Chapter 4
Desperate and on the verge of tears, Brooke ran into her kitchen and tried to find the card Blayne had given her the previous evening.
Resolved to handling things herself and sure pigs couldn’t be that hard to care for, she’d tossed the card aside.
After discovering through several online searches that vegetables were good for pigs, she’d fed Winnie every veggie she had in the fridge then spent an hour trying to herd the pigs inside. The piglets she could carry, but Winnie seemed determined to stay outside in the sunshine.
Only when the sky darkened and the sun sank toward the horizon did the pig act interested in coming inside. By then, the Houdini-wannabe had disappeared three times.
The last time he’d gone missing, Brooke found the piglet hiding under the couch in her apartment. She had no idea how he’d gotten out of the room where she’d left him, up the stairs, and into her private domain.
After a night interrupted with grunts, oinks, and squeals, she’d finally given up on sleep in the wee hours of the morning, got up, showered, and dressed.
She went downstairs. In the odd laws of nature, the noises that plagued her all night had stilled and the pigs remained quiet. She spent a few hours working on a piece a man had ordered as an anniversary gift for his wife. The heart, done in autumn colors of crimson, amber, and gold, would mount on a wall. At nearly four feet in diameter, it was taking some work for Brooke to get the sizing and shape just right. She’d been practicing and was close to perfecting it. She sold the practice pieces at a steep discount, knowing they weren’t faultless, but still beautiful.
Noise from the pig room, as she referred to the former storage space, drew her across the large workshop floor. She opened the door, greeted by odious smells and five hungry pigs.
“Oh, Winnie! What did you do in here?” she asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she flicked on the light and saw the pig had used the box Blayne prepared for her, but the smell… sweet mercy!
Winnie gazed at her with those soulful eyes, thinking she’d done something wrong. Brooke was quick to soften her tone and pat the pig on the back. “You’re a good girl, Winnie. Such a good girl. Thank you for doing your business in the right spot.”
The pig brightened, understanding Brooke’s words of praise as she leaned against her leg.
“I don’t know anything about owning a pet, Winnie, girl. You might have to cut me some slack as I figure things out,” Brooke said, hunkering down as she pet Winnie. The little piglets all crowded around her. She reached toward the door, nabbing the escape artist before he snuck away.
She held him up and stared at his face. “You, little man, are a handful. I refuse to name you Houdini, so what shall I call you? We have Winnie the Pig and…” An idea struck Brooke and she laughed. “You’ll be Tigger because you can’t seem to stay out of trouble.”
The two black and white piglets, both boys, she dubbed Eeyore and Robin. The runt of the litter, a little girl, received the name Roo.
“Miss Roo, keep an eye on your brothers while I run to the store. I don’t have a thing to feed you for breakfast unless you think cold cereal would do.”
Roo snuffled her hand and Brooke grinned, setting her down with her brothers. “Winnie, I promise I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
Brooke grabbed her purse and hurried to the feed store. Once there, she had no idea what to buy. She’d read something about special pig food, but couldn’t remember what. Since she’d forgotten her phone at home, she wandered the aisles. More confused with each passing minute, she finally approached the counter. A woman who looked to be about her age chomped gum while mindlessly flipping through a magazine with ear buds blocking out all sound.
Brooke would have assumed someone nearing thirty might have outgrown such habits as smacking gum and acting indifferent to customers, but kept her thoughts to herself. “Excuse me,” she said, standing at the counter.
The woman gave her a quick glance, sighed heavily, and tossed the magazine behind her on a long counter with an assortment of items that appeared ready to shelve. Clearly annoyed at being disturbed, the woman removed her ear buds, leaving them dangling around her neck. “What?” she asked in snappish tone.
“I need feed for pot-bellied pigs. What do you recommend?”
The woman waggled a long vermillion nail toward a center aisle. “Just buy some cat food. They’ll be fine. And you better get a litter box and litter and maybe some catnip and chew toys. Do you need wormer? If they have parasites, you should…”
“I have pigs, not cats,” Brooke said, tuning out the woman. She didn’t have a feral cat in her care, but a bunch of sweet little pigs.
