Heartland (True North #7) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,23

trimming shears and quickly snips the front edge of her overgrown hoof.

“That’s a girl,” he whispers. “You should be so lucky to get a pedicure this early on a Saturday. Other goats would be jealous.”

She turns her head, considering the idea.

“Big plans for your Saturday?” he asks her. “A little foraging, and climbing on tires? Some gossip with Jill, maybe? Stay in the fence, okay? There will be lots of kids here picking apples today. Loud ones, the kind who pull on ears.”

I finally clear my throat, and both Jacquie and Dylan whip around to spot me. “Sorry to interrupt,” I say. And I chuckle because I can’t help myself.

“Hi,” he says, flashing me the kind of smile that makes me feel melty inside. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to worry about trolls down the road,” I admit. “Which bridge should I avoid?”

“They don’t eat humans,” he says, going back to Jacquie’s hooves. “Only naughty goats. How come you’re up so early?”

“I’m always up this early. I already had breakfast, and I’m ready to sell apples. I’ll drive the pony cart if you want.”

He looks up in surprise. “Really? I hate that job.”

I know that, silly. “I don’t mind helping out.”

“You’re the best.” Dylan stands up and wipes his hands on a rag. “How come you don’t mind driving horses, but it makes you nervous to drive my truck? The horses are a lot more work.”

“Oh, please. The horses have the good sense not to crash into trees. The truck cannot be trusted.”

Dylan laughs. Then he points at my hand. “What do you have there? Is it finally time?”

“Oh, yup!” I was so busy admiring his broad shoulders that I forgot I was holding a generous box of our caramels. “I haven’t tasted them, either. I waited for you.” I lift the lid off the plastic container and show Dylan the arrangement of perfectly rectangular caramels inside. “I cut them up, and it wasn’t too tricky. And, look—the sea salt is adhering without melting. Doesn’t this look great?” I offer him the container.

“Dude, yes.” He lifts a hand and then hesitates. “I’m all goaty. Feed me one.”

“Sure. This one is from the first batch. So it’s a little soft. Ready?”

He opens his mouth and leans down a little.

And because I’m me, and I’m hyperaware of Dylan, I notice every little thing about this moment. When I slip a caramel past his lips, I feel his breath on my hand and the brush of his whiskers against my thumb. It gives me a shiver.

“Mmm,” he says huskily, his eyes lighting up. We’re standing so close together that I could trace his smile with my fingertips.

Instead, I pick up another caramel and slip it into my mouth. And—wow. It’s nothing like a drugstore candy. A toastier, nuttier sweetness spreads across my tongue.

Dylan lets out an honest-to-God moan, and goosebumps rise on my back. “Damn! That is intense.”

“No kidding.” We end up smiling at each other again.

He licks his lips, and I instantly wonder what it would feel like if he licked mine. “Do I get to taste the second batch?”

“Of course.” I pluck one of those out of the container, and Dylan swoops in, playfully capturing it before I’m ready, along with my fingertips, too. I let out a squeak of surprise at the brief sensation of his tongue on my skin.

He laughs. Of course he does. “Jesus Christ, Chass. These are amazing. We are going to rake in the cash.”

Still chewing, he gives me a caramel-scented kiss on the cheek. But it’s so quick that it’s over before I even realize it’s happening. “Come into the kitchen, okay? Griffin has got to taste this.” He leans down to give Jacquie a friendly pat. “Be good, today. I mean it." Then he gives her a kiss on her floppy ear.

And now I’m jealous of a goat.

He unclips Jacquie so she can run away and hang out with Jill. “Coffee?” he asks me. “There’s still a half an hour before the hordes arrive.” October is a crazy month at the Shipleys. Because who wouldn’t want to spend the afternoon in a sunny orchard with Dylan?

Nobody, that’s who.

I follow him toward the farmhouse.

Breakfast time at the Shipley farm can be a little like standing in a gale-force wind. Everybody talks at once. This morning, they’re all talking about our caramels.

“You need a name for this,” Grandpa Shipley says, banging his coffee mug down on the giant table. “Gimme another one so