“Yep, just knock ’er down,” Tom says, kicking one of the beams. I’m pleased to say it doesn’t wobble. I’m displeased to say nothing falls on Tom’s head.

  “It does need some work,” Jake admits, but at least he has the decency to look uncomfortable. He looks over at me, dark eyes sweeping over my frame. I wonder if he’s remembering last night, how our bodies worked together, unlike our attitudes. Maybe all of this is making him feel guilty. Maybe there is a heart in that nutcracker after all.

  But even if he has a heart, I still have to hate him. If it weren’t for him, Tom the surveyor wouldn’t be here in my barn. I’d be working on another batch of soap while the goats frolicked, and though I’d be far less sexually satisfied, I’d also be at peace. Everything would be fine.

  “Just imagine the course you’ll be able to put in,” Tom says. “Once this whole thing’s knocked down. Love your vision, Jake.”

  Jake looks uncomfortable again, dark eyes darting again to me. I’m sure he wants me to leave, but we don’t always get what we want, so let him be uncomfortable. He deserves it. To prove my point, I grab one of the buckets and head over to Farmer John. Might as well multi-task and get a grooming session in. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to splash some of the dirty water on Tom’s suit.

  Farmer John usually screams like a hyena when I try to groom her, but today, she must know that she needs to be on her best behavior. She even flicks her ears back and gives me her most adorable goat smile as I grab a bucket of clean water and begin rinsing her off. She doesn’t even make a peep once I get to the blow-drying stage. And thank God for the blow-dryer, because I can hear Tom starting up with his damn critiques.

  Unfortunately, it’s the moment that I finish blow-drying Farmer John that he chooses to walk directly in front of me.

  “The real problem is it would take forever to get the smell of these disgusting animals out of here,” he says.

  Um, what the hell? It’s a farm, and this jackass has already made his bulldozing fantasies very clear. He doesn’t need to be rude on top of it.

  To make his point, he turns to where a tiny little black goat named Martha is following at his heels, and kicks the ground, aiming a spray of dirt right at her.

  It scares her enough that she lets out a sad goat cry and falls backwards.

  And let me tell you, I see red. People think that hippies never get mad, but I’m here to tell you that’s not true. I would go to hell and back for my goats, and I’m about ready to tear this asshole a new one. I abandon Farmer John and stride forward, about to give this prick a piece of my mind.

  “Excuse me—”

  But before I can even get the words out, Jake swoops in front of me, grabs Martha and helps her to stand on all four hooves. He bends down, checking her front as he says soothing words to her and pets her ears. I’m flabbergasted at the sight of it, watching as Martha bleats pathetically as Jake runs his hand over her back.

  I’m still speechless when Jake turns and stands up, his entire demeanor shifting in a split second. A moment ago, he was sweet and kind to Martha. But now…

  Now, he looks as cold and cruel as ice.

  “If I ever catch you doing something like that again I’ll sue you for animal cruelty,” Jake says, his voice barely above a hiss.

  Tom snorts. “Jake, they’re goats. If anything, you should be suing this squatter. And grilling the goats for dinner.”

  I gasp.

  I steady myself, ready to launch into Tom, but again, Jake gets there first.

  “These goats are Sutton’s livelihood. And her pets. Have some goddamned respect, Tom.”

  Tom looks as if he’s been slapped, but he recovers quick enough to sneer at me. “Respect? I don’t think so. If one of those little feral monsters tries to take a bite out of my clothes, you can bet I’ll punt them from here to the county office. And I won’t lose a wink of sleep over it.”

  He looks insanely smug to have admitted this, and I almost feel bad for him as I watch Jake’s face darken. Because anyone with half a brain would see that this was exactly the wrong thing to say.

  “Get out,” Jake snarls.

  “Excuse me?” Tom says, now completely confused. “Jake, let’s be reasonable—”

  “You lost that chance when you insulted Sutton,” Jake says, and then he glances down at a still-shaking Martha. “Actually, you lost it when you terrorized Martha. Now, get out.”

  Well, shit.

