It wasn’t even seventy degrees, but the heat racing across my chest had me fanning myself. Saying the years had been kind to Henry Maxwell would be like saying a ghost pepper was just a tiny bit spicy. He’d filled out in all the right places. A well-trimmed beard covered his chiseled jaw, and visions of his firm chest had kept me tossing and turning all night long.
While I stood there, wondering how wide I should let my smile go, a little boy hopped out of the back of the car. He had the same reddish-brown hair as Henry, right down to the same cowlick in the back.
“Graham, I want you to meet my friend Devyn.” Henry rested his hand on his son’s shoulder. The smile he gave me sent butterflies tumbling through my stomach.
I leaned over and offered Graham a hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Your dad’s told me a lot about you.”
“Nice to meet you too.” He wrapped his little fingers around mine. “Can I see the”—he looked over his shoulder at Henry—“what’s it called again, Dad?”
“An emu.” Henry’s lips quirked up at the edges.
“Yeah, the emu. Can I see it?” Graham pulled his hand away and tried to look around me.
“Of course. I’ll give y’all a full tour. We can start with Shirley if your dad thinks that will be okay.” I looked at Henry for some sort of signal. He knew about Shirley’s struggle. I didn’t want his son to be traumatized by seeing an emu with a mangled leg.
“Let’s check in on Shirley first. Then we can see the rest of the animals who live here. How does that sound, bud?” Henry asked.
Graham shrugged. “Sure. Are there horses here? Uncle Owen let me ride horses at his ranch.”
“The only horse we have here is too old to ride,” I said.
“What does he do all day, then?” Graham asked.
“Pretty much eats and sleeps.”
“Is that what you’ll do when you get too old to work?” Graham turned toward Henry.
I couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at the surprise in his eyes.
“Hopefully it will be a long time before I’m too old to work.” Henry rested his hand on top of Graham’s head. “How about that tour?”
“Right this way.” I trekked back to the barn where we’d been keeping Shirley. She was getting thinner and thinner, like she’d lost the will to live. Squiggy had been bringing her clumps of clover and trying to nudge her up with his beak, but she stayed in a slump no matter how many times he prodded her to stand.
“What’s wrong with her?” Graham asked.
“She hurt her leg, and I’m hoping your dad will be able to fix it.” I leaned onto the top slat of the fence surrounding her pen.
“Why don’t you and Graham continue your tour while I check over Shirley?” Henry suggested.
“Are you sure?” Shirley wouldn’t hurt him. I was more worried about spending time alone with his kid than about what the bird might do to him.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” He motioned for us to continue on as he made his way into the pen.
“Um, okay.” I tried not to let my nerves get the best of me. We did occasional school tours at the rescue. Spending time with Henry’s son shouldn’t be any different from entertaining a bus full of kids. “What do you want to see first?”
“Dad told me you’ve got a crazy goat.” Graham’s little eyebrows lifted halfway up his forehead.
“He did?”
“Yeah. Can I see him?”
“Just don’t let him out of his pen,” Henry warned.
“Sure, let’s go see what Houdini’s up to.” I held out my hand and Graham slid his tiny palm against mine.
An hour later, we’d made the rounds and visited all the animals. Graham had been fascinated by Houdini even though the damn goat had chewed a hole in his favorite t-shirt. I’d promised to get him another one, but he thought it would be fun to be able to tell his friends he was attacked by a goat.
Henry met us on the drive as we crested the hill on our way back from the farthest outbuilding. “How was the tour?”