Like what?”
Cretia punched some buttons on her screen, opened an app, and a video popped up. First, she was alone in the pasture, a chain of dandelions crowning her glistening hair. Her voice from the phone said, “Decided to wear our hair the same so no one can tell us apart.” The video cut to the cow wearing the same crown of yellow flowers.
He pressed his lips to her cheek. “You wore it better.”
“Careful there, Finn, or someone will think you’ve been on social media.” She gave him a peck on the lips and a saucy wink before turning back to her phone. “I asked my followers what we should name him.” She slowly scrolled through the comments, reading off a name here and there. “George. Samson. Abner. Fun-Size. Maple. Half-Pint. Snicker.”
As her finger swiped up the screen, a message sailed by. It was longer than the others, but it snagged his attention. “Wait. What did that one say?”
“Nothing.” The pink that dotted her cheeks betrayed her. So did the way she tried to drop her phone into her pocket.
“No, I’m serious. What did it say?”
“It’s nothing worth getting worked up about.”
He spun her around in his arms, hooking a finger under her chin until she met his gaze. “How do you know?”
“Because I already deleted a few dozen of them.”
“Of what?”
She rolled her eyes and let out a hard sigh. “Of people telling me I weigh more than the cow. Of people swearing at me for just existing. Of people saying I don’t deserve to be alive on the same planet as such a cutie-pie.”
Her words came out disconnected and emotionless, but they stirred in him a monster that wanted to rip those jerks apart.
“How could they?” He snorted a hot breath through his nose, not unlike a bull ready to charge. “That was a great video. And they don’t ... they don’t even know you.” His voice rose until the dogs joined in, their barking setting off Roberta and the goats. Only the little cow remained silent, though he took several quick steps into the corner of his stall.
“Finn.” Cretia ran her hand up and down his forearm, teasing the soft hair there. “They’re just trolls. They hate their own lives, and they think that saying mean things about someone else will help them feel better.” Holding up her phone, she forced a smile as she touched the profile pic of an offender. “I just block them. It’s that easy. And now they have no power.”
Sure, she’d replay their comments late at night. With only the dark as her companion, she’d wonder if what they’d written was true. She’d wonder if she had no business being on camera. She’d wonder if she really was the size of a full-grown cow.
Her smile began to flicker, and she fought to keep a brave face.
“Really. I barely think about them. It’s all part of what I do.” She brushed a hand across her shoulder. “I don’t let them in.”
Most of the time.
Finn nodded slowly, small lines appearing on either side of his mouth. “But they’re liars. You know that, right? You know what they’re saying isn’t true?”
“Of course I do.”
Cupping his palm against her cheek, he sifted his fingers into her hair, pulling her a step closer. “You have to know that if they just met you—even for a moment—they’d see how amazing you are. How you bring a smile with you wherever you go. How big and kind your heart is. They’d love you.”
Like he did?
Oh, no. It was way too soon to even think about such things. They’d barely known each other for two weeks. Absolutely ridiculous. Truly.
Which did nothing to explain why she hoped he did.
Finn’s eyes narrowed, the weight of his gaze like a warm coat on a cold night. “You know how special you are, don’t you?”
“You’re sweet.” A skeptical giggle insisted on following.
“I’m serious.”
She smiled and squeezed his arm. But whatever she wanted to say was stuck behind the lump that settled in her throat. Even a single syllable would likely set loose a river of tears from her burning eyes.
Stupid eyes. Stupid tears.
The onslaught of emotion made zero sense. Finn was saying such nice things. She should just smile and say, “Thank you.”
But she couldn’t get the words out. And she sure couldn’t let his words in.
“Lucretia Martin.” He laid heavily on the long e in her last name. “I’ve never met anyone like you. And I...” As he stepped closer, his scent swept around her, all fresh grass and sunshine, things she’d only recently realized were among her favorites. “What am I going to do with you?”
Keep me?
Nope. That wasn’t an option, so with a bat of her eyelashes, she whispered the next best option. “Kiss me?”
He took her invitation, swooping in and claiming her. Any hint of the nerves he’d owned during their first kiss had vanished, replaced by an undeniable hunger for more. More of her. More of them .
Wrapping her arms about his waist, she jerked him closer. He stumbled a half step into her, his surprised chuckle muted but joyful.
What was she going to do with him?
Finn didn’t have a clue what he was going to do with her.
Something deep in his gut cheered on the idea of more kissing. No problem there. That he could do. So long as she was on his island, in his barn.
But the after snuck in too. What would he do after she left? After there was no more of them?
Yeah, he was well aware that he was setting himself up for all sorts of heartache. But he’d rather have the memories than the regrets. And he’d keep telling himself that as long as she was in his arms.
Warm and responsive, her lips were smoother than silk and tasted of maple syrup, almost as sweet as the woman herself. Everything he’d said about her was true. Even if the look in her eyes had hinted that she doubted him.
He knew the truth. She wasn’t just beautiful—though she’d certainly been fearfully and wonderfully made, according to the verse his parents had helped him memorize during his Sunday school years. She was creative and funny and independent and generous and stubborn. Traits he’d newly realized he’d always wanted in a partner.
