Daniel Knowles had suggested he take a couple of days off before reporting for duty, she didn’t show it. She merely paused in the midst of filling the raised feeder for the congregated goats that were bumping each other and stretching their necks to grab at bits of hay, and said, “Couldn’t wait to get cracking, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Hold on a sec. I’ll be right with you.”
She probably hadn’t meant the suggestion literally, but he leaned against the metal railing of the goat pen on legs that felt like rubber. He’d walked a little over a quarter of a mile, the longest distance since he’d left Afghanistan on a stretcher.
Finished filling the feeder, she went to the gate and opened it. “Come on in,” she said, and then led him to the side entrance of a small barn. They entered a room with a concrete floor, a stainless steel sink and counters lining the wall to their right. At the end of the counter there was a large, plastic-lined garbage bin with smaller tubs arranged next to it. On the opposite wall stood an industrial-sized refrigerator. Between them was a large storage cupboard. The air inside the room smelled of soap, which made sense, since the place was as immaculate as a surgery room but a whole lot nicer to be inside.
She was looking at him. “So you ditched the sling, huh?”
“Yup.” He’d gotten damned good at one-word responses.
“Wiggle your fingers.”
He had a sudden memory of one of the soldiers at Walter Reed who’d lost his right hand. The poor bastard was probably still there, learning how to live with a prosthetic. Slowly he forced digits as stiff as concrete to move.
“Not bad,” was the verdict. “Though I’m not sure you’re ready to play any piano concertos.”
He glanced at Quinn. Her light teasing aside, he could imagine how it must irk a beautiful young woman like her to be stuck with a wreck like him. Because now that nausea wasn’t blanketing his vision, Quinn’s loveliness was startlingly clear: her glowing skin, her searing blue eyes lit by diamond chips, her wide cheekbones, and her soft, full lips that looked as if she’d just been thoroughly and expertly kissed.
When Ethan was a kid, his teacher at Acacia Elementary used to have the class play a game. It was called something like “What Doesn’t Belong Here?” He, standing beside this perfect woman in her perfect, spotless world, was the oddball.
But one thing he knew about Adele and Daniel Knowles: their kindness and generosity were deep-seated and totally genuine. Quinn must have inherited it, for all she said next was, “Go wash up and we’ll set to work. Oh, and use the soap in the pump bottle. It’s antibacterial.”
While he washed his hands, he tracked her movements as she crisscrossed the room, pulling out neatly folded washcloths and a stack of metal pails from the cupboard next to the refrigerator. Setting them on the counter, she filled one of the buckets with feed pellets from the large bin.
When he stepped away from the sink to dry his hands, she took his place, turning on the water and filling another bucket before squirting some of the antibacterial soap into it. Picking up the two buckets, she hooked her fingers around the stack of still-empty pails and lifted them, too. “Grab the washcloths and follow me.”
He looked at all the stuff she was carrying. “I can at least carry the empty pails for you, damn it.”
With a roll of her eyes, she thrust them toward him so he could grasp the handles in his good hand. “There. Now that your male ego is satisfied, can we get a move on? Coco gets witchy if she’s kept waiting.”
The clanking of metal marked their progress outside. The noise had one of the goats removing her nose from the feeder. Looking at Quinn, she bleated imperiously.
“Yes, Coco, you’ll go first.”
He watched Quinn set the bucket of water on the ground next to a wooden platform roughly the size of a cot with an odd-looking headboard at
“Something like that.”
“Hold on a sec. I’ll be right with you.”
She probably hadn’t meant the suggestion literally, but he leaned against the metal railing of the goat pen on legs that felt like rubber. He’d walked a little over a quarter of a mile, the longest distance since he’d left Afghanistan on a stretcher.
Finished filling the feeder, she went to the gate and opened it. “Come on in,” she said, and then led him to the side entrance of a small barn. They entered a room with a concrete floor, a stainless steel sink and counters lining the wall to their right. At the end of the counter there was a large, plastic-lined garbage bin with smaller tubs arranged next to it. On the opposite wall stood an industrial-sized refrigerator. Between them was a large storage cupboard. The air inside the room smelled of soap, which made sense, since the place was as immaculate as a surgery room but a whole lot nicer to be inside.
She was looking at him. “So you ditched the sling, huh?”
“Yup.” He’d gotten damned good at one-word responses.
“Wiggle your fingers.”
He had a sudden memory of one of the soldiers at Walter Reed who’d lost his right hand. The poor bastard was probably still there, learning how to live with a prosthetic. Slowly he forced digits as stiff as concrete to move.
“Not bad,” was the verdict. “Though I’m not sure you’re ready to play any piano concertos.”
He glanced at Quinn. Her light teasing aside, he could imagine how it must irk a beautiful young woman like her to be stuck with a wreck like him. Because now that nausea wasn’t blanketing his vision, Quinn’s loveliness was startlingly clear: her glowing skin, her searing blue eyes lit by diamond chips, her wide cheekbones, and her soft, full lips that looked as if she’d just been thoroughly and expertly kissed.
When Ethan was a kid, his teacher at Acacia Elementary used to have the class play a game. It was called something like “What Doesn’t Belong Here?” He, standing beside this perfect woman in her perfect, spotless world, was the oddball.
But one thing he knew about Adele and Daniel Knowles: their kindness and generosity were deep-seated and totally genuine. Quinn must have inherited it, for all she said next was, “Go wash up and we’ll set to work. Oh, and use the soap in the pump bottle. It’s antibacterial.”
While he washed his hands, he tracked her movements as she crisscrossed the room, pulling out neatly folded washcloths and a stack of metal pails from the cupboard next to the refrigerator. Setting them on the counter, she filled one of the buckets with feed pellets from the large bin.
When he stepped away from the sink to dry his hands, she took his place, turning on the water and filling another bucket before squirting some of the antibacterial soap into it. Picking up the two buckets, she hooked her fingers around the stack of still-empty pails and lifted them, too. “Grab the washcloths and follow me.”
He looked at all the stuff she was carrying. “I can at least carry the empty pails for you, damn it.”
With a roll of her eyes, she thrust them toward him so he could grasp the handles in his good hand. “There. Now that your male ego is satisfied, can we get a move on? Coco gets witchy if she’s kept waiting.”
The clanking of metal marked their progress outside. The noise had one of the goats removing her nose from the feeder. Looking at Quinn, she bleated imperiously.
“Yes, Coco, you’ll go first.”
He watched Quinn set the bucket of water on the ground next to a wooden platform roughly the size of a cot with an odd-looking headboard at
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