Read Till the Cows Come Home for Free Online

cows running loose—I sprayed off my boots and left them at the office door.
    I had just sat down and leaned my head against the wall when the phone rang.
    “Yeah,” I said. “Royalcrest Farm.”
    “Stella?”
    “In the flesh.”
    “It’s Pam.” Her voice sounded heavier than it had just that morning.
    “You all right? Hubert didn’t do something stupider than usual, did he?”
    “No, no, he’s fine. I mean, he didn’t.… Oh crap, it’s just this poor little Derstine kid. It’s so awful.”
    I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yeah. You realize he’s my neighbor?”
    “Oh God, really? I’m sorry.”
    We were both silent for a moment.
    “So, what’s up?” I said. “Just call to chat?”
    She sighed. “I wish. I hated to even bother you, but it’s now ‘my job.’ I got a phone call this afternoon and needed to let you know. Did you have trouble with your manure lagoon today?”
    “What? How would anyone know about that? Who called you?”
    “So it’s true?”
    “It was muskrats. You know how it is.”
    “We never had livestock, but I’ve heard lots of stories. Anyway, my caller—who asked that I don’t reveal any names, and dammit I have to respect that—seemed concerned the creek running behind your farm got polluted.”
    “Well, you can tell your caller it’s already been taken care of. For Christ’s sake.”
    “I’m sorry I had to even say anything. I’m sure you have things under control.”
    “No problem,” I said, gritting my teeth. “So what’s the council’s plan for investigating Toby’s death? I’m assuming they have one.”
    “Sure. It’s their highest priority, of course. The State Department of Health is here, and has pretty much taken over the investigation. I think an invitation to the Centers for Disease Control is forthcoming. Their experts should be here within a day or two.”
    “Good. Meanwhile, tell your anonymous caller to leave me the hell alone.”
    “You got it.”
    I slammed down the phone and spun my chair around to look at the wall. Whoever had called Pam would’ve had to know about the manure leak at the same time, or even before, I did. What did that mean? The creek wasn’t moving fast enough for the grungy water to have reached somebody else already.
    Queenie started barking, and I heard a vehicle pull into the driveway. I glanced out the side window at a blue Ford Ranger I didn’t recognize, and saw Queenie hustling to investigate. Soon there were footsteps outside the office door and then a tentative knock.
    “Whoever you are,” I said, still facing the wall, “I don’t need any, want any, or have the money for it. Go away.”
    “All I want is a minute of your time.”
    Rolling my eyes, I spun the chair around and looked at the most beautiful man ever to set foot on my farm. Probably six-two, two hundred, with wavy blond hair highlighting bright blue eyes and a tan that reached down into his collar. Levi’s hugged his lean waist, and a dark green T-shirt pulled tight around his broad chest. I was suddenly very aware I had just finished spraying cow shit around for an hour and a half, and was afraid he was, too.
    “You can have two minutes,” I said. “Have a seat.”
    He sat and stunned me with a smile that was whiter than fresh milk. I couldn’t help but smile back.
    “So what do you want?” I asked.
    “I’m a barn painter. Or handyman, or concrete layer, or fence-builder. Whatever you might need.”
    What I need , I thought, is a couple minutes alone with you with my clothes off .
    “I really don’t need anything,” I said. “And what I said about money was true. I don’t have any to spare.”
    “I come cheap. And I work hard.”
    Now, the funny thing about these barn painters is that every farmer gets visits from a couple of them during the summer. No one knows who they really are or where they come from, and you’re generally thought to be a boob if you fall for their spiel. You also end up paying far more than