Page 52 of Wayward

“He’s not on staff,” I told her, but Gale chuckled in response as he came up beside me.

“Gimme the keys, Maks.”

I pulled them from the pocket of my jeans and passed them to him.

“Cute keychain,” he commented, smirking at me.

“It’s not mine,” I grumbled even as I didn’t miss him looking me up and down, eyes lingering, before his gaze met mine.

“I like it,” he murmured, and already I was a big fan of his low, husky voice.

Gale went to the car and got all the food out while Ada and I went toward the small bungalow. He then made a second trip and took in all of Misha’s things, plus my duffel. It was very thoughtful of him.

Ada said, “You know, for the winter, since you have a car, you should probably have whoever does the renovations on my house build a carport.”

“That’s a good idea,” Gale called over. “The snow gets deep.”

“I have things to show you just quickly outside,” Ada explained.

I put Misha down, and he decided that he wanted to see what Gale was doing and so ran to catch up, following him through the same kind of white picket gate that the man had around his place, up the stairs and into the house.

“You’re going to love it here,” Ada promised as we strolled.

“I have no doubt,” I replied softly.

She seemed so pleased.

In minutes, Gale came running out of the house, Misha right behind him, catching up to Ada and me easily.

“You built the fence and the gate around my place too?” I asked him.

“I did,” he replied, with a sigh. “I thought that if there were pets, like Misha, a small yard would be good. I was trying to make the place look a bit more inviting. Ada’s needed a caretaker for a while.”

“So when I said I rented this, you knew there was a job that went along with it?”

“Yeah.” He squinted then. “Wait, you didn’t?”

I shook my head.

His grin made his eyes sparkle. “Oh man, I would have told you.”

“Well, none of that matters now,” Ada said dismissively, brushing him off, slipping her arm into mine. “He’s here now, and he’s staying.”

“I certainly hope so,” Gale said under his breath, before he bolted away and Misha yipped excitedly and went tearing after him.

“You see that over there?” Ada asked, directing my attention to the barn. It was hard to do as she asked when all I really wanted to do was stare at the man who seemed to like both me and my dog. “Mal commissioned that for the girls a couple of years ago. I paid for it, but it was built to his specifications,” she explained. “He’s been very helpful.”

I glanced over to the porch where I thought he’d be, but the front door was open and both he and Misha had disappeared inside.

Ada continued to explain that Peter Kay, a local farmer who kept alpacas and sheep, came out and sheared the girls every spring. He, like Ada, kept his sheep for life—no selling them to slaughterhouses when they got a bit older and didn’t produce as much wool. They were his pets, like Ada’s. Dr. Coleman also made house calls and gave the sheep all their shots and kept them healthy. Ada made sure they got locked in at night and fed and watered.

She made it clear I was not needed to take over that task. “I’m capable of calling the girls in and making certain they’re locked in for the night.”

“How old are you, Ada?”

“A lady never tells,” she teased me. “Let’s just say I was born in the midfifties.”

“Okay,” I said, smiling at her.