13. Gemma
Chapter thirteen
Gemma
Rule 33: ABSOLUTELY NO FARM ANIMALS.
I stared dumbly at the lamb in the man's arms as he spoke to me. Whatever he was saying, it droned in my ears like the teacher in Peanuts as the entirety of my consciousness fixated on the fact that a man had brought a fucking farm animal into my office.
"… haven't any idea what he was thinking, gifting this to me, but you really should strike him off the list as a potential candidate." The client snapped his fingers to pull my attention away from the fluffy white creature lying docilely in his toned arms. "Are you hearing me?" Joshua Tenor had a Californian, sun-kissed appearance and a carefully sculpted body that clearly belonged on a beach somewhere. So, seeing baby livestock in his arms had really thrown me for a loop.
I blinked rapidly. "So, your date… got you a sheep as a gift?"
"Yes," my client glared. He set the sheep on my desk, and it skittered, shuffling awkwardly on its stick legs and knocking over a stack of papers to my right. "And it's your problem now. Vet these weirdos better next time."
I stood from my chair, hands hovering over the lamb despite having no idea what the hell I meant to do with it. The baby sniffed the air for a second before lying down on my desk like it was meant to be there. It bleated, inspecting the fallen stack of papers. I turned an outraged look on my client who was already backing out of my office. "Mr. Tenor, you can't just—"
He cut me off with an impatient sound. "Save it. Your problem. I'm getting a drink." He paused, pointing a finger at me. "And you're fired."
He left, and I hinged an incredulous look down at the tiny lamb that had a blue bow around its neck and shivered like it was cold. The lamb sniffed its nose up to me. It had a thick coat of curly, white fleece that reminded me of a doodle dog, and its little black nose glistened as its nostrils flared. I bent around it to get a better look at its body, and with a guffaw of derision, I realized it had a diaper fitted over its rear end. It bleated again, and that time, it sounded so pitiful, I really had no choice but to gingerly put my hands around it and pick it up off my desk. Its stubby tail wagged, and I juggled its awkward, spindly limbs as I looked around my office for help. Like I was going to find assistance with an abandoned barnyard animal dropped in my city office.
The lamb's fur looked softer than it felt, but I cradled its bristly body in my arms with a reluctant glance down at the baby. It sniffed me again, and then it licked my hair, which I had up in my half-up space buns. "Oh boy," I whisper-screeched. What did one do with homeless lambs?
I checked the time on my phone, and seeing that it was 4:30 anyway, I decided this was probably a good time to call it a day. I gathered my purse and coat with one hand, balancing the snuffling lamb in the other. It was surprisingly natural to hold him. He snuggled into me easily, resting his head against my shoulder and closing his eyes contentedly. Fuck me, I thought, trying to sneak him out of the building before anyone saw me with livestock in our building. I'm not actually getting attached to this thing, am I?
I tucked him under my coat, fast-walking down the hallways to the elevator. Our receptionist, Olivia, gave me a funny look, and my coat definitely bleated, but I just gave her a manic smile before slipping out of the office. As I rode the elevator down, I juggled the lamb again to fish my phone out of my coat pocket. I dialed Ruth, and she answered right as the elevator doors opened.
"Gem," she said breathlessly. "Hey."
I pulled a face. "Are you fucking your boyfriend right now?"
"No!" I heard shuffling and a distinctly male laugh before she puffed out, "No. What's up?"
I rolled my eyes, giving the foyer a covert look around before I went to the double glass door exit. "How's New York?"
"Fascinating," she admitted, her voice lowering and losing its breathless quality. "Tempting."
NYU had offered her a position as a professor, and I had kind of hoped that she would find New York dismal. Apparently, their visit was going well. I mentally set that aside and said, "Great. How do you take care of a lamb?"
A heavy beat of silence preceded Ruth's "Huh?"
"Like, what do they eat? Oats? Or hay? Or, fuck… do the babies need milk?" I looked around for where I'd parked my car because suddenly, my working memory had been reduced to… lamb.
"Gemma, I study dusty manuscripts and, most recently, make poor attempts at matchmaking. I know nothing about cattle. And why do you need to know?" She got her stern, smarty-pants voice as she asked, "What did you get into?"
"It's not so much what I got into—" the lamb bleated pitifully, probably looking for its mother, "—but what got shoved at me."
"You already have a lamb?" she clarified with clear censure. "Gems, what are you doing out there?"
"Surviving," I huffed, carting the surprisingly heavy thing to my car. "Barely. Look, Google it for me and text me, yeah? I think there are… farm stores…"
"Oh my God."
