A New Hope (Thunder Point #8)(34)

“Um, docking?”

“Cropping their tails. If they’re left long, they get messy back there, if you get my drift.”

“Poopy is the drift, I take it.”

He laughed heartily at that. “You don’t want poop on your sweater.”

“Why do you castrate them? Where do you plan to get more babies?”

“George has a couple of very happy rams.”

“They take care of the whole flock?” she asked, stopping her sewing for a second. She had seen the flock. It seemed there were hundreds of them.

“They’re very happy,” he clarified. “The lambs of these rams grow bigger and faster. George has a very successful business, his sheep are high quality and healthy. I’ll spend a couple of days this week helping him vaccinate, too.”

“Wow. I wish I could watch all these things. Maybe not the castrating part. I think farming sounds fun.”

“I think it’s fun. No offense, I have no interest in watching you sew seed pearls onto a wedding dress.”

“No offense taken. Watching sewing is like watching paint dry.”

“When is this wedding, exactly?” he asked.

“Saturday at four. I just want her to be beautiful and happy, then my work is done.”

“It’s a nice time at the farm. We just watch the weather, which has been predictable, and do our chores, which are manageable. When can you come back up here? I can think of things to show you. It’s only peak of summer and dead of winter I’m not running around like a maniac getting things done. I can show you the plans for the house.”

“You already have plans?” she asked.

“Not official. I have a rendering. I’m trying to keep it from being just another farmhouse.”

“How do you do that?”

“Glass. Views. Modern kitchen and bathrooms. Sliding cupboard shelves...”

She laughed.

“There’s no reason it can’t be a beautiful house just because it’s on a farm, right?”

“Tell me about it,” she said.

Almost an hour later, after having made suggestions to the construction of Matt’s beautiful house, she was ready to put the wedding dress away, get in her pajamas, get an ice water for her bedside table.

This had become a nightly event, talking each other almost to sleep, filling each other in on everything from their deep emotional issues to the mundane events of seed pearls and sheep docking.

“Are you okay?” he asked her. “Surrounded by wedding plans and pregnant women?”

“I am,” she said. “As Ray Anne says, we’re stuck with life so we have to live it. I’ve been okay since I came to Thunder Point.”

“I’m glad,” he said. “I better go then. Pears, potatoes and sheep get up early.”

She snuggled down into bed and wondered if this habit, the phone calls that reached into the night, was a rite of passage. She needed to get back to having girlfriends to share some of this information with. Since she married Mick, they had drifted away or she had drifted away from them. She’d ask Grace. Maybe Iris.

In eighth grade she had a boyfriend named Bruce and she remembered talking to him for what seemed like hours. Sometimes they just found recorded songs to play to each other because they had nothing more to say. Sometimes they just listened to each other breathe. They weren’t nearly as exciting face-to-face.

Matt was so protective. Are you okay? Surrounded by wedding plans and pregnant women? What a darling.

Her cell chimed and she smiled. She clicked on. “Forget something?” she asked.

“Yeah. I forgot to tell you how awesome it was that you came to my gig.”

Mick! Holy crap!

“You looked so awesome. More beautiful than ever. It made me remember how much you inspire me. I’m never better than when you’re in the house. Oh, babe.”

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I’m going to be in the area for a few weeks and I thought we should get together. You can come to a couple of shows. We have a lot of history, good history. Might be time to have another look at that. It’s good for me so it’s gotta be good for you. Right?”

She started to laugh. She couldn’t help it—it was so Mick. If it was good for him it must be good for everyone else. Right?

“I was there to meet a guy. We didn’t know you were the show or we would’ve picked another bar.”

“What? A guy? Since when?”

“Since a very long time ago. I don’t live in Portland anymore. And the last thing I’m ever going to do is get together with you to talk about our history. Lose my number!”

“What? Where do you live?” he asked.

“Houston!” she yelled, hitting the end icon. She turned the phone to vibrate and turned off the light.

It vibrated at once. A text was coming in. Why hadn’t she changed her number? Because she hadn’t needed to! Mick never called.

Baby, what’s wrong? Wasn’t that the right song for you? For us? I thought it was just right! I thought about At This Moment. What’s wrong?

She couldn’t resist. She knew it was futile, that he’d never get it, that he was a self-absorbed cretin, but she just couldn’t resist.

What’s wrong? Gosh, let’s see. You divorced me when I was pregnant with your child, you brought me flowers at the hospital and I didn’t hear from you again until you sent a card a month after his funeral! And it wasn’t even in your own handwriting! What could possibly be wrong, you stupid, arrogant *!