Chapter 6
Doris looked at Blayne so he bowed his head and offered thanks for their meal. Brooke quietly listened to the heartfelt words before accepting the bowl of mashed potatoes Grams held out to her.
“Blayne said you adopted five pigs. How is that going?” Doris asked.
Brooke would have assumed the woman was just making small talk, but she gave her a look full of genuine interest.
“I’ve never had a pet before, not even a goldfish, so it’s an eye-opening experience, to say the least.” Brooke grinned. “But it’s been fun, too. The piglets all have such unique personalities and Winnie, she’s the mama pig, is great. Someone put a lot of work into training her. I went to the Pages of Romance bookstore and purchased a few books about caring for pets. They even had one specifically about pot-bellied pigs, which has been helpful.”
“Do you know how old the piglets are?” Blayne asked as he cut a bite of roast.
Brooke shrugged. “No. Brent thought they were around two months old.”
Blayne nodded. “That’s my guess, too. If that’s correct, you’ll have to think about weaning the pigs soon.”
“Weaning?” Brooke asked, confused.
Doris patted Brooke’s hand. “It means you’ll have to separate the babies from their mama so they’ll learn to eat food instead of suckle milk.”
Brooke’s mouth formed an “O” as she looked from Doris to Blayne. “That seems mean, to separate babies from their mama. Won’t Winnie be upset, too?”
Blayne set down his fork. “For a day or two, but it’s all part of a natural routine.” One dark eyebrow rose toward his hairline as he looked at her. “Speaking of nature, you might want to think about taking Winnie and the boys to visit the vet or you’ll have more baby pigs to deal with eventually.”
“More piglets?” A look of panic descended on her face. “I can’t handle more pigs. I’m not even sure I’m handling the ones I have. How on earth will I keep Winnie and the babies separated. I guess I could bring the…”
Blayne squeezed her hand. “It’s okay, Brooke. I’ll bring Winnie out here for a while. She can stay in the barn with Kong. She’ll have a nice, warm stall all to herself. She might enjoy the peace and quiet.”
Brooke appeared relieved. “Really? You’d take care of Winnie for me, at least until the piglets are weaned?”
“I sure would.” Blayne released her hand and leaned back. “Grams will get a kick out of her.”
“Most likely, I will. If I don’t, the only thing getting a kick will be the seat of your pants, Blayne Grundy,” Doris said, giving him a warning glance before breaking into a round of giggles.
Brooke joined in the laughter and the discussion turned from the pigs to her studio.
After eating until she was stuffed, Doris chased them both outside while she did the dishes. In spite of Brooke’s insistence she wanted to help, Doris flapped a hand at her. “Go on outside and enjoy the evening while you can. Before long, it will be cold and dreary. Take in all the lovely weather while it’s available, honey.”
Brooke followed Blayne outside and together they walked past the barn and up a hill to where they could observe the sea of black cattle below them.
“What are they?” Brooke asked, casting a glance at Blayne. The setting sun perfectly highlighted his magnificent form — a form that made her mouth so dry she could barely swallow.
“Cows,” he said with a teasing grin.
“I know that much!” She elbowed him in the side. “I meant what type of cows. Or is it a breed? Is that the right word?”
“Yes, it’s breed.” Blayne moved behind her and pulled her back against him, settling his hands around her waist while his chin rested on her shoulder. “Those, my lovely little glass blower, are Angus cattle.”
“Is that what we ate at dinner? Angus beef?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Brooke would have turned to look at him, but she didn’t want to move. In fact, if they stayed just like that for hours, with him holding her close against his unbelievably solid chest, she wouldn’t have uttered a single word of protest.
About to fall into a place from which there was no return, Brooke blinked to clear the longing from her heart as much as her eyes and looked at the cattle below her. “How do you get them all black?” She glanced over her shoulder at him, finding his face scant inches from hers. The desire to kiss Blayne’s all too enticing lips made her whip her head back toward the pasture. “And if you tell me with black paint or feeding them licorice I’ll never speak to you again.”
She felt the rumble of his chuckle against her back as his breath stirred the air by her ear.
“Okay, no paint or licorice stories,” he said softly, as though he hated to break the peaceful atmosphere surrounding them. “In truth, Angus were developed from polled and predominantly black cattle in northeast Scotland. Eventually, they made their way to America. The breed produces indisputably good beef, don’t you think?”
“I agree. The roast at dinner was so flavorful and tender.” Brooke gave him a teasing look. “But that could have been the cooking talents of your grandmother.”
“Well, there is that,” Blayne conceded. “At any rate, she generally has something good to work with.”
