Part 9 (1/2)
I nodded. Too tired and hungry and happy to say anything.
I'd been at a loss as to what was wrong, panicked that I was going to lose my first cow and calf. It happened, but it hadn't yet happened to me, and I wanted to keep it that way.
Was that why I'd ”heard” the little voice say: We're stuck!
When I reached back in, I'd found the same hoof I'd been tugging, but this time I ran my fingers up the leg until I found the chest, a head, and then another head. I'd disentangled them like a reverse jigsaw puzzle and guided them both into the dawn. I hadn't needed any help from Owen or the calf chains after that. d.u.c.h.ess did most of the work.
Quite obviously the hint had been my subconscious adding all the things my hands and eyes and ears and brain had gathered into a solution and projecting that solution into the ”voice” of one of the twins. Did it really matter how I'd figured out the problem so long as I had?
My gaze went to d.u.c.h.ess and her girls. They wouldn't think so.
Owen was nowhere to be seen. Emerson opened the back door and allowed the housewives into the barn for morning milking. I lifted my hand in good-bye and hurried out the other door before I ”heard” any more from them.
I was half afraid Owen had left me to find my own ride. That would be rude; then again, I hadn't expected him to stay all night. But he sat behind the wheel, engine idling. As I emerged, he whistled.
Reggie bounded out of the tall gra.s.s and onto the seat. He was moving a lot easier than he'd been last night. Animals were like that. Around me, they were like that a lot.
I climbed in too, and we were off. We weren't even to the top of the long driveway when my phone vibrated. I groaned. All I wanted was food, a shower, and a few hours of sleep, in that order. However, if duty called I had no choice but to answer.
I glanced at the text message. ”Hallelujah!”
”Win the lottery?”
”Better. My mom made waffles.”
Owen reached the road but didn't pull out. I pointed in the direction of the farm. ”That way.”
”I know which way. Don't you want me to drop you at your apartment so you can get your car?”
”I want waffles ten minutes ago. If you have somewhere to be at...” I glanced at my phone again. ”Seven A.M. one of the boys can take me home.”
”I don't but I ... uh...”
”You know my mom. She made enough to feed you too.” And probably most of the French Foreign Legion, though once my brothers got done, the Foreign Legion would be eating sc.r.a.ps. ”The least I can do after all your help is make sure you have breakfast.”
”I didn't do anything.”
Laughter spurted. ”That's exactly how you always said it.”
”Said what?”
”That you didn't do anything. Every time someone-” I broke off.
”Every time someone accused me of whatever criminal act had been committed in the city limits,” Owen finished.
”Sorry.” He still hadn't turned onto the road, and I waved to the right. ”Whether you're leaving or staying for breakfast doesn't really affect your direction at this point. I'll expire if I have to wait for you to take me to town so I can get my car and drive back to the farm. We're over halfway there.”
”You will not expire,” he grumbled, but he turned right.
”Thanks. And thanks for staying with me at Emerson's. It was nice to have more company than the ton in the middle of the night.”
”What's the ton?”
”Old-time British word for the aristocracy. It's what I call Emerson's herd since he named them after the peers of the realm.”
Owen continued to look confused.
”d.u.c.h.ess, Lady, Countess.”
”That's weird.”
”Weird is what you make it.” I was weird, but I'd done my best to make sure no one knew it but me. ”You didn't have to stay.”
”I had no place to be.”
”You could have slept in a bed.”
”Maybe,” he said. ”But probably not.”
Before I could follow up on that statement he blurted, ”People are treating me differently.”
”Okay.”
”Chief Deb didn't accuse me of animal mutilation.”
”No, she accused your mother.”
”Actually she accused my mother's imaginary friends.”
”She accused your mother's coven.”
”My mother isn't a witch, so she doesn't have a coven any more than she has friends.”
Poor woman. She'd been a miserable mother but not on purpose. I'd always hoped that someone could help her, but apparently crazy like that was beyond help.
”Emerson shook my hand,” Owen continued. ”The last time I saw him he shot me.”
”So?”
”So?” he echoed. ”Once someone shoots at me, they don't come back later and shake my hand.”
”What do they do?”
He didn't answer, and I didn't press. I probably didn't want to know. The very idea of someone shooting at Owen made me twitchy.
”I doubt it'll be the last time someone shakes your hand around here.”
”Why?” He seemed horrified.