Page 23 of Nine Month Contract
AnimalsonMountain:2
“How many animals are in that thing?” a deep voice rumbles from behind me.
I turn to find Wyatt standing at the entrance to the barn. It’s a classic Dutch door with the top section open while the bottom is closed, and I can’t help but think it’s another postcard moment. No psycho vibes so far, thank goodness.
I smile brightly. “Just Reginald in there. Queenie was adopted by a lovely elderly couple. She’s going to give them a run for their money. But I borrowed the van from work to haul the rest of my stuff. It holds more than my car.”
Wyatt eyes me warily. “Didn’t our contract include moving expenses?”
“I used some of the money to move out,” I reply with a shrug, thinking about the teenage neighbor boys who were more than happy to take twenty dollars each to haul my shitty furniture and mattress to the curb. I put a “free” sign on it, along with some other odds and ends, and the stuff was gone before we even loaded the rest of my van.
It’s not blind optimism that made me purge all my old shit. More so, it was a conscious decision to use this opportunity for a fresh start. It’s entirely possible I won’t get pregnant and have to leave sooner thanI thought. But I still don’t want to go back to the past. Not that apartment and certainly not that dumpy sofa.
This is my chance to leave that all behind, and since Wyatt’s barn apartment came fully furnished, there was no reason not to put all my ovarian eggs and pig in this basket.
Plus, I have some serious confidence in this gruff mountain man.Even if he does supposedly tread the line between sweet and psycho.
Wyatt swings out the lower gate to come striding over to where I’ve opened the van door to reveal my entire life jam-packed into various dog-sized kennels. Kind of a depressing sight.
Reginald spouts out a series of short grunts from his place in the bottom-row kennel. “Welcome to your new home, Reggie!” I coo and reach my hand into the metal fence to touch his stubby snout. “This is Mr. Mountain Man.” Reggie grunts only once, and my brows lift. “Yikes.”
“What?” Wyatt asks, frowning at the pig like he’s diseased. The dick.
“I don’t think Reginald likes you,” I tsk while grabbing the long wooden board I use as a ramp to help Reggie out of the vehicle. I open the gate, and he stands there, staring out at me as if he’s saying,“Who’s this fucker?”
Just kidding, I don’t know what he’s saying, but I often narrate Sir Reginald’s thoughts in my mind, and that’s the vibe I’m picking up.
I press my hand to Wyatt’s chest. “Can you maybe go hide behind the van?”
“Hide behind the van?” Wyatt’s tone makes you think I’d just asked him to go to war.
“Yes,” I exclaim with my hands on my hips. “Reg doesn’t know you, and he just made it very clear that he doesn’t like you. If I want him to come out of the kennel, then we’ll need a little space.”
Wyatt does that grunting thing he does sometimes but thankfully does as I say. With a little verbal encouragement, I manage to get Reg out of the van and into the barn that’s honestly way too nice to be called a barn. It’s got a large alleyway with multiple big, beautiful horse-sized stalls on each side. So many animals could fit in here. And Reggie’sfreshly washed pink body with sleek black spots and coarse white hair looks fantastic in this space. This home is perfect for the king he is.
“I laid some straw in that pen on the far-right corner,” Wyatt says, following me into the barn and pointing at the enclosure beside me.
Reggie huffs and shuffles over to hide behind my legs, rubbing his coarse skin back and forth along my jeans to soothe himself. Wyatt said a couple of weeks ago that Millie was like a dog. Well, Reggie boy here is like a cat. Moody and starved for attention and food but only on his terms.
I frown as I look into the very nice pen set up with two concrete troughs, fresh straw, and a closed drop door that leads out to the pasture. “Are you getting another goat?”
Wyatt frowns. “No…why?”
“Who is the pen for?”
“Your pig.”
My eyes widen. “You expect Reginald to sleep in the barn?”
“Where else would he sleep?”
“In his sleeping quarters upstairs next to me, obviously.”
“Come again?” Wyatt is loud in the quietness of the peaceful barn.
“Reggie is a rescue, Wyatt! He came from a horrible situation where the owners neglected him. He had hoof rot and couldn’t freaking walk. I had to give him daily doses of antibiotics and hand-feed him, or they were going to put him down!”
“Jesus Christ,” Wyatt murmurs under his breath, looking away in obvious agitation.