When the woman finished her long list of cat-related items Brooke should purchase, including a tree for the pigs to claw and climb, she gave the woman her most discerning look. “Is the manager here, by chance?”
“What do you want with him? I told you what you needed.” The woman shrugged, popped her ear buds back in, and returned to her magazine.
Angry and frustrated, Brooke left and drove to the pet store. She sat outside and waited five minutes for it to open. The minute the closed sign turned to open, she rushed in the door and asked the man working there what to feed the pigs. He suggested she go to the feed store because he didn’t carry the supplies she’d need there.
Deflated, Brooke returned home to look up the exact information about what she needed to purchase. If she couldn’t get someone to help her at the feed store, she’d drive to one of the bigger towns in the area. If need be, she’d go all the way to Portland.
She opened the back door and stepped inside, listening to squeals and unhappy oinks emanating from the pig room.
“I’m coming, Winnie,” she called, racing to the room. Much to her dismay, she found only Winnie and little Roo in the room. The three boys had edged away the piece of plywood she’d used to block the doorway and escaped.
“Oh, this is bad,” she said, tossing down her purse and searching for the missing piglets. She found Eeyore curled up on her shop apron, taking a nap. Robin had somehow climbed into a box of labels and whined in protest when she lifted him out.
“You need to stay out of places you shouldn’t be, Robin,” she admonished the pig as she set him back in the room with his mother. “Where’s Tigger?” she asked, wishing he’d magically appear.
An hour later, she still hadn’t found the piglet. She’d searched every inch of her workshop as well as the front of the store. She’d crawled around her apartment, looking under furniture, in her closet, even beneath her bed.
Frantic, out of patience, and uncertain what to do, she riffled through her junk drawer, desperate to find Blayne’s card. Finally locating it in a stack of junk mail she hadn’t opened, she dialed his number and waited. And waited.
On the fourth ring, he answered.
“Hello?”
If she hadn’t been on the verge of hysteria about her pigs, that deep gravelly tone might have sent her into an entirely different sort of fit, one that would have turned her limbs languid and brain to mush.
As it was, though, she had more important problems than the way her body and soul ached to react to his voice.
“Blayne?” she asked, completely aware she spoke to him. No one else could make her knees turn to a gelatinous mass just by uttering a simple greeting.
“Yes,” he said, sounding cautious.
“This is Brooke. Brooke Roberts. We met yesterday at the festival and you helped me bring home my pigs.”
“How are the little oinkers?” he asked, a smile evident in his voice.
“Horrible!” Brooke took a deep breath to keep her tears at bay. “I went to the feed store to buy food and the woman there kept trying to sell me stuff for a cat. The guy at the pet store told me to go the feed store. If I go back there, I might just smack the woman into next week if she tells me I need catnip again. I came home to find the pigs had escaped and I can’t find Tigger. I’m a terrible adoptive parent! Maybe I should send them back to Brent or someone who doesn’t lose baby pigs. Winnie’s starving and I don’t know what to do.” She rambled. “I don’t know why I called you, but I’m just… I’m at…”
Rather than ask her questions, tell her to calm down, or laugh at her, he simply said, “I’m on my way.”
The line went dead and Brooke stared at the phone in her hand for several moments before she set it on the table. She hadn’t meant for him to drop everything and run to her rescue. In fact, finding herself in the position of needing to be rescued grated on her nerves and left her edgy.
The damage was done, though, and a part of her was glad someone who perhaps knew more about pigs than she did could help her get back on track. While she waited for Blayne to arrive, she continued searching for Tigger. She remembered a box of winter shoes she had not yet unpacked at the back of the closet in her spare bedroom. Carefully pulling out the box, she found the piglet nestled into the toe of a fuzzy winter slipper.
Lest he awaken, she lifted the slipper with him still in it and carried it down to the pig room. Winnie seemed as happy to see her baby as Brooke was to find him. She sat on the floor in front of the door, watching the pigs, when Blayne arrived. He didn’t bother to knock, but charged inside the workshop through the back door, spying her on the floor.
“What happened?” he asked, taking in her flushed face and weary state.
“They’re hungry, smelly, and intent on escaping,” she said, pointing to where Tigger tried to nose his way out of the room again.