  That was hot.

  I’m pretty sure my entire body melts into a puddle at Jake’s words. Because up until now, I didn’t know that a man defending my—and my goats’—honor was a turn-on, but holy hell.

  “I see,” Tom snaps. “Well, I’ll still be reporting this squatting issue to the city. And—”

  With one fluid motion, Jake steps forward and grabs the man by the cheap fabric of his suit. Now, Jake’s a big man, and Tom is shorter than me. So I don’t totally blame Tom for the pathetic squeak that he makes when Jake grabs him.

  “Maybe I wasn’t clear enough,” Jake says. “Get the fuck off my property right now, and keep your mouth shut until you’re at least ten miles away. Do you understand?”

  I don’t think Tom’s used to being threatened over goats—hell, this is Reindeer Falls, he’s probably not used to being threatened over anything—but he gets the picture. As soon as Jake releases him, he turns around and hustles all the way back to his car, tires screeching as soon as he manages to tumble inside.

  All I can do is stare at Jake.

  Because did that really just happen? Did Jake Sheppard, lawyer and bane of my existence, just kick a surveyor off of my property? After threatening to sue him? I should probably be concerned that he’s clearly ruthless when he wants to be, but I’m too distracted by how insanely hot it was watching him defend Martha’s honor.

  And my honor. I can’t forget that.

  “Wow,” I say, blinking at him. “I…”

  I don’t have words. He’s not facing me. He’s turned away, breathing hard. Adrenaline, obviously. I should thank him, at least.

  “Thank you,” I offer. “Um, for your trouble—“

  But when Jake turns around to face me, he’s looking at me with the kind of hunger that can only mean one thing, and before I know it, I’m in his arms and his lips are crashing against mine.

  There’s no time to make it all the way back to the Airstream. We fumble at each other’s clothes as he lifts me up and carries me over to a fresh stack of hay. We tumble onto it, and I don’t mind that I feel bits of hay against my back or in my hair. I don’t mind that it’s a bit chilly in the barn. I don’t even mind if we have a goat audience. All I care about is ripping Jake’s clothes off.

  “Just this once,” I tell him as his mouth trails down my bare neck, my shirt flung off to the corner.

  “Just this once,” he agrees, helping me free him of his pants and then his shirt.

  I run my hands along his chest until he’s lying on his back. He watches me as I dip down, pressing my mouth to his chest as I work my way down his abdomen.

  He groans at my touch, and something tells me it’s not just because my hands are probably cold. I trace my fingers along the length of him, relishing in the chance to check him out in full daylight.

  “Don’t stop,” Jake says, the words practically a hiss. “God, that feels amazing, Sutton.”

  I smile against him, working my way lower, dragging my tongue just a few inches higher than where he’d really like it. He grunts again, bucking his hips upwards. I keep moving, emboldened, working him with my hand while I tease him with kisses just out of reach.

  I’m dying to take him in my mouth but determined to wait. Let him suffer a little. Besides, I’m not done enjoying him. I move back up to his mouth, sliding my chest against his so that we’re skin to skin, pressed against each other.

  I press my lips to his and he slides his tongue into my mouth. I meet the motion with my own, our tongues tangling as his cock lies heavy between us.

  But I still want to do something else while I have the chance, I remind myself. So I pull back, moving back down until, finally, I take him into my mouth.

  Jake’s groans are worth breaking our one-night-only deal. I didn’t get to this last night, I didn’t get to feel the hard, heavy weight of him between my lips. I didn’t get to see the expressions that Jake makes while enjoying this particular ecstasy.

  But he won’t let me finish him off with my mouth. No, instead, he pushes me off, grabs a condom from his jeans and slides it on. Before I know it, he’s flipped me onto my knees and he’s inside of me. The pleasure is even greater than before, robbing me of anything resembling rationality.

  Tomorrow, I’ll deal with the reality of this situation. Tomorrow, I’ll follow the rules and go right back to hating him.

  But right now? Right now, I plan to spend the rest of the day enjoying this man.

