by Amanda Renee
“I’m sensing a pattern.” Clay picked up a gooey nacho and devoured it in one bite. “Let me guess, you have a fear of cruises, too.”
“Cruise ships are a hotbed of diseases.” Abby handed him a napkin when the cheese ran down his chin. “There’s no safe way of eating any of this, is there?”
“How did you end up in Charleston?”
“There were two hospitals that offered me a residency. I chose the one without snow. Charleston is a magnificently historical city and its charm won me over.”
“Yet, you’re willing to leave it?” Clay questioned.
“I think maybe it’s time.” Abby sighed. “My turn, because I barely know a thing about you. If you weren’t a private investigator, what other profession do you see yourself in?”
“That’s easy. I’d own an alpaca farm.” Clay sipped his soda. “Those were my plans when I bought the ranch. My parents, grandparents and great-grandparents were sheep farmers, and when I was in college, the business went bankrupt. My plans were, and still are, if I can ever find the time, to start an alpaca farm and bring my dad in on it.”
“I love alpacas,” Abby exclaimed.
“What does a cultured city girl want with an alpaca?” Clay couldn’t envision her shearing the animal. Then again, nothing she did would surprise him.
“Alpaca fleece is amazingly warm,” Abby enthused. “A few years ago, when I was home for Christmas, an ice storm knocked out our power for days. Our alpaca blankets kept us nice and toasty. Even our dogs have their own. Crap.” She dabbed at a spot of cheese on her shirt. “I think I’m managing to wear most of this meal.”
Clay handed her another napkin. “My idea is to process the fiber on-site like we used to with the sheep. My father currently manages a fiber mill, and I know every day is a reminder of what he lost. It would take some time to get the mill up and running, but I think it would be well worth it.”
“Definitely. When I stopped in The Knitters Circle the other day, I asked if they had any alpaca yarn and they didn’t. It’s a hot commodity. Do you know how much money you could make with alpacas? The price of alpaca yarn is higher than your standard wool, which is prickly to wear and work with. Plus, wool tends to bother me because I’m sensitive to lanolin. Never mind that alpaca fiber is naturally water repellent, making it even more desirable.”
“You knit?” Clay tried to picture Abby sitting in a rocking chair, working two knitting needles as his grandmother did. It seemed far-fetched. Even for her.
“Are you kidding me? Knitting is the in thing. Everyone does it. Although my friend Amanda is so awkward with the needles, she almost gouges her eye out every time.”
Clay laughed at the visual Abby described. “Getting the business running is a big process.” He sighed. “It’s not like I have the time.”
“You have the land and it’s my understanding alpacas are fairly easy to take care of. Yes, you’d probably need some help, but if I move to town, I’d be willing to get my hands dirty with you. Especially for the chance to spin my own virgin alpaca yarn.”
“Have you ever spun yarn?” At this point, Clay wouldn’t be surprised to hear Abby spun hay into gold. “It’s a tedious process.”
“No, but it’s something I’ve always wanted to learn. I go through so much yarn that I’d love to spin my own. That’s a dream of mine, and don’t you laugh, either.”
He held up his hands, knowing well enough never to mess with a woman and her yarn. He had learned that lesson the hard way as a kid. He’d gotten tangled up in his mother’s knitting only once, and he’d never done it again.
“I’m sure my mom would love to teach you to spin. She has an antique spinning wheel that she still uses. My parents have only a couple sheep now, but Mom still gets out there and shears them.”
Clay’s heart pounded harder with each word he spoke. He’d shared his vision with Shane and mentioned it to his father in passing, but it had always seemed more of a dream than a real possibility. Abby made it sound