“It’s okay, Brooke. You’re doing fine. Give yourself a little bit of grace to get through the adjustment period of going from no animals to five unusual pets,” Blayne said, holding out a hand to help her to her feet.
~*~
If he’d encountered this woman walking down the street, he wouldn’t have known at first glance she was the same one he’d been so enchanted with the previous day.
Yesterday, Brooke looked sophisticated, trendy, and professional.
This morning, her long hair was wadded into a messy bun with a red bandana tied around the front of her head like a headband. She wore denim overalls with what appeared to be burn holes along the legs and both knees were worn through. The fashionable knee-high boots of yesterday were replaced with high-topped tennis shoes in a glaring shade of red. The teal blue T-shirt she wore, though, brought out green flecks in her expressive hazel eyes.
Not a speck of makeup hid her natural features. Blayne quickly decided he preferred seeing her this way, natural and unaffected. This was the Brooke he sensed lurking behind the polished image she presented at the festival.
Before he blurted out his thoughts, proclaiming how attractive he found her, he took charge of the pigs. He handed her the water bowl to refill while he emptied Winnie’s makeshift litter box. They fed Winnie sliced apples, gave the piglets raisins, then shut the door to the pig room so no chance of escape existed while they ran errands.
Brooke printed off a list of supplies they’d need before they returned to the feed store. Blayne held the door and followed Brooke inside, his gaze flickering to the woman at the counter. He’d dated her a few times back when he first returned to the ranch after college. Marcy had been a diversion from his grief over his grandfather and the burden of responsibilities suddenly resting on his young shoulders.
It didn’t take long to realize, though, the woman was conniving, cruel, and a waste of his time. She hadn’t taken it well when he told her he wasn’t interested in seeing her again. She’d spread nasty rumors about him, stalked him, and made his life miserable until another unsuspecting fool asked her out.
He was surprised to see her at the feed store, but recalled hearing her most recent conquest was the owner’s son. Most likely, that explained her unwelcome presence and the reason why the “idiot woman at the feed store,” as Brooke referred to her, was so lacking in knowledge.
“Well, if it isn’t Blayne Grundy. What brings you here today?” Marcy asked. She popped her gum as she watched him like a hungry predator sighting its prey right before it pounced.
Blayne’s gaze narrowed as he approached the counter. “Just need some supplies, Marcy. Is Chris around, by chance? Or maybe Tim?” He knew the owner of the store, or even his son, would help them find everything they needed.
“Nope. Tim had to run to Portland for something and Chris is making a delivery to a farm in Amity. You’d think they’d learn to come…”
Blayne walked off to find Brooke while Marcy prattled on, unaware he’d stopped listening as soon as he learned the two people who might be able to assist them were gone.
He found Brooke in an aisle of specialty pet food, comparing the notes she’d printed out to the packaging information of pellets made specifically for pot-bellied pigs.
“Looks like you found what you need,” he said, motioning to the bags.
“A start on what I need, anyway.” She glanced around. “Do they have shopping carts around here?”
Half an hour later, Blayne set the last of her purchases in his pickup, wondering how five pigs could require so much stuff. The pigs at his ranch stayed in what his family always called the hog shed, where they had a place to root around, shelter from the weather, and a corner for their feed trough. They were always fat and happy.
However, he was quickly coming to realize pot-bellied pigs as pets and hogs raised for bacon and other tasty pork treats were two completely different things.
On the way back to Blown Away, Brooke asked him to swing by the grocery store where she loaded a cart with heads of lettuce, and an assortment of fruits and vegetables including celery, cucumbers, carrots, and more apples.
Blayne helped her carry everything inside and watched as Winnie and the piglets tucked into the nutrient-rich pellets Brooke poured into their wide, shallow feed bowl.
Although she’d been tense and upset when he arrived, Brooke seemed much more relaxed and at ease, now that she had food for the pigs and supplies to make them feel at home.
“Would you like to go out for lunch?” he asked, hopeful of spending more time with her.