It turned out that they made powdered milk for lambs, and if the supercenter was large enough and close to ranches—which ours was—then it carried powdered lamb's milk. I definitely got a few side-eye glances carting my lamb through the pet aisle and then to the baby aisle, but my instincts were kicking in with the thing. It kept crying, and then shivering, and then when I put it down on the floor so I could use two hands to reach a baby carrier on the top shelf of an aisle, it tried to chew on a pumpkin nearby.
I ended up sticking it in a cart, swathed it in the wrap-style carrier I planned to buy, and then threw a bunch of diapers, bottles, a baby gate, puppy pads, and lamb's milk replacer into the basket with it. It sniffed the air as I stopped by the coffee section to replenish my creamer. Actually, swaddled up, it wasn't a bad shopping companion.
Pumpkin-eater fell asleep as I went through the checkout lane, and I did some research on lamb care while I waited for my turn with the cashier. Objectively, hanging onto this thing was a terrible idea. But it was Friday night, so what else could I do? I decided to research animal rescue operations after I got Pumpkin settled at home.
I thought about calling Rook. I had his number, finally, and only because he insisted on sharing contact information in case something happened with the apartment. Technically, something had happened with the apartment tonight.
It was a petting zoo.
But then I figured if he was elbow-deep in operating on some poor woman's uterus, it would be unfair to her if I distracted the surgeon by telling him a sheep had been adopted in his house. And, I reasoned, it wasn't like telling him would change the outcome. It wasn't like I could throw Pumpkin outside and let her fend for herself.
Still, when the elevator hummed to our floor, I found myself tensing like a spring-loaded trap. I had Pumpkin wrapped up in the baby wrap and attached to my chest, and there was powdered lamb's formula scattered all over the counter and in the sink from a few failed initial attempts at understanding how baby bottles worked. He shuffled into the foyer area, and like he always did, he swiveled his gaze, looking for me. When his eyes landed on me, I froze with the bottle held up. The lamb bleated, reaching for it.
I hadn't ever seen Rook look so disheveled. His tie had been loosened and his hair mussed like he'd run his fingers through it too many times. And he had a dazed look on his face that screamed, "I just had the worst day ever."
And here I was, making it better.
Knox opened his mouth, expelling a wisp of incredulous breath. I waved weakly. "Hey. Welcome home." Pumpkin snuffled at the bottle, so I obliged her and stuck it in her mouth. She guzzled it sloppily, flapping her lips all over the bottle and suckling noisily. Some of it soaked my shirt, but I had learned after the first time that she was a messy eater, so I had put on a paint-stained shirt already.
"What—" Knox managed to get out. He'd been undoing the buttons on his black wool jacket, but he paused, standing there with the other arm limp at his side and his features stricken with horror.
"Okay, before you freak out," I rushed to assure him, walking away from the mess behind me. "This was not my fault."
"Is that a sheep ?" he demanded.
"Well," I glanced at Pumpkin as she downed the milk like it was her last meal, "a lamb. Yeah."
Almost like he was too afraid to do it, Rook let his gaze rake over the rest of the living room. Mini came to greet him as he found the white metal playpen I'd set up by Mini's cage in the dining room. Actually, I'd pushed the dining room table up against the window wall, so it was more like the pet room, now. He took in the puppy pads all over the floor, the giant mixing bowl of water that had already spilled and made a mess, and then the milk powder mess behind me.
Finally, he met my anxious stare, his jaw flexing. Through his teeth, he asked, "Not your fault?"
"It wasn't!" I patted Pumpkin's head. "It's a whole… thing. But don't worry. It's temporary."
"Gemma, that's a farm animal. " He finished unbuttoning his coat and came to stand close enough that his towering height could loom over me. "This is not the day to do this to me. I have no patience left. Get that creature out of here."
I covered Pumpkin's ears and scowled up at him. "That's very rude of you. No one likes being called a creature."
"Gemma." Knox swiped his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "What the fuck?"
"Okay, here's what happened. I set up a beach bum with a farm bum, and somehow that was my fault ," I ranted, watching Rook's face pucker with deepening confusion. "And then he fired me , which no one ever does, and there were no farm rescues open after I found the powdered milk for Pumpkin, so what the hell else was I supposed to do?"
Knox blinked once. "Are you having a stroke?"
" No, " I huffed. "I got stuck with a lamb, Rook! What part of that was unclear to you?"
After a beat of silence, he asked, "Pumpkin?"
"Yes, Pumpkin. That's her name."
"That's a stupid name," he said.
"She's just a baby. I couldn't call her lamb all the time." I pushed past him and went to her pen where I'd thrown some of my old blankets and a pillow into the enclosure. "It's just temporary. Although, it is kind of a perfect name for her. She's so cute and cuddly, and there are pumpkins everywher—"
"You are not keeping that," Knox threatened with a point. "Gemma, so help me God."
