Seduction on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #2)(9)
He reached for the gate latch, his gaze landing on something white wedged into the wire. Michael S. Burns, Attorney at Law.
Of course the business card would be there for the taking, because Becker’s luck made his life easy. He snapped it up, climbed into his rented Audi, and had the guy on the phone before he’d reached the end of her dirt road.
Chapter Four
Sunday afternoons were usually Frankie’s favorite time of the week on the farm. Instead of the impending press of Sundaynightis that used to plague her up in DC, she relished the end of the week because she didn’t dread the beginning of it.
No paperwork, bureaucracy, rules and regs, or unbearable office politics loomed the next day at a desk job she’d once thought could make her happy. In the three months since she’d slipped into this unexpectedly blissful existence, she’d come to think of Sundays as a gift.
She groomed the goats most Sundays, spending the day cleaning and trimming hooves or brushing their fur. And she talked to them because, hell, there was no one else around.
But today, Frankie was restlessly moving about the farm, starting chores but not finishing, picking up the hoof clippers, then getting distracted by the oils she used for soaps, not accomplishing anything but watching the dirt road and listening for cars.
It was if she wanted Elliott Becker to come back, which was just so lame it hurt.
“Crazy,” she whispered, snapping her fingers to get Ozzie and Harriet into the goat shed with her.
The dogs trotted inside, more at home on this farm than they’d ever been pent up in that downtown apartment. Just like her.
Inside, the dogs sniffed and wagged and looked up at her with curiosity, as if they still wanted to know who’d invaded their home with a brand new smell the day before.
“A bad man,” she told Ozzie, his big brown eyes staring up at her like he followed every word.
Australian terriers might be a little stumpy and slow, but they had brains. At least Ozzie did. The little short-haired wiener named Harriet didn’t have the smarts, but she was sleek and sweet and pretty as a picture. All beauty and no brains. Kind of like Cowboy Becker, who wasn’t even a cowboy at all.
“A fake man,” she muttered as she finished cleaning out the last stall. “A pretend cowboy who’s probably not even a billionaire and no doubt is lying about...everything.”
Ozzie barked his response.
“And dumb as a box of rocks!” she added, swiping her hands on her jeans. “A goatherder. What kind of big, dense, lug nut even says something like that?” He was big, all right, and gorgeous.
She shook her head, closing her eyes, more than a little disgusted with herself for being swayed by his good looks. Frankie had never been that kind of female. Swooning over his heroics with the lawyer, flirting with him while she milked the goats, sneaking peeks at his pecs? What was wrong with her?
She guided the last of the does out to the pen, except for Isabella. About six weeks ago, Frankie had realized the doe wasn’t just fat—she was pregnant, though Nonno had left no record of how far along she was. Frankie guessed by feel that she was nearing her term, so she let Isabella sleep in her hay, no doubt dreaming of the love of her life.
“Let’s go feed him now.” Both dogs trotted after Frankie to take the walk to Dominic’s private quarters, far from the girls in case someone who wasn’t ready to breed went into heat. Being the Italian stud he was, Dominic would have fought his way over to the pen for some good times with the does. She’d seen his temper a few times, and without a doe in heat, he was getting downright nasty lately.
As they passed the back side of the trailer, Ozzie stopped, and both his little stick-up ears turned, like radar dishes seeking a signal. A fine chill waltzed up Frankie’s spine as she stood still, listening for whatever had attracted Ozzie’s attention. A squirrel? A rabbit? A... man?
Maybe not Becker. Maybe that lawyer?
That’s why she was restless, she thought. Tomorrow she had to go to the County Clerk’s office—
oh, that would be a fun five hours in a place not unlike her old office—and figure out if a legitimate will had ever been filed. They’d never even checked for that when she was last there because Nonno had told her...
She swallowed hard. Had he really told her? Or was she fooling herself? Because she knew damn well a will could have been filed. It could be legit. She hadn’t been with him for two years, both of them too stubborn to say they were sorry. And during those two years...
A slow, sickening heat turned in her belly as she watched Ozzie listen even more intently while Harriet rolled around on something delicious-smelling, her little paws in the air, her white teeth showing in a dog smile.
Ozzie finally gave up the audio hunt and continued to trot to Dominic’s shed. The old buck bellowed as soon as they reached his long, narrow pen, this one surrounded by much sturdier fencing than what the girls had. His shed was much smaller, too, more for shade than anything else. Dom needed far less attention than the female goats. All he required was food, water, and regular sex, which basically made him like every man on earth.
“Hey, big guy.” She reached over the thick railing to give Dom’s dark head a pat and stroke his horns. His golden eyes settled on her with no small amount of longing. Longing that, if not satisfied, could turn to downright fury.
“Gotta wait awhile for Agnes to be ready, okay? A week or two, best I can guess.” Of course, Nonno had left no records of any of the goats’ cycles or births. It was like he’d lost all interest after the hurricane, after Frankie had moved to DC.