They remained silent for a moment then she glanced at him again. “What does polled mean?” Brooke asked, uncertain what the word meant. She had visions of the cattle standing around poles in some sort of ancient ritual.
“No horns.” He shifted slightly, so his cheek nestled against hers. His alluring scent nearly buckled her knees, but by sheer determination, she managed to remain upright.
“We should probably go back. I hate to leave the little pigs alone too long. The big bad wolf might come to call if I’m not there to keep watch.” Brooke needed to lighten the mood. The thoughts she was thinking would definitely get her into trouble, especially where the hunky cowboy obliterating her resistance was concerned.
“If you were connecting a children’s story to your pigs, I would have gone with Winnie The Pooh. I mean, you did name the piglets after characters in the story. And was I mistaken or did I see a Hundred Acre Woods sign painted on their door?”
Brooke moved away from Blayne and started walking back toward the house. “You may have seen a sign. It seemed fitting.”
“I didn’t know you could paint. The sign was fantastic. What other talents are you hiding?” he asked, meshing their fingers together as they strolled down the hill.
Her gaze fell to their hands. Why did it have to feel so right, so decadently delicious to have Blayne’s fingers wrapped around hers? If she weren’t careful, if she didn’t stay on guard, he’d have them wrapped all around her heart.
She glanced up at him. “I’m not hiding anything. I blow glass. Sometimes I paint. I take photographs from time to time. I can do a little sculpting. However, poetry isn’t my cup of tea. Before you ask about the lifestyle of an artist, let me assure you I’ve never lived in a commune or been a vegetarian. I like bacon and beef way too much, but don’t you dare tell my piglets I enjoy eating their cousins.”
Blayne laughed and shook his head. “Brooke, I don’t think you realize how good you are for my health. I heard somewhere laughter is the best medicine in the world. With you around, I should stay hale and hearty until I’m well past a hundred.”
With a tug, she yanked her hand from his grasp and came to a stop, giving him a long, studying glance. “What illness plagues you, Blayne Grundy? You’re a healthy male specimen if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Thank you,” he said, taking her hand in his and continuing on their walk. “I’m certainly glad you think so. No illness plagues me, unless a lonely heart counts. If it does, I’m pretty sure you can fix that, too.”
She scowled at him and increased her pace as they neared the house. Rather than answer, she raced up the steps to the back door.
Doris opened it with a welcoming smile.
“Come on in, honey. It’s getting nippy out. Would you like more cider or maybe a cup of hot tea?”
“No, thank you, ma’am,” Brooke said, smiling at the kind woman. “I do thank you, though, for the wonderful meal. It’s the best I’ve had for a long time.” She retrieved the gift bag she’d carried in earlier, handing it to Doris.
“What’s this, honey?” Doris asked, lifting out the fluffs of gold and maroon tissue at the top of the bag.
“A little something to thank you for your hospitality.”
Doris lifted out one of the pumpkins. “Oh, darling! It’s so lovely!” She held a luminescent white pumpkin up to the light. “It almost looks like it belongs in some mythical realm.”
Brooke thought the pale hue of the pumpkin nearly matched the snowy white shade of the older woman’s thick, wavy hair, cut so it framed her face in flattering layers.
“Oh, gracious! Look at this, Blayne!” Doris held out the other pumpkin, done in graduated colors with a deep rose hue at the top that slid into warm ginger tones at the bottom. A high stem with one perfect curl on the end was done in gold, as were the ridges along the curved sides of the pumpkin.
“You do amazing work, glass girl,” Blayne said, taking a step closer to his grandmother to study the pumpkin she held on her palm.
“Thanks, cowboy,” Brooke said, giving him a teasing grin right before Doris engulfed her in a warm hug.
“Darling, I can’t accept these. It’s too much.” Doris moved back and held the pumpkin in her hand out to Brooke.
She gently cupped the older woman’s hands around the pumpkin and smiled. “Think of it as future payment for having my pig here for a while. I’m sure I’ll owe you dozens more by the time I can take her home again. Perhaps you’d like some snowflakes or Christmas trees? Maybe a flower vase or a bowl?”
“Any of it, all of it!” Doris laughed, hugging Brooke again. “We will happily have Winnie the Pig here for as long as she needs to stay. I hope you’ll come visit her often, too.”
“I’ll probably make a pest of myself,” Brooke said, only half joking. She knew what it was like to be unloved, to be somewhere people didn’t really want you around. However, from the smile on Doris’ face and the light shimmering in Blayne’s fabulous eyes, she didn’t think that would be the case.
No, the problem with frequent visits would be keeping up that wall around her heart, one she’d erected so long ago she didn’t think anyone would be able to get past it.