She glanced up from where she sat on the floor in front of the pig room, watching them eat. “I’m not sure I can trust them to behave long enough to be gone.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure they’ll be fine, especially if you close the door. We could pick up a baby gate. It ought to keep the little ones in, although Winnie could plow through it if she decided to. A playpen would work, too, for the piglets, if you want to take them outside or move them around down here.”
Brooke looked at him as if he was the most brilliant man in Romance. “Okay. I’ll go to lunch with you if you go with me to get the other stuff. There’s no way I’m shopping in the baby department by myself.”
“Deal.”
After eating brunch at The Good Egg where Brooke indulged in slices of delicious French toast while Blayne enjoyed a meat and cheese filled omelet, they drove to a store that carried a selection of baby items.
Both of them quietly perused the options until a sales clerk approached them and asked if they needed assistance. Brooke gave Blayne a playful look then smiled at the friendly woman. “Oh, we certainly could use your help. We have four little ones at home in need of a playpen and if we don’t find a baby gate to keep them corralled, I’m not sure what I’ll do. Why, I even lost one of the little devils this morning. It took me two hours to find him curled up in the back of the guest closet, tucked in a box of shoes.”
Blayne turned away, unable to hide his amusement at the woman’s horrified expression. He tried to cover his bark of laughter with a cough while Brooke gave the woman a sweet, innocent look.
The saleswoman gaped at her, no doubt wondering if she should place an immediate call to children’s services and turn in Brooke for neglect. The poor woman’s mouth opened, snapped shut, then fell open again, but no sound came out.
Finally, Brooke took pity on her and placed a hand on the woman’s arm. “I’m just teasing, ma’am. I adopted a mama pig and her four babies yesterday at the Fall Festival. I’ve been told a playpen and baby gate would be very useful to have.”
Air whooshed out of the woman’s lungs and a look of relief passed over her face before she snatched onto her composure. “Of course. I heard the festival had record numbers and did very well in raising funds for Finding Forever.”
“That’s wonderful,” Brooke said, smiling with genuine warmth. “Do you have any playpens that are rugged, built to withstand children like him?” She waggled her thumb over her shoulder at Blayne. “You know the type of holy terrors who could gnaw their way through forged steel.”
The woman grinned and motioned further down the aisle. “I have what you need right here.”
Blayne watched Brooke as she chatted with the woman, and apologized for teasing her earlier. They left the store with a playpen, baby gate, and some cute Winnie the Pooh themed accessories for the piglets.
Back at Brooke’s place, Blayne installed the baby gate across the doorway of the pig room, assembled the playpen, which he dubbed the pigpen, and set it up outside on the grass. He and Brooke carried the piglets out to the pen and settled them inside while Winnie wandered out on her own.
“She won’t run off with the babies here,” Blayne said when Brooke expressed concern about Winnie disappearing. “Don’t worry.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently began to massage them. Brooke was tense and stiff. He could feel the knots in her muscles and wondered what it would take to get her to release all that tension and relax.
For a moment, she seemed to enjoy his ministrations. She closed her eyes, tipped her head forward and released a soft moan that put every single one of his senses on high alert.
Suddenly, she moved away from him and rolled her shoulders, as though trying to rid herself of the feel of his hands.
“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” she asked, taking another step away from him. “I appreciate all your help today, but I wouldn’t want to keep you from her.”
“I never said I had a girlfriend.” Blayne eliminated the distance between them with one step. “I said I was buying that pumpkin for my best girl. My best girl just happens to be in her seventies, even more opinionated than you, and the woman who raised me when my parents died.”
“Oh,” Brooke whispered, raising her eyes to meet his. “I’m sorry about your parents. How old were you when they died?”
“Eight. They were both attorneys who worked in Portland. I stayed with my grandparents during the week and at the condo on the weekends. When the plane they’d chartered for a business trip crashed, my grandparents raised me. Gramps passed away my last year of college, so it’s been just me and Grams since then.” He gave her a long glance. “What about you? Where do your parents live? Siblings?”
Brooke sat down on one of the two folding chairs they’d carried outside. “No siblings, no parents, no relatives at all.”