  Thankfully, the feeling seems mutual.

  Chapter Eight

  I’m no mathematician, but even I have to admit that our “just this once” deal is starting to fall apart at the seams, considering the other morning. And again that afternoon. And the next day, and yeah, yeah, the one after that too. Ugh, I hate to say it, but sexually, it’s like we were made for each other. There’s really no other explanation for how good his body feels against mine, or how his fingers know exactly where and how to touch me. Or how he kisses me. How is it plausible or even legal for him to kiss like that?

  It’s ridiculous.

  Yet here I am. Living in a snow globe of sexy times with Jake freaking Sheppard.

  I swear, I’m not hallucinating any of this. Jake is evolving from Lawyer Dick to Sexy Farm Hand right before my eyes. I haven’t seen another suit or a fancy loafer since he showed up. Somehow he’s come up with a flannel shirt that he wears—slightly unbuttoned to drive me insane—and his jeans are torn now, but he doesn’t seem to care at all as he changes out hay and brushes the goats.

  I’ll admit it. Watching Jake work with his hands is hot as hell.

  He’s been pointing out the barn issues that can’t be fixed with some scrubbing or a fresh coat of paint.

  “Tom was an ass, but he was right about these structural concerns,” he says, gesturing to one of the beams. “I know Joe didn’t exactly pay attention to this place, but damn.”

  “Good thing I wasn’t paying rent, am I right?” I shrug, hands on my hips.

  Jake shakes his head a little, and does a partial eye roll, but I catch that he’s fighting a smile.

  “I did what I could to fix it up,” I tell him. Because I’m really proud of the work I’ve done here to improve it and make it my own. Even if it wasn’t ever mine.

  “Yeah.” Jake nods, looking around. You’re good with power tools, huh?”

  “Oh, gosh, no.” I laugh. “I lured my ex and his friends over with promises of beer and pizza. I got some salvaged lumber from a barn that was getting torn down over in Saginaw and ta-da!” I wave a hand around the interior of the barn.

  Jake shakes his head. “I don’t specialize in construction law, but every part of that sounds like a code violation.”

  “I’m pretty sure your face is a code violation,” I mutter, and he grins.

  “Say, speaking of violations,” Jake says. “Tell me about your Christmas cop friend.”

  I perk up. “Maggie?”

  “Yeah,” he says. “I saw her the other day at Ryan’s house.”

  “You did?” I gasp, a little delighted. “As in, in a compromising position?”

  “Hey”—he smirks, offering a little shrug—“I shouldn’t say.”

  I swat at him, and he ducks behind some hay.

  “Well, well, well.” I grin at the idea of this. “I never thought I’d see Maggie hooking up with a certified Christmas Grinch.”

  Jake grimaces at that. “Well, she won’t be hooking up with him for long. He’s heading back to Chicago as soon as he sells the house.”

  Now that gets my attention. Because something about it rings my alarm bells. Maggie’s the kind of girl who falls headfirst for something, whether it’s Christmas or guys. And if she’s sleeping with the guy…

  “Are you sure?”

  Jake nods. “Yeah, he’s been chasing a promotion at work for a long time.”

  The whole barn seems to get quiet, even the goats feeling the vibe and not offering a single bleat. I don’t know what to say about this.

  “Hey, can I have an extra bar of soap?” Jake asks, surprising me with a welcome change of subject. “I’d like to send it to my mom.”

  Huh. More surprises. He has a mother and he’s thoughtful enough to think of her?

  “Yeah, of course,” I agree. “What kind of scents is she into?”

  “Did you have something citrus-y going the other day? I could’ve sworn I smelled it all the way by the barn.”

  “Yep,” I say. “That’s one of my top sellers. But if she’s interested in citrus, I was just about to do my spin on a limoncello soap. You want to help?”

  I expect him to say no, but he shoots me one of those sexy smirks of his and says yes. I walk him through the entire process, Linus and Martha watching with more interest than you’d think goats are capable of. I show him how to add the lye and the frozen goats’ milk together, how to blend the lather mix in until it’s completely clear, and how to stir, stir, stir. I enjoy this last part the most because, even though it’s just stirring a crockpot, I get to guide his hands with mine as he presses close to me. He smells like pine and earth and man, and it’s taking everything in me not to turn soap-making into seduction.

