Chapter 17
Jake
“Fucking Henrietta.” I grumble under my breath as I glance out the window and see that traitorous goat across the field onto Scarlett’s property.
It’s been maybe a week since I last tried to help Scarlett and was shut down.
Since then, I’ve tried like hell not to gaze out the window over at her place.
It doesn’t help that my kitchen window above the sink where I wash dishes points directly at her house.
I look out said window now, in my pajamas, coffee cup in hand and see my mischievous goat snuggling up to Scarlett.
Traitor. Henrietta does not snuggle. Never in the twelve years I’ve had her, has Henrietta ever snuggled.
Well, maybe once or twice with Cami but most certainly not me.
Time freezes around me as I watch Scarlett kneel down in the dirt to become eye level with my goat.
The traitor lays her head on Scarlett’s shoulder and my heart skips a beat when I see her throw back her head in silent laughter.
She’s a spitfire but she’s gorgeous. Happiness radiates from her and it’s as if the sun is shining only on her.
She’s wearing a pair of overalls and a beanie on top of her head with one of those big fluffy balls on top.
Which Henrietta has now put in her mouth and taken off of Scarlett’s head.
The way her face lights up makes me want to run over there and hear the sound she makes when she’s uninhibited.
Every interaction I’ve had with her has been harsh, blocked.
Granted, I did accuse her of stealing the first time I met her.
My bad. This version of her though, this free, easy going, full of sunshine version… I want to know that woman.
And that is what drags me out of the house and over to Scarlett’s, to retrieve Henrietta, of course.
The wind picks up halfway through the meadow and I realize that I should have grabbed a coat.
Or maybe some real pants. Should I turn back around and change my clothes?
Probably. Before I can decide that pants are definitely needed I hear the sound I long for.
It’s better than I could have imagined. Her laugh echoes as if she’s standing on the edge of a canyon and somehow I feel surrounded by it.
The melody is like music to my ears as her laugh expands and she says between chortles, “Henrietta… stop.” Her voice is breathy and it makes me think about what it would be like to hear her say my name like that.
Of course, I wouldn’t want her to be begging me to stop.
I hesitate to break up the cause of her laughter but Henrietta has a mouthful of Scarlett’s long black hair and she’s chewing it in her mouth as if it’s a clump of hay.
“Henrietta.” I say sternly. Like a wounded dog Henrietta drops Scarlett’s hair, allowing her to get off of her place on the ground.
She stands, dusting herself off and I can almost see her build that wall back up in front of her face brick by brick.
Stone cold and without emotion. But it was there, I saw it.
She clears her throat and says, “She um, jumped the fence I think. I’m not sure.
I was in the coop and then I came out and she greeted me like we were old friends.
” She smiles at Henrietta and I see the smallest glimmer of happiness sparkle in her blue-green eyes.
But it vanishes when she looks back my way.
“Sorry about that,” I say. “Goats are notorious escape artists but Henrietta hasn’t gotten out in years." It hits me then that she used to escape when Blaine had chickens in this coop. She must have heard the peeps and decided to come check it out. “I think she wanted to mother your chicks,” I add.
Scarlett looks back at Henrietta with a newfound softness in her face.
“Aw, such good maternal instincts,” she says as she scratches Henrietta on the head.
“Well, she’s welcome here anytime as long as she behaves.
” Absent mindedly she grabs the chunk of her hair that Henrietta used as a chew toy.
It’s clumped together and probably disgustingly sticky but Scarlett doesn’t flinch.
It hits me that I know nothing about this girl and where she comes from.
Did she grow up on a farm? Or is she just naturally good with how messy farm life can be?
Will I ever know the answer to these questions?
Looking at her stern face, waiting for me to make the next move, probably not.
How do I get her to look at me like she looks at Henrietta? Why do I want her to?
I shake the thoughts from my head and get back to reality. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t get out, sorry.” It comes out as sort of a mumble.
“It’s no big deal, I like her,” she says, bringing her attention–and smile–back to Henrietta.
“Well, you’re always welcome to visit.” The words are out of my mouth before I can even think them through.
Scarlett’s head snaps up and looks over at me with a shock that is unmistakable.
She covers it up quickly though, with her typical look of disinterest. “If you want to, of course.” I stumble over my words.
Why is this woman so hard to talk to? I’ve never considered myself a heart breaker and admittedly it’s been a few years since I’ve been in a serious relationship but damn, I swear I didn’t think I was this rusty with a pretty woman.
She bites her lip for a second and takes me in.
I’m suddenly very aware that I’m standing out here in a black hoodie and red and black plaid pajama pants.
Her eyes widen ever so slightly at the sight of my pajama pants and it takes everything I have not to shift under her scrutiny.
The corners of her lips tick upward and she says, “Maybe I will.” And with just those three words I feel the ice between us begin to thaw.
“Alright then, well I better get this lady home and milk her,” I say and I feel like such a fumbling idiot.
It’s worth it though when Scarlett’s smile broadens ever so slightly.
It reaches her eyes, making the green in them shine.
Whether she’s smiling because she thinks I’m an idiot or maybe she’s letting down her guard with me, I don’t know.
Regardless of the reason though, I’ll take it.
Grabbing Henrietta’s collar, something Cami said she just had to have after the first time she escaped, we set off across the meadow between our houses.
Henrietta bounces along at my side awfully proud of herself for her excursions this morning.
Her little face looks up at me and I swear if she could talk she’d say, “See, I helped. You’re welcome. ”