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large red-painted barn.
    The barn obviously predated the house. Sunlight had faded the scarlet-painted walls to a softer blush and flaked and crackled the surface like old skin. It reminded Lauren of the toy version she’d love to play with as a little girl. She wrinkled her nose as the smell and the noise grew stronger.
    ‘Chickens first.’
    Grayson disappeared inside the barn and Lauren followed. Her eyes watered at the strange combination of earthy animal odours and sweet-smelling hay. The last dappled rays of the sun threaded through the old roof illuminating the spiralling dust motes. Huge plastic barrels lined the walls of the sectioned-off part of the main barn. After relieving Lauren of her bucket, Grayson opened one of the barrels and began dumping shovel loads of brown pellets into the two buckets.
    He pointed at a rusty water faucet. ‘Add a couple of pints of water to each bucket and give it a stir would you? I’ll start on the horses.’
    Gingerly, Lauren picked up a battered plastic jug from the workbench and approached the faucet. She struggled to turn the handle and then shrieked as a torrent of water missed the jug and soaked her boots. Surreptitiously, she checked her perfectly manicured nails for damage. To her relief, not only were her nails unharmed but Grayson didn’t appear to notice; his attention was focused on his work.
    After a good deal of quiet swearing and more strength than she knew she possessed, Lauren managed to accomplish her task. She tried to pick up the bucket and hastily put it down again, surprised by the weight. Grayson came up behind her, picked up the two buckets and turned back out of the barn. A fenced-off area on the south side of the barn housed a chicken run and nesting boxes.
    As Grayson and Lauren approached, the noise in the pens reached a crescendo as if they were movie stars arriving on the red carpet of an award show.
    ‘I’ll spread the mash, Lauren, if you’ll go and look for the eggs.’
    Lauren nodded, not liking the avaricious gleam in the chickens’ eyes or the sharpness of their prominent red beaks and sharp claws. Grayson handed her a tattered pair of leather gloves and a basket lined with soft foam. She climbed into the back of the nesting shed and felt her way along the narrow ledges, snatching her hand back every time she imagined she encountered an irate chicken.
    To her secret delight, she managed to collect two dozen warm eggs. The dim light and musty smell of the chicken house reminded her of her grandparents’ feather bed. Choking back a sneeze, she backed out, the basket held protectively to her chest.
    A feeding frenzy still went on out front. Grayson stood waiting for her, the empty buckets at his side. Lauren held up the basket.
    ‘Two dozen, Grayson. What should I do with them now?’
    He smiled as if enjoying her sense of accomplishment. ‘Bring them back to the feed store and we’ll finish up with the horses.’
    Lauren followed him back to the barn, detouring around any suspicious matter, which slowed her progress. By the time she reached Grayson, he’d already begun to refill the two buckets from another barrel.
    ‘Put the eggs on the shelf over there. You’ll see each tray is dated. Chuck out any eggs that are cracked and put the rest in today’s box. Most of them are used on the ranch. I take any surplus into town and sell them to Mrs Maxwell. There’s a dog bowl on the floor for the damaged ones. The barn cat will eat any left out.’
    Lauren crossed to the shelf and carefully inspected each egg before putting them in the correct tray. She glanced down at the dog bowl. ‘Don’t you have a dog?’
    He turned then, regret colouring his blue eyes. ‘Not any more. I had to have my dog Petty put to sleep last month.’
    Lauren resisted the temptation to put her arms around him. She didn’t want him to be a good man who loved dogs. She wanted him to be a shallow worthless loser like most of the men she’d dated. He would be so