Blayne stared at her. He’d recognized the loneliness in her from having experienced it so often himself. “What happened to your parents, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I don’t mind, although I generally prefer not to talk about it.” Brooke leaned back and seemed to collect her thoughts before she spoke again. “My dad was in business. I couldn’t tell you what type of business, I just remember seeing him wearing suits and carrying a briefcase. I think I was seven when my mom was diagnosed with cancer. It started in her lymph nodes and soon it was everywhere. She wanted to die at home, so she had hospice care. I spent a lot of time at her bedside, pleading and crying for her not to die. I’m sure that didn’t make things any easier on her. By then, my Dad disappeared. He went to work one morning and never came home. I heard the hospice worker talking about it to my mom one day. She said my dad couldn’t handle her illness. I suppose he could still be alive, but I’ve never looked for him. He didn’t stick around when I needed him most, so I can’t imagine he’d be much of a father anyway.”
Blayne had no idea what to say, so he remained silent.
Brooke shrugged, as though she cast off the sad memories. “After mom passed away, I entered the system. My grandparents were all deceased and there weren’t any aunts or uncles on either side of my family, so I bounced from one foster home to another. When I turned eighteen, I received a little money from a fund my mother had established for me. I used it to go to college, fell in love with the art of blowing glass, and here I am.”
Blayne had a good idea there was much more to the story, but he wouldn’t push her. “I’m sorry about your parents, Brooke. It must have been hard to be alone all those years.” He captured her hand in his, rubbing the back of it with his thumb.
She glanced down at their joined hands. For a moment, she looked as though she might jerk away, but her face softened and she relaxed a bit. Blayne bit back a smile and continued gently caressing her hand.
When she remained silent, he changed the subject, directing it away from maudlin thoughts. “Grams couldn’t stop raving about the pumpkin I bought her, by the way. She’d love to meet you sometime, if you ever want to come out to the ranch. She said she saw an article about you in some artsy magazine last year. Why didn’t you make a big deal out of being a famous artist?”
“Because it isn’t a big deal and I’m not famous,” Brooke grinned at him. “If I was famous, you’d have known who I was. I could walk anywhere and people would point and say, ‘Look, it’s Brooke, the famous artist.’” Her grin broadened. “You only need one name when you’re famous, you know.”
He chuckled. “Whatever, almost famous artist.” Reluctant to leave but mindful of the work waiting for him at home, Blayne rose to his feet. “Thank you for an interesting day. Call me if you need more help, or if you’d like to visit the ranch. Girl and Boy would love to see you again. You might also like to come out and meet the newest resident.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Did you adopt a new pet, too?”
“I’m actually more of a temporary home before a permanent place can be found. Brent had a donkey and a bunch of chickens that needed a place to go. Grams handled the chickens, but I’m in charge of the donkey.”
“A donkey, huh?” Brooke grinned again. “That might be incentive to visit your ranch.”
“Kong would like to think it is.”
A laugh spilled out of her. “You named the donkey Kong? Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. That was his name before Brent took him in. I’m not sure if Donkey Kong or King Kong would have been worse.”
“Okay, you win. I have to meet this donkey. I have a project I need to finish and it has to be shipped Thursday morning. If it works with your schedule, I could come out that evening.” Brooke walked Blayne over to his pickup.
“That will work great. In case you think about changing your mind, I could probably come up with a more compelling reason for you to come.” He looked at her with an intense light glowing in his eyes.
Rather than back away from him, as he feared, she stood her ground. “What reason might that be cowboy?”
“Just this one.” Blayne stepped close to her, holding her gaze. He wrapped one hand around her waist and slid the other into her messy hair. Before she could protest or pull away, his lips skimmed across hers in a light, tentative kiss. When she moved closer to him, he kissed her again. The long, lingering kiss erupted an explosion of fireworks behind his eyes while her body turned limp in his arms.
When he lifted his head, he kissed her cheek and slowly released his hold on her, making sure she was steady on her feet before backing away. “I’ll let you consider if that’s a compelling reason. If not, let me know. I can come back later and do a better job.”
Brooke’s cheeks filled with heat as Blayne gave her one more searing look then slid inside his pickup and drove off.
If the stunned look on her face was any indication, there was no way she’d miss a visit to the ranch.