Combing his fingers through her impossibly silky hair, he sighed into her. When he brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, she trembled, her hands grasping first at his shirt, then at his biceps. His skin felt too hot and too small, like the feeling growing inside him needed more space. It was too big to contain.
Not that he wanted to contain it. There wasn’t a box big enough or a dam thick enough to keep it in check.
When she hung on his shoulders, a strange sense of pride raced through him. She trusted him enough to lean on him, and he wouldn’t risk letting her down.
Or hurting her.
When he wrapped an arm around her waist, he squeezed just hard enough to elicit a giggle, and she pulled back, a bright smile on her face. Pressing his nose to her temple, he sighed. “I like you, Cretia. More than I’ve liked anyone I’ve ever met. But I don’t want—”
“I know,” she whispered into his shoulder, her breath warm through his T-shirt. “This can’t end well.”
“It could.” He nearly bit his tongue off as her entire body stiffened, though she didn’t pull away. He had no business saying such things again, and he waited for a long explanation of why he was a fool for even suggesting she stay.
She said only, “No.”
Squeezing his eyes closed, he took one more deep breath, memorizing the floral scent of her shampoo. Then, hands at her waist, he pushed her away and took a step back. “I like you too much to make it harder than it has to be.”
Something like pain flashed in her eyes, but she blinked it away before he could put a true name to it. She didn’t ask him to explain. Instead, she pressed her lips together—lips he could have kissed again if he wasn’t such an idiot—and nodded. “You’re probably right.”
No. He was absolutely right. He was also an absolute fool.
That memories-versus-regrets theory had been downright stupid. Because now he fully knew what he was going to miss. For the rest of his life.
And he knew that would come with more than his share of regret. The memories wouldn’t warm him from the inside out on cold winter nights. He couldn’t hold the memories in his arms, smell their hair, and care for them for a lifetime.
His heart was thinking about forever with a girl who had been part of his life for exactly fifteen days. And his brain only now had the decency to butt in.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Finn let out a long breath through tight lips. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Her narrowed gaze insisted on an answer.
At the moment? For wanting to kiss her again. But he bit his tongue on that and gave her question another thought. “For starting something that I can’t finish.”
“Really? Seems like I’m the one that asked for a kiss.”
“Today, maybe. But it’s not exactly like you had to twist my arm.”
She shrugged a shoulder and shot him a grin. “True. You were a willing participant.”
“Very.” That was another thought that should have stayed inside.
Her grin turned into a full-on smirk, her eyes glowing as she nudged him with her elbow. “Same.”
One word was all it took for his stomach to clench and his breath to release. He had to physically fight the urge to lean in again. But he cared about her too much to let himself get carried away. She deserved more than that. She deserved someone who would—someone who could—help her pursue her dreams. Not someone rooted to this land.
“So.” She smoothed down the front of her shirt with flat hands. “Seems like we both enjoyed that. And we agree that it would be wise not to do it again.”
“Right. Wise.”
But if she stood there staring at him with her great big eyes, he was liable to fall right into those chocolate pools and make all sorts of stupid decisions. He had to change the subject. Pronto.
“Abner.”
Cretia’s face wrinkled in confusion. Finn didn’t know who he’d surprised more—her or himself. But he repeated the name. A little slower the second time, nodding toward the cow that was still staring at them. “Abner.”
“That’s what you want to name him?”
He shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, but to the best of his knowledge, the farm had never had an Abner, little or otherwise.
Cretia turned toward the cow, bending over until their eyes were almost level. “Abner? What do you think?”
The cow shook his head, tossing his hair out of his face, and lowed.
Cretia shot a smile over her shoulder. “I think he likes it. Abner it is. Thank you, internet.” Waving Finn toward his newest addition, she said, “Now let me take some pictures of you together.”
“I don’t know. I’m not very...” He stabbed a hand through his hair, which probably already showcased the wind and his work. His hand came away with a piece of hay in it. “See? I’m not cleaned up for pictures.”
“Psh.” She waved off his comment with as much consideration as a gnat. “You look perfect. Just like a farmer should. The internet is going to eat you up.”
“Don’t you mean the cow? Um, Abner?”
“I do not.” She pursed her lips as she looked at the screen in her hands. “I mean, they’ll love Abner. Don’t get me wrong—ladies of a certain age will be lining up to adopt one just like him.” She frowned for a second. “Come to think of it, videos of cows like Abner looking all cute and cuddly are probably how the poor guy ended up as a pet.”
“Seriously?” he grumbled. “What’s wrong with people?” He knew firsthand that some people took in animals they couldn’t care for. That was how he’d gotten Jenna and the kids. And the rabbits. And several cats as a child.
“They think something this cute must be a house pet.” Holding her phone at arm’s length, she swooped it around them. “Can you blame them?”
“Yeah, well.” He ran his fingers through Abner’s mane, scratching behind his horns for good measure. Abner swung his head, and Finn jerked away just in time to keep from being smacked in the arm by one of those horns. “You’d think that whoever sold him would have warned them against it.”
