Maybe he was falling in love, Rachel mused. Or maybe he was in love already. She drew a long, slow breath. If that was true, then everything had just become a lot more complicated.
8
BY THE TIME DERMOT finished his shower, he was ready to relax. He and Rachel had spent the entire afternoon doing a health check on the herd, a tedious process that required looking over every goat, trimming hooves and checking ears and general health in preparation for breeding.
Since Trevor had decided to join the football team, he stayed after school every afternoon, joining the milking tasks an hour late. After the milking was done, the boys and Dermot cleaned the parlor and the shed and brought in fresh straw, while Rachel went back to the house to start dinner.
Dermot slipped his bare feet into his shoes and wandered out onto the porch, his unbuttoned shirt flapping in the warm breeze. He expected to find her sitting on the steps, a spot that had become “their place” to watch the sunset.
The boys were at the table doing their homework. “Do you know where Rachel is?” he asked.
“She said she had to go out to the barn,” Taylor said.
Dermot jogged down the steps, happy to find that they’d have a few more moments alone. They’d fallen into a schedule of sorts over the past four days. Like any ordinary family there was a lot of juggling that went on, but it all seemed to work.
He looked for her in the office in the milking parlor and then walked through the goat barn. He found her sitting in a pile of straw next to Lady, the matriarch of the herd. A cluster of goats stood nearby, watching her.
“Hey,” he called. “What’s taking so long? I thought you’d be finished by now.”
She turned to look at him and Dermot frowned. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. He hurried over to her and bent down. “Is she sick?” he said. “I’ll call the vet.”
“No, no.” Rachel shook her head. “She’s fine.”
He sat down beside her. “What’s wrong, then?”
Rachel drew a ragged breath. “I’m just getting sentimental. It’s time to stop breeding her. She’s got arthritis in her knees and she had a difficult birth last year. And she’s starting to dry off already. So, her days as a dairy goat are over.”
“What happens then?”
“She just gets to relax. She’s given birth to twenty-two kids. She’s a wonderful mother. I remember when she was born. It was the year before I graduated from high school. She was the last nanny I showed at the fair before I left for art school.” A fresh round of tears started. “God, I’m getting so old.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-five. How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“We’re both old.”
“How long do goats usually live?”
“These goats live eleven or twelve years.” She glanced over at the goats gathered nearby and shook her head. “I used to be so much better about this. I don’t know why I’m suddenly so emotional.”
Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks and she brushed them away impatiently. Dermot wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his lap, cradling her as she wept. Smoothing his hand over her tangled hair, he whispered soft words to soothe her, and after a while, her sobs subsided.
“It’s not about the goats,” he said.
She looked up at him. “What?”
“I don’t think you’re crying about the goats.”
She sniffled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He nodded, burying his face in her hair and kissing the top of her head. Dermot knew how she felt. With every day that passed, they came closer and closer to the time he’d have to leave. He’d looked at the bus ticket at least four or five times each day, just to remind himself that his stay here was almost over.
He’d thought about calling his grandfather and telling him that he’d found a brand-new life on Rachel’s farm. But he was reluctant to make such a big decision without returning home first. He’d been living a fantasy life here. Everything had been so perfect that he had a hard time believing it was real.
The ache in his heart was real. The emotions he felt every time he touched her were more than real. So what was holding him back? She’d made it clear that there were feelings on her side. But how did he know if they’d last? Was he willing to give up his entire life in Seattle for just a chance at a future with Rachel?
He glanced around at the goats in the barn. Over the past five weeks, he’d grown to know them, too, their personalities, their silly idiosyncrasies. The kids were his favorites, little bundles of energy, always looking for trouble.
“You know, with the boys here and Eddie to take care of the goats, maybe you could get away for a week. We could go on a vacation together. Some warm place with white sand beaches and fruity drinks?”
“We stop milking sometime around the end of December.”
Dermot frowned. “You just stop?”
“Well, two months before the kids are due, we stop milking the pregnant goats, which is usually most of them by that time. Then we only milk them once a day for two months after their kids are born. So things sort of slow down for a while before kidding starts.”
“So you will have time off?”
“Yeah. Except that we won’t have any income coming in. And the goats still have to be fed and—”
“It would be my treat,” he said.
Rachel shook her head. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not? People do it all the time. We could call it a Christmas gift or a birthday gift or—”
“Have you ever taken a woman on vacation and paid for everything?”
Dermot opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. “No. But I’ve never known a woman I wanted to spend my vacation with until I met you. Just promise me you’ll consider it.”
It was strange to imagine a moment when he wouldn’t be able to reach out and touch her. Dermot had learned so much during his time with Rachel, about life, about love. He’d watched the sun rise and set, the season change. And he’d never felt more alive—or more vulnerable. Could he go back to a life that revolved around selling very rich people a yacht that they probably didn’t need anyway?
It all seemed so dull and unimportant compared to the work he’d been doing for Rachel. Almost like a game. In truth, there were times in the past when he felt like a con man, when he knew he was selling a boat simply because the buyer was seeking a status symbol and not a sailboat. But it was all good money, so he never questioned anyone’s motives.
He was good at his job, but was his job good for him? The more he thought about it, the more he began to wonder. Suddenly, working at Quinn Yachtworks didn’t seem to mean so much. It wasn’t who he was. It was just a job.
Rachel shifted in his arms and he looked down at her. She’d turned her face up to his and Dermot dropped a kiss on her lips. “Better?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“Lady is a very special goat.”
Rachel crawled out of his arms, then squatted down next to Lady and patted her. The goat shook her head, the bell around her neck clanking. “You’re still the head mama, even if you won’t have any more babies. Enjoy your retirement, Lady Belle.”
She