"Oh, relax." I untied the knot on the baby wrap with my left hand while I held the bottle for Pumpkin. She was almost done, and that was how her feeding had gone three hours before. She guzzled her meals so fast, it was a wonder she didn't choke on them. From what I could tell, Pumpkin would need to be fed every three or four hours, but that was assuming she was around eight weeks old. For all I knew, she could be geriatric. Google and ChatGPT had been weirdly unhelpful.
Knox followed me, taking off his jacket with a thunderous expression. "Gemma Daise, we are not keeping a farm animal in my house."
"First of all," I chided, taking the empty bottle from Pumpkin's mouth, "sheep live on ranches. Usually. So, she's more of a ranch… animal. And secondly, it's not like it goes against the house rules." I shot him a sly look over my shoulder. "Technically."
Knox's icy eyes narrowed mutinously. "Is that right?" Before I could stop him, he stalked over to the list on the fridge. I fumbled with the carrier, unwrapping the lamb from my body and gently setting her in her pen. She stumbled on her wobbly legs before making an irritated baa-aa and making her way over to the nest of blankets.
I shoved the baby carrier off my body and fast-walked to the fridge, but Rook had already written the new rule in all caps with a red pen, which he'd apparently kept in his pocket. His forearm muscles flexed below his rolled-up, white button-down, and he dotted the rule with a firm period.
32. ABSOLUTELY NO FARM ANIMALS.
I folded my arms and glared. He capped the pen, turned to face me, and lifted his dark blond eyebrows. I glanced at the words on the page, and then to the pen between his long fingers. "Pens in pockets tend to ruin laundry."
He pressed the capped pen between his eyes like he was in pain. "Don't change the subject. Get the sheep—"
"Lamb."
"—out of my house." He opened his eyes and subjected me to the full might of his wrath. The scariest part about angry Knox was how placid he was. Like a winter lake, his composed features hardened and nearly froze through the thin layers of my composure.
I barely managed to keep from shrinking away from him. "What do you want me to do? Leave her at the fire station?"
Pumpkin bleated. Mini whined, lying down on her front paws in front of the baby gate, her pointy ears shifting with interest. The lamb stuck her face between the bars, so tiny she could almost slip out. Mini sniffed her for a moment and then began licking up the milk that had dribbled on the lamb's face from her feeding. I tucked my lips between my teeth, trying valiantly not to smile. It really was absurd. And super cute.
Reluctantly, I peeked at Rook. He was watching the pair with his hands on his trim hips, and a line had pinched between his brows. He slanted a look my way. "How long?"
"Until Monday," I hurried to reassure him. I plucked at the hem of my old T-shirt that I wore over faded sweatpants. "Until the local rescue opens."
Knox leaned my way, and he brought the side of his face so close to mine, his breath tickled my jaw. "You owe me."
Desire snapped to attention like a cadet caught sleeping on the job. My insides twanged with a sudden thrum of lust at his nearness and the way his cologne smelled on his skin. There was something else, too. Whiskey maybe? It was manly and woodsy, and I fucking loved it. It was a massive effort not to snuggle my nose into his strong neck. "What… do I owe you?"
He pulled away just far enough to catch my gaze. "I'll be sure to let you know when the time comes."
"That's concerningly vague," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
One corner of Knox's mouth curved a fraction. "You smell like a barn."
Frowning, I pinched the front of my shirt and sniffed it. I kind of did. "Yeah, well, you smell like alcohol."
Knox sighed and went to stand in front of the pen with his arms crossed. "I was at the bar. Admittedly." Mini gave up her ministrations on Pumpkin and demanded attention from Knox, which he gave her absentmindedly as he stroked between her ears. Like an evil villain with his enormous sidekick. "Who gives a sheep as a gift?"
"Farm bum," I reminded him, coming to stand next to him. Pumpkin went back to her blankets, which were near the heating vent, and tucked her legs under her. Her eyes drifted closed, like she could sense the danger of being booted out was finally over. "You don't usually go to the bar. Hard day?"
Rook gave me a side-eye. "Incomprehensibly, finding a lamb in my living room is the least trying thing about this day so far."
I stretched my mouth to the side. "Oh, shit. Did someone—did you lose… someone?" I didn't know what the correct term was for having a patient die, but I knew it had to happen sometimes.
Knox didn't seem to mind my fumbling question. He nodded, arms still crossed and watching the lamb sleep. "Saved the mom. Didn't save her baby."
My heart clenched. Every part of me wanted to reach for him and console him in some way, to wrap my arms around his tall body and hold together whatever was clearly fracturing. But he didn't like being touched. And I healed through touch. It was a cruel irony. "I'm sorry, Knox. That's… really, that's terrible."
With a sigh, he shrugged and said, "It happens. We'd like to control everything, but the reality is that fate is my co-worker, and I don't get a say in what she does."
