DAVID
I can't stop thinking about giving the kitten I just adopted to the little girl in the worn sneakers. The thought is ridiculous on so many levels, but that doesn't stop it from popping back into my head every time I push it away. In what world is it okay for a grown man to give a kitten to a little girl he doesn’t know, especially after her mother just finished saying no? In fact, I’m pretty damn sure that would classify me as creepy as hell. So what if the look on the woman's face told me she would rather say yes to her daughter? I have no right to interfere at all, nor do I have any reason to justify the urge to give a kitten to a stranger, even if the little girl does look a little like Maggie.
I ball that thought up and shove it way back where it belongs, a place so deep and dark I won't stumble across it again in the near future. As soon as the attendant finishes putting the kitten in the box, I open it right back up and wave the girl over. "You can hold her some more if you want."
The girl looks to her mother. "Can I?"
The woman wraps her arms around her stomach and narrows her eyes at me. I understand. If I was in her situation, I'd be wondering about my motives, too. "For a minute," she says after some thought and gives me a tentative smile. She should do that more often. Smile, I mean. She's fucking beautiful when she does.
I help the girl with the kitten and then stand, extending my hand to her mother.
"David," I say, "David Carmichael."
She places her small hand in mine. "Michelle." Her eyes—an extraordinary blue framed by dark lashes—meet mine and I lose my train of thought. She reclaims her hand and points at her daughter. "And that monster trying to sneak your kitten out of here without either one of us noticing is Claire."
"Hey! I'm not a monster." Claire pouts and then returns her attention to the creature cuddled in her arms.
"And isn't that exactly what a monster would say?" Michelle crouches beside Claire, her light brown hair falling over her shoulder like a curtain closing her off from me.
I fill out the adoption paperwork with my attention split between the forms and Michelle. She's a stunner, but nothing about the way she holds herself makes me think she has one single idea how beautiful she is. Those blue eyes, that creamy skin. I have a sudden urge to see more of it, all of it, to trail my fingers down her stomach while she arches her back in anticipation of all the pleasure I'm about to give her. Her hair fanned out across my pillow...
"Mr. Carmichael?" The tired woman on the other side of the counter leans in to catch my attention.
I wrench my focus back to the task at hand. "Mmm?"
"Will that be cash or credit?" she asks. "For the cats," she adds when I don't answer right away.
"Sorry. Cash." I smile as I reach into my back pocket for my wallet. "I was thinking about work," I add.
"Sure. Whatever you say." The woman glances at Michelle and Claire, still crouched down and cuddling the kitten I'll be adding to my family of barn cats. I pay her and then approach the women, kneeling beside them.
"So," I say to the little girl, Claire. "I know you can't take one home with you, but if you'd like, you could name this one. That's the next best thing to having your own."
The little girl grins widely. "Do you mean it?"
I nod. "Yep."
"And you promise to take good care of her?"
I nod again. "I take good care of all of my animals."
Claire studies the little ball of fur in her lap. "I think…” She trails off, peering into the kitten's face. "I think her name is Mouse."
"Mouse, huh?" I ask. "Is that because she's so small?"
"Nope. She's only small now 'cause she's a baby. She'll grow up big and be a great hunter. I can tell. If her name is Mouse, she'll blend in better and they'll never see her coming."
I laugh. "That's a very good point."
Michelle stands and draws her hair over her shoulder. "Why don't you say goodbye to Mouse so Mr. Carmichael can take her home," she says to Claire before turning to me. "That was kind of you. Letting her name her like that." She twiddles the ends of her hair around her fingers.
"It's no skin off my back, you know? And if it makes her happy..." I shrug, losing myself in the prettiest eyes I've ever seen.
"Well, it's nice to be on the receiving end of that kindness." Her eyes lock on mine and her lips part before she blinks, swallows, and turns her focus to Claire. "Isn't it, Bear?"
"Isn't it what?" she asks, rubbing her cheek against Mouse's back.
"Nice to have someone do something nice for us. I don't know many men who would let a strange little monster name his kitten."
Claire rolls her eyes at the nickname and then beams at me. "Oh yeah." She stands, careful not to jostle the kitten. "You promise you'll take good care of her?"
"Cross my heart." I take Mouse back from Claire and put her into her box.
"You need help?" Michelle gestures to the other two cat carriers.
Under normal circumstances, I'd say no and let her go back to whatever it is she's doing here, but the prospect of having a few more minutes with her is more than I can pass up. "Sure." I grin. "I appreciate it."
