Finally Home by Lois Greiman Page A

stinky.”
    â€œShe’s growing like a buttonweed,” Casie added. “Pretty soon she’ll be asking for the keys to Puke and bringing home strange boys with tattoos and blue—”
    â€œOh for God’s sake, give me that baby,” Colt said, and setting the lamb’s bottle on the table, reached for the infant.
    After that there was crooning and teasing and laughter.
    The kitchen felt as warm as summer sunshine. Steam and contentment swirled together in a moment of magic as old as time until . . .
    â€œEmily!” Sophie yelled. “Why are there dirty diapers in the toilet again?”

CHAPTER 4
    â€œW elcome to the Lazy,” Emily said. The couple that disembarked from the rented SUV was handsome, svelte, and polished. Jack circled them, keeping this new human herd tightly packed. “I’d shake your hands, but . . .” She jostled Bliss a little. Baby was dressed in red cable-knit pants and a white sweater. The ensemble had been handcrafted by Cindy Dickenson and made the infant look a little like a Christmas balloon, arms and legs sticking out at incongruous angles. A red stocking cap with a tail as long as her body topped off the outfit. The white puff at the end was nestled near her little green booties. “I don’t want to have to worry about shaken baby syndrome.”
    Max Barrenger and Sonata Detric laughed on cue.
    â€œYou must be Casie,” the man said. He was five ten in his shiny new alligator boots. His hair was artfully tousled, and his coat was leather. Lambskin, if she wasn’t mistaken. She’d have to keep him away from Lumpkin. Insecurity wasn’t good for anyone.
    â€œ ’Fraid not,” she said. “I’m Emily. Casie is . . .” She glanced around, but true to form, Case was nowhere to be seen. Generally speaking, the Lazy’s owner would rather take a hoof pick in the eye than meet strangers. “On a tractor somewhere.”
    â€œOh,” Sonata said. Her hair was short, dark, and chic. “I thought Casie was a woman.”
    Emily refrained from laughing out loud. She might have been similarly prone to gender profiling in the past. “Turns out being female doesn’t preclude one from feeding cattle,” Emily said, and Max chuckled.
    â€œWhat did you think, S.?” he asked. “That women were forbidden by law to operate heavy equipment?”
    Sonata Detric raised carefully threaded brows at him. “Actually,” she said, “I thought women would be smarter than to want to.”
    Emily felt a wave of protective resentment wash through her. An odd thing, perhaps, considering Casie was ten years her senior. “Well, I’m not sure if Case really wants to drive the tractor,” she said. “But cows seem to get hungry every single day, and they’re not very particular about who feeds them.”
    â€œSo this really is a ranch,” Sonata said.
    That statement stopped Emily dead in her verbal tracks for a second. “Were you expecting something else?”
    â€œWell, no.” The woman tilted her chin up and laughed a little. The sound had a throaty musicality to it. “I mean, Max said it was, but—” She shrugged one trim shoulder. The coat she wore was winter white, probably cashmere, and belted snugly at a very narrow waist.
    â€œDidn’t you see our Web site?” Emily asked.
    â€œMax made the reservations. I’ve been so busy with work that I just let him take care of things.” She glanced around. Emily didn’t bother to do the same. She knew what people saw: pastoral snow-covered hills dotted with white-faced cattle, woolly sheep, and shaggy horses. It was impossible to say if they also recognized the hope, fatigue, or gut-deep contentment that were part and parcel of the struggle to put the Lazy in the black. “I just thought—” She shook her head, looking befuddled.
    â€œWhat?” Max asked and grinned.