walked off down the street and Rachel followed after him. She’d never seen him like this, so on edge, so frustrated. Dermot had always taken things lightly. And now he’d gotten upset buying a quilt? Maybe saying goodbye was going to be a lot more difficult that she’d anticipated.
Rachel slipped her hand around his arm as he walked, falling into stride next to him. “Can you just slow down for a second? So we can talk?”
“I’d rather not discuss this. I feel kind of foolish right now.” He stopped and held out the bag. “Here. I bought this for you. I want you to have it. Enjoy it. And please forget the conversation that came with it.”
Rachel pasted a bright smile on her face. “A gift?” she cooed. “You bought me a gift.” She examined the bag. “What could it possibly be?”
“All right, let’s not ignore the fact that I temporarily flipped out. I’ve just been thinking about next week and how hard it’s going to be to leave. And we haven’t really talked about it. And I didn’t think I was a jealous guy, but the thought of you just moving on to someone else irritates the hell out of me.”
“I understand,” Rachel said.
“You’re beautiful and funny and exciting and I just think that someone is going to notice that and you’re going to find some guy and fall madly in love and—”
“Who says I couldn’t fall madly in love with you?” she asked.
“Could you?”
Rachel nodded. She’d already fallen, and pretty hard at that. But she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to admit it. Yet. “What about you? Could you fall in love with me?”
Dermot nodded. “I think I could.” He handed her the quilt. “I want you to have this. I want you to remember who bought it for you. And no matter what happens between us, when you look at it, you’ll think of me. And maybe if you sleep under it, you’ll dream of me.” He laughed. “Strike that last part. That was horribly cheesy.”
“I thought it was kind of romantic,” Rachel said.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
They started off down the street, the mood lighter, their argument forgotten. But Rachel couldn’t help but speculate over his strange behavior. Dermot was usually so smooth, so charming. Everything that came out of his mouth was carefully crafted to make her feel beautiful and important. And now, suddenly, he was stumbling all over himself to express his feelings.
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
