Page 12 of Fibre and Ink

Mickey chuckled and nodded at the pitcher of milk he had out. “See what you think before you make judgement.”

He made himself a bowl as well and we settled at the table, together with glasses of orange juice.

“So, what was that last night?”

Mickey shook his head. “Could have been someone from the artist’s retreat getting lost.” He licked his lips. “Or they lost another reptile from the sanctuary, I should call them and check on that.”

I shuddered at the thought of an escaped crocodile. I had no idea what reptiles they had at the sanctuary, but how ironic would it be to move to a farm and get eaten by a crocodile?

“Yeah, maybe you should.”

Mickey nodded and tapped his phone, presumably sending a message to the guys who ran the sanctuary.

I cleared my throat. “So, I want to cook something for you tonight. I’ll head into town if you don’t mind me using your truck? Then you can get on with whatever you need to do.”

“Don’t mind at all,” Mickey said. “I want to take a better look around the lanes and paths, see if there’s any tracks out there.”

The more we talked, the more at home I felt.

Mickey’s phone dinged. “Comfirmed nothing escaped from the reptile sanctuary. And they don’t have crocodiles.”

“Good.” I nodded. “Is there anything you need at the grocers?”

“Let’s see.” Mickey stood up to check the pad of paper magneted to the fridge, his own little shopping list.

Something warm fluttered in my chest and I focused on my granola. I wasn’t a teenager any more, I had a freaking college degree.

So why was I still crushing like a teenager?

Chapter Five

Mickey

The herd were calm when I went to checked them first thing.

They’d been shorn a couple of weeks earlier and their wool was growing back in, leaving them looking a lot cuter than when they were all bare and freshly shaven.

I filled the feeders with fresh hay and laid out some alpaca pellets in a large shallow bowl so they could graze on them as they liked. Most crowded around me, eager to snaggle up the pellets, but a few beelined for the hay. Mulan nuzzled my pockets, hoping for carrot sticks. I patted her neck, comforted that as I counted the flock I knew everyone was accounted for.

It was early, but I could already tell it was going to be a hot day.

I went around the outside of the fenced fields, eyes to the ground to see if there was anything on the soft dirt paths. Hopefully there was nothing. Aster had been freaked out last night, but there was a possibility that it had just been in his imagination. Maybe a bad dream?

I hoped it was nothing. I didn’t want to entertain the thought someone had been wandering around the farm late at night.

Then I saw it.

A clear shoeprint in a muddy bit of the path. It wasn’t a work boot, and it was too small to be mine. Aster hadn’t been walking about on this path, not yet, anyway.

I didn’t know how to tell how fresh it was, but it looked pristine.

My stomach twisted.

Someone had been here.

Maybe I should borrow a dog from someone?

Hopefully, it was just some insomniac from nearby on a walk. Nothing more than that.