“You’d think. But for now, just try to look like a good farmer.”
Ten-year-old Finn would have stuck his tongue out at her. “I’m not a farmer. I don’t own a tractor, and I’ve never sowed a seed outside of my mom’s garden. I own about four acres of land. That’s not enough to be called a farm by any stretch of the imagination.”
Her face twisted into a silly grin. “Very well, then. What should I call you when I post this video?”
“You’re not really going to—”
“What should I call you?” Her tone sounded an awful lot like a teacher’s. Like Marie’s when she’d had to correct Julia Mae one too many times.
“Your followers don’t care about me. They want to see you and Abner.”
“All right, Farmer Finn it is.”
“I’m a business owner. A dog breeder. An adopter of strays.” He spat the words out as fast as he could. Anything but Farmer Finn.
“I’ll see what I can do, but you may have missed your window of opportunity.” Her eyes twinkled and her cheeks twitched as she bit her lips until they nearly disappeared. “We’ll see what the council says.”
“The council?”
She shrugged, putting on a facade of boredom.
“And who exactly is on this council that decides my online persona?”
“Me and Roberta.”
There wasn’t a dam in the world that could have held back his snorted laugh, and he grabbed her sides, tickling mercilessly as he pulled her to his chest. She screamed and squirmed and fought him with laughter-limp arms.
“Take it back. Roberta would never betray me!”
“I will not. I thi-think she’s warm-warming up to me.” As her giggles cut off her words, he spun her in his arms. She ended up pressed against his chest, breathing heavily, and smiling into his face. Just where he wanted her. Just how he wanted her.
Longing slammed through him, an unwelcome visitor. Holding her hands at his chest, he sucked in a deep breath. Every one of his noble intentions lined up to march right out the door.
One more kiss couldn’t hurt. It wouldn’t really change anything. They both knew that a they could never last. They also knew how sweet it could be between them. Another kiss would just...
It’s not an option.
He’d chant those words over and over again until he believed them. For her sake. For her heart.
He would regret kissing her again. And he would regret not kissing her.
He’d be miserable no matter what. But maybe he’d be a little less so if he knew that he’d done his best to show her just how much he cared.
Strange that not kissing her was the way to do that.
With a half smile, he let go of her hands and stepped back.
“Giving up, I see,” she goaded him. “I’ll confer with Roberta and let you know our decision later.”
Jabbing his fingers through his hair, he said, “You’re ridiculous.”
“And?”
“And it’s no wonder that three million people watch your videos.”
“And now three million people are going to watch you.”
She was like Joe with a bone. “How many times do I have to tell you that they want to see Abner?”
“ They? ” Her forehead wrinkled at the same time she lifted her phone to block the rest of her face. “They include a bunch of twenty- and thirty-something women, who would be just as happy to adopt Farmer Finn as they would Abner.”
“Ridiculous.”
“What can I say?” She fanned her face with her phone and raised her eyebrows a few times in an exaggerated motion. When she added in a wolf whistle, he laughed.
Dropping to his knee next to Abner, he hugged the little guy around his neck. “Tell her, boy. You’re the one everyone will want to see.”
Cretia took a few smooth steps in a half circle around them, her motions slow and controlled as she looked right into her screen. “Care to make a friendly wager on that?”
Finn had never been a gambler. That required time and money he was willing to throw away. Two things usually in short supply around his place. But Cretia didn’t look like she was trying to empty his wallet. In fact, her grin suggested much higher stakes.
“What’d you have in mind?”
She clicked her tongue. “I’ll post this video tonight. If it has a hundred thousand views within twenty-four hours, you have to let me name Bella’s puppies.”
Squinting at her, he crossed his arms. “Potato names?”
“Every single one. From Sprout to Tuber.”
“Tuber? You’re not serious.”
“You’re one to be talking.” She dropped her phone to her side, her other hand planted on the curve of her hip. “You wanted to name one Tater.”
“As in Tater Tot. It makes sense.”
“Why not just name him Tot, then?”
“Be—” His words disappeared, and he shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess either would work.”
“Exactly. Clearly you haven’t thought this through. So let me name them. I promise to give the task my full consideration.”
He eyed her carefully. “And if the video doesn’t get a hundred thousand views?”
“I’ll muck out Roberta’s stall for a week.”
Finn gasped so hard that he nearly swallowed his tongue, barely managing to choke out a gravelly chortle while his brain repeated one word. Week. She was planning to stay another week.
His misery had a reprieve. Seven more days. At least.
“I’m determined to make that bovine my friend. Just like Abner is.” Scratching the cow’s chin, Cretia got a sloppy kiss on her wrist, which made her nose wrinkle and her smile grow. “But I’m not going to have to clean up her stall. Because you’re going to get more views than you can imagine.”
“And you’ll mention the business name?”
“Chaffey’s Newfoundlands.” She held out her hand to shake.
Slipping his palm against hers, he squeezed softly. “And you won’t call me Farmer Finn.”
“Oh, I can’t promise that. Roberta still has to have a say.”