Michelle carefully lifts one of the carriers, laughing as the poor cat freaks out inside, jostling the weight around and bouncing the carrier against her leg. With Claire carrying the other kitten carrier, we load everyone up in the back seat of my truck without any problems.
"Thanks." I close the door and run a hand through my hair.
"It's the least we could do," says Michelle, placing a hand on Claire's back and leading her across the parking lot. "Have a good one," she calls over her shoulder.
"You, too." I consider calling out to her. Running up and asking for her phone number, because what kind of man would let a woman that beautiful walk away? As Michelle helps Claire into the back seat and then slides into the driver's seat, yanking the door shut behind her, I realize that I'm the kind of man that would let her walk away. Beautiful or not, I don't have time for a woman, her child, and all the things that come along with them. I climb into the truck and watch Michelle's car through the rearview. I think she turns to look my way as she passes, but the way the sun glances off the roof of her car, I can't be sure.
I bring the truck to life and turn on the air conditioning. This April might as well be August, given how hot it is. The whole winter was mild, which might have spelled disaster for me if the temperature had dropped back down to normal after all the plants started popping. It still could, we're not technically out of the woods yet, but each day that passes without a frost warning has me more confident that things are going to be okay at the farm.
One of the cats starts yowling a few minutes after I hit the road and doesn't stop until I pull to a stop in front of the Carmichael family farmhouse. "Come on, then," I say as I lift the carrier out of the back. "Let me show you your new home."
Pogo, my over-zealous—if slightly clumsy—Australian Shepherd comes bounding out of the barn to meet us. One at a time, I bring the cats out and open the carriers in front of the food and water dishes I keep out here for them. Pogo sniffs each one, his little nub of a tail wagging so hard his hips wiggle with the effort. The two adult cats don't give him the time of day but Mouse? She puffs up and hops towards him, her back arched, a teeny-tiny ball of hissing ferocity. Pogo barks and I call him over to me so the kitten can relax and start to settle in.
A lot of farmers swear by having unneutered cats that have to fend for themselves, only filling their bellies off what they can hunt down. They say they're more aggressive and hungry and are therefore better mousers. Me? I'd rather adopt a cat who can't find a home and do my best to give it a great life. I feed them to keep up their strength and love it when they run up to greet me, bumping and nuzzling their little heads against my legs.
"Did you find some good ones?" My brother Colton strides into the barn, his hands shoved in his back pockets and his hat pulled down low over his face.
"Sure did." I smile as Mouse pounces on a piece of straw caught in the wind. I should have gotten Michelle's phone number so I could send a picture to Claire. And then ask her mom out to dinner. I was a fool to let that woman walk out of my life.
"Mom and Dad are in the kitchen." Colton gestures towards the stately farmhouse with its wraparound porch, a few hundred feet off the road. "Your presence has been requested."
"Do you think they'll ever figure out that I'm the one living there now? And that maybe they shouldn't let themselves in whenever they want to? And that maybe, just maybe, they can't summon me to a meeting in my own house whenever they want?"
Colton leans against the barn door. "Dude. You and I both know that nothing on this farm belongs to either one of us. It's all part of the family legacy—" he makes air quotes and raises his eyebrows "—and privacy means nothing if you're a Carmichael."
I shake my head. "Remind me again why I didn't move out when I had the chance?" I stand and brush my hands off on my jeans as I head out of the barn and towards the house.
"Uh? Because I'm still here. Duh." Colton pushes off the wall to follow me.
As I step out into the sunshine, my gaze settles on the house my family has lived in for the last four generations. Blue sky and miles of open space surround the two-story home. Decades of love, devotion, and hard work are evident in the clean white paint and cultivated flowerbeds, in the porch steps Colton and I helped Dad repair last year, and in the neat trim around the windows. The orchard and its early blooms stretch out on my left. Mom's strawberries on my right. The bleat of a goat greets me as I walk by and a warm breeze rustles the hair at the back of my neck. All I need to remind me why I stayed is stretched out in front of me. This farm is a slice of heaven handmade by each generation of Carmichaels to hand down to the next. I love being here, married to the plants and the soil, tending the animals with the people who know me best and love me anyway, the history of my life etched into every single acre.
I stayed because here at Carmichael Farms, with my days filled with nothing but work and family, my life is pretty damn perfect. After living through my own personal hell, I have a new appreciation for this simple life and I wouldn't change it for the world.