The Mistletoe Kisser - Lucy Score Page 0,35

the booth at all times.

Attached please find a shift sign-up sheet and digital photos from the calendar to share on your social media accounts.

Yours truly,

Bruce Oakleigh

11

Hershel Dairy sprawled out over 120 acres of rolling fields and pastures ten miles north of Blue Moon. Fifty pampered dairy cows called the acreage and huge green barn home.

“This does not look like a coffee shop,” Ryan observed.

“Good news. Your hangover hasn’t blinded you,” Sammy announced as she pulled up to the immaculate dairy barn. “This is a work stop. I’ve got a herd check on dairy cows. You can wait here or you’re welcome to join me,” she told him.

“Yeah. I’ll wait,” he drawled.

“I’ll be about an hour,” she told him with a sunny smile then exited the vehicle.

He swore under his breath and climbed out.

She waved a greeting to owner and operator Mavis Bilkie as the woman pulled up in a tractor going twice the speed it should have been. She was wearing coveralls and an elf ears headband over an orange ski cap.

“Why does she get a normal hat and I have to look like Cousin Eddie?” he groused.

“My guess is karma. That’s Mavis,” Sammy shouted over the chug of the engine.

“What are we doing with Mavis?” he yelled back.

“Herd check.”

“What the hell is a herd check?”

The engine cut off, and Mavis slid to the ground before Sammy could explain.

“Good to see you, doc. Ready for the Solstice?” the woman asked. “I’ve got my heart set on a nice, traditional wreath with one of them plaid bows.”

“You can count on it,” Sammy lied through her teeth. She’d woken up at her table with a glitter bow stuck to her face and a cat with the front page of The Monthly Moon glued to its tail. She was in no position to be promising anyone anything.

Thirty-nine wreaths in two days? Eeesh. Things weren’t looking good.

“You replace Demarcus?” Mavis asked, eyeing Ryan.

“No one can replace Demarcus,” Sammy assured her. “He’s in Buffalo for Hanukkah with his wife’s family. This is Ryan. Carson Shufflebottom’s great-nephew. He’s tagging along with me today.”

“Nice to meet ya, Ryan,” Mavis said, offering him a dirty hand.

“A pleasure,” he said. To the man’s credit, he shook the offered hand without flinching or sarcasm.

“Let me get my bag, and we’ll get started,” Sammy said.

Fifty-eight minutes later, she closed the cover on her iPad, the final herd stats recorded. “Ladies are looking good,” she reported to Mavis. “Tennessee’s gait is a lot better this week, and the wait and see with Vermont worked. No antibiotics needed.”

The farmer swiped a hand across her brow, miming sweat. “Thank God for that.”

“You’ve got a healthy herd here. Keep up the good work, and I’ll see you in two weeks.”

“Thanks, doc. I’ll see you at the Solstice,” Mavis called. “Ryan, it was a treat.”

“Thanks again for the tour, Mavis,” he said, sounding almost cheerful. “You’ve got a hell of an operation here.”

“Was it my imagination, or did you actually enjoy yourself?” Sammy asked when they climbed back into the SUV.

He’d asked a hundred questions about the dairy business. Animals as capital, day-to-day maintenance, streams of income. Mavis had been delighted with the interest in her livelihood from the rugged-looking accountant.

“Definitely your imagination,” he said, checking his phone. He let out a surly sigh and shoved his phone back in his pocket.

“Nothing from your firm?” she guessed.

“It’s stupid,” he said, staring out the window. “I feel like the guy who got dumped on prom night and sits on his front porch hoping she’ll change her mind and show up.”

“It’s not stupid if you love your job,” she told him, shifting into drive.

“I do. Did,” he corrected, picking up the to-go mug and sniffing the cold coffee. “Though, judging from how you stuck your entire arm inside that poor cow, not as much as you.”

“Every day, I feel like I’m doing what I was meant to do.”

He shot her a look like he was trying to tease apart the meaning of her words. “Really?”

“Didn’t you?” she asked.

He frowned, considering the question. “I thought being good at something and being well-compensated for it was as good as it got. But I suppose I never considered saving corporations millions of dollars a calling.”

“The way I looked sticking my arm up a cow’s rectum is how you looked yelling at that IRS phone scammer,” she pointed out.

“I didn’t get to do much yelling at scammers in my job. It was more dealing with internal accounting departments, managing bookkeepers, interpreting volumes