“No, but I’ve read about them and most other animals. I watch the Discovery Channel. Animal Planet. National Geographic. I want to be a vet.”
“How old are you?”
He patted his pocket. “I have my work permit.” A work permit meant he was young. Standing on the bank of the stream, he watched Percy join his packmates. “Besides, does it matter? I’m strong.”
“No, I guess it doesn’t matter. I was just curious.” She didn’t like people snooping, either, and turned the conversation in a different direction. “Thinking how long I might expect your services before you head off to vet school.”
He suddenly seemed uncomfortable, so she switched the subject away from him and onto her operation. “My herd’s small right now because I’m just starting out. Besides, day treks with six llamas and a dozen or so paying customers are all I can handle by myself.” And for the time being, at least, she needed to remain alone.
“Why aren’t you out on the trail today?” he asked.
“Monday’s our day off,” she replied. “Not that the boys need it. But if I don’t take a break, work around the house and the property piles up. That’s where you’d come in.”
“Did you ever think of breeding? Seems like it would bring in more money than trekking.”
She didn’t care about the money. In fact, a small, obscure operation was just what the doctor had ordered. She’d experienced the personal pitfalls of a big enterprise. But she wondered why a kid who looked like he was in middle school cared about business.
“What made you think of the moneymaking aspect?”
“My mom’s in banking,” he replied with a shrug. “I can’t avoid the subject.”
“To answer your question,” she said, strangely at ease talking to this kid as if he were much older, “I think I’ll stick to trekking. Adding females to a herd leads to a whole other set of challenges. They’re not particularly willing pack animals, and they can be moody.”
Rory seemed to be taking mental notes. “How come you advertised for stable help,” he asked at last, “when you said the llamas rarely go into the barn?”
“Force of habit. I grew up with horses. Even though the llamas stay for the most part in the pasture, the barn’s full of tack and trekking equipment, and you’d be helping keep that in order.”
Led by Percy, the five other animals had begun to drift over to the creek bank where the humans stood. Curiosity. Cats had nothing on llamas. Rory stood still. Not nervous, but waiting. Exuding a calm energy that, too, belied his years.
The three other kids who’d come seeking the job had been either too talkative or too boisterous in their movements or too touchy-feely. Llamas, like people, didn’t wish to feel assaulted and, as cuddly as they appeared, didn’t particularly like being snuggled or petted. They, more than she, had decided to pass on those first candidates.
She pointed to each llama in turn. “That’s Percy. You already met him. He’s what’s called a paint. Then there’s Mephisto, the bay. And Fred, the piebald. Mr. Jinx is an Appaloosa. The white one’s Ace. And finally Humvee, the black and tan.”
“Their coats are so different they’re easy to tell apart.”
“You’ll learn you can recognize them as easily by personality.”
Percy chose that moment to lean close and snuffle Rory on the neck. His muzzle, dripping with mountain creek water, must have been cold, but the kid stood his ground, merely chuckling. “What’s he doing?”
“He’s saying, ‘You’re hired.’”
“For real?”
“For real. Percy’s chairman of my interview committee. Can you start today?”
“I’ll have to ask my dad when he comes back.”
“Of course.” She hadn’t paid attention to how Rory had managed to get to her farm. He’d simply shown up in her barn at the agreed-upon time as she’d been cleaning tack.
“He shouldn’t mind if you could, maybe, give me a ride home when I’m done.”
She tried to hide the reflexive wince. “Sorry. I don’t drive.”
Rory shot her a disbelieving look, but she was spared an explanation by the staccato double toot of a car horn. Partway down the hill, a cruiser had pulled up in front of the barn. The driver’s door opened, and the sheriff got out.
“That’s my dad,” Rory said, heading downhill. “I’ll tell him you want me to start now. I can walk home. I’ve walked farther. Other days I can ride my bike.”
She didn’t really want to meet the sheriff—she didn’t need her second chance at life beginning with a connection to law enforcement—but, as an employer, she should say hello to this kid’s father. So she set her shoulders and marched down the hill.
The boy and the man approached each other as if they weren’t entirely at ease. After exchanging a few words, which Samantha couldn’t hear, Rory came back up to her, dejection written on his features.
He looked at the ground as he spoke. “I can start today, but…I didn’t tell you everything. Maybe you won’t want me for the job.”
“Try me.”
He looked back at his father, who remained by the cruiser. “I’m only here for the summer. In September I go back with my mom. To Charlotte. Unless….”
“Unless?”
“Let’s just say I can only promise you two months. The ad didn’t say it was a summer job.”
Percy felt comfortable with this kid. And so did she. Besides, two months to a person who was learning to live one day at a time seemed like forever. “Two months will be fine.”
“You mean it?”
“Sure. But years from now I might ask you for a vet discount. Who knows?”
His only answer was a heart-melting grin.
“Come on. Introduce me to your father.”
She told herself she had no reason to be nervous. Her business permits were in order. She hadn’t sat behind the wheel of a car since her license had been revoked. She regularly attended her court-ordered AA meetings. Although her name change hadn’t been sanctioned by the judge, she was Samantha Weston only in Colum County. For personal reasons. All her business transactions bore the corporation name she’d established three months ago. A holdover reflex from her former life. Perhaps this bit of hedging meant she hadn’t really disowned her past. She was glad Percy wasn’t around to give her that soul-searching llama look.
“Garrett McQuire. Rory’s dad.” The sheriff held out his hand. He was tall and fit. Muscles were evident beneath a well-pressed uniform. Not much else showed, though. His facial features were well concealed beneath a Stetson and behind aviator sunglasses. Stereotypical, sure. But arresting.
“Samantha Weston.” She tried not to be tentative in her handshake. “I run this place.”
“She says I can work the summer.” Rory still looked pleased, but a note of defensiveness had crept into his voice. Did the sheriff run his family the way he ran his department? “Maybe I could fill in other vacations, too, if Mom knows I’d be making money.”
“You’ll have to work that out with your mother, son. And Ms. Weston, of course.”
Samantha didn’t want to get into the middle of a custody mess. “Let’s see how the next few days work out,” she said. “You may change your mind. The work I need done isn’t particularly glamorous.”
“But the llamas