  “And now,” I tell him, finding it hard to breathe with him so close, “we wait about ten minutes.”

  “Hmm,” he says, leaning down so that he’s whispering into my ear. “What could we do for ten minutes?”

  “Oh, I could think of something,” I offer, my tone heavy with innuendo.

  “Me too,” he says, leaning in close, the words a soft whisper against my neck.

  “Ten minutes is just enough time”—I pause here for effect—“to grab a fresh bale of hay from—”

  I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence before Jake has called my bluff and covered my mouth with his own. We’re both grinning as we kiss and undress each other, tearing at each other’s clothes like teenagers who’ve, well… snuck into this very barn to do this very thing.

  By the time we’ve finished, I’m out of breath. I turn to him, finding his eyes firmly fixed on me. It’s like they’re examining me, but not in a scientific way. Not in the judge-y way of Tom the Surveyor. Jake’s way is softer.

  “You’re insanely beautiful, Sutton,” he says, reaching over to tuck a blonde strand of hair behind my ear.

  I prop myself up on my elbow so that we’re looking at each other, face to face. “I thought you were going to stop at ‘You’re insane,’” I tease.

  He smirks. “You might be that, too.”

  I smack his shoulder.

  “I’m kidding,” he says.

  “Admit it. You thought I was crazy when you first met me.”

  “I thought you were stubborn. And highly eccentric. There’s a difference.”

  “‘Eccentric’ is just the fancy way to say ‘crazy.’”

  “I think you’re incredible,” he responds. “I don’t know how someone gets the balls to do what you’ve done. Squatting and all. You’ve got a hell of a lot of gumption, and that’s impressive as hell.”

  I shrug, but I’m smiling at the compliment. “It all started as a bit of an adventure. I knew that I had to save Linus, and so I won Ariel—the Airstream—in a drunken game of poker and from there, all the pieces just seemed to fall into place.”

  “Again,” he says, “as a lawyer I’d advise you not to put any of that in writing.”

  I laugh.

  “Tell me more about Linus,” he says. “How’d that happen?”

  I tell him about the side-of-the-road rescue, about sneaking Linus into my parents’ house. About knowing that, if I chose Linus, I essentially had to figure out a new life. I tell him about spotting the Airstream on the side of the road and challenging the owner to a poker game to get me a price I could actually afford.

  “And then I found this place,” I say, waving a hand around the barn. “At first, it was just a place to park and let Linus wander. But weeks went by, and no one told me to move. And I thought, Hey, maybe I’ve found my home. Plus, once I had Linus, I knew I had to get him a friend. And when I started researching about how to care for goats, I was always finding sad goat stories on the internet. One by one, I found these goats that no one wanted. And I knew they belonged here.”

  Jake’s a great listener. He never tries to talk over me. He just nods along, watching with those intense eyes.

  “Anyway,” I add. “You can… you can see why it’s going to be hard to leave.”

  I’m fishing with that statement, hoping he’ll say that he’s realized that goats rule and golf drools, or something to that effect. I look away from him, not wanting to see if his eyes show me anything else.

  He takes my hand.

  “Sutton,” he says. “Have you maybe considered becoming a 501(c)3? Rescue operations never make a profit.”

  “I’m not a rescue,” I say.

  “Are you sure about that? You just told me you take in stray goats who need a home. That would be enough to be considered a legal non-profit.”

  I bite my lip. I’ve never thought of the farm that way. I always thought of it more as flailing my way through life, doing what I can to survive.

  “I’m just saying,” he says. “It’s worth thinking about.”

  There’s the rub. The problem. Because if Jake Sheppard is telling me to think about making Reindeer Falls Goat Farm a non-profit, does that mean he wants me to stay here? Or is he saying I can go somewhere else and be a non-profit there?

 

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