"Shitty co-worker," I muttered.
Knox's mouth softened, and he turned to look at me fully. "Yeah, fuck her."
A surprised laugh sputtered from my lips, and I waved him over to the couch. "Come on. Mini's been walked and Pumpkin doesn't need milk for another few hours. Come play a mindless video game with me."
His voice elongated with an uncertain tone. "I don't know about that."
"You're a surgeon, Knox," I pointed out derisively over my shoulder. I had connected my game console to the TV he never used weeks ago. I preferred online games lately, but every once in a while, a cartoon go-kart race was just the thing . "Your big brain can handle a little racing game." I turned on the console and fired up the game, tossing Rook a controller just as he joined me in the living room. The game popped up, obnoxiously bright and cheery, and I gestured to it with a grin. "See? You're not afraid of a little mushroom guy and a plumber, are you?"
Rook considered the large flatscreen with its simulation race on the opening screen. He squinted. "This seems like a ruse to kick my ass at something."
"What?" I asked in mock offense. "How dare you? Look, you can choose your character."
Reluctantly, Knox sat on the sofa with the controller between his enormous hands and his features pinched while he learned the controls. He chose the main bad guy of the story—of course, he fucking did—and I picked my usual princess dressed in peach. In fact, in their storyline, that villain often stole the princess, and I tried not to think about what it might be like to be a prisoner to Knox. He'd tie me up, maybe gag me, and have his way with me…
I shook my head. Racing. Cars. Get your head in the game, Gemma.
Rook cast another sidelong glance my way. "You're about to trounce me, aren't you?"
"Nonsense. You'll do really well." The starting bell dinged, and I hit the button at the exact right time, catapulting my character's go-kart forward. I grinned devilishly. "For a beginner."
Knox lost pitifully the first three times. Then he figured it out, and I would glance over at him to find his stoic, handsome face fully concentrated on the game. He didn't so much as furrow his brow, but the dancing lights from the screen cut across his sharp cheekbones, and his light eyes didn't waver from the goofy turtle in the go-kart. He beat me the fifth time, but that was the only one I allowed him.
Finally, my eyes started to cross, and I told Rook to just practice on his own since he seemed intent on continuing. He muttered something about beating the all-time record, and I slumped back against the cushions, my eyes heavy with sleep and my mind foggy but sated.
Pumpkin's little cry for milk woke me first. I tried to sit up, inhaling with surprise and wondering what universe I was in. The room had gone dark, and only the weak light from the streetlamps outside filtered into the living area. And someone was holding me. I rotated a surprised look down to my right to find Rook's arm around my body. We'd both slumped over sideways, and I'd fallen asleep tucked against his side while he slept partially upright against the couch cushions. His arm pinned me securely to him, heavy and warm.
Pumpkin bleated again, filling the cavernous apartment with her pitiful cry. If I didn't have a baby literally begging for my help, I'd be tempted to stay right where I was. Being held by Rook was far more satisfying than it had any right to be. His body was lean but soft, and he held me like he wanted me there. Like I belonged at his side…
"Nope," I scratched out, shaking my head. I tried wiggling out from his arm, but he didn’t budge. "No, Gemma. Bad Gemma," I whispered to no one. Well, to myself. My stupid, clearly smitten, delusional self. When had that happened? When had I gone from being repulsed by Dr. Snooty Rook to craving his touch?
Knox woke with an eerie kind of quietness that didn't surprise me. He simply opened his eyes and sat up, looking down to find me still against him. I tried to get away from him, but he didn't release me. With a sleepy huskiness, he asked, "What's wrong?"
What's wrong ? I thought with a hysterical kind of shrillness. You were cuddling me. Dr. Rook does not exactly scream "cuddle bug." I cleared my throat. "Uhm, I think Pumpkin needs milk."
He blinked a few times, sighed, and then finally removed his arm. "I can do it."
I looked at him like his hair had turned to fleece. "Huh?"
"I can do it. I can never get back to sleep after I wake up, anyway." He reached around me, swirling the smell of his cologne and skin over my sleepy awareness, and then he pulled a knit throw off the back of the couch and over me. It smelled like him, too. I shouldn't have liked that, but clearly, I'd lost all semblance of sanity some time ago . "Go back to sleep. I'll figure out the milk thing."
"Are you sure?" I was already lying back down, coaxed by pressure from his hand on my arm.
He slid a pillow under my head. "I'm sure. And it's the weekend, so I'll try not to wake you."
"Who are you?" I asked suspiciously, peeking one eye open at him. Sleep pulled it closed again almost immediately.
He didn't answer right away, and it was just long enough for me to drift back under the silk of sleep. But then I heard his voice, far away and tinged with confusion. "Tangled."
I was pretty sure I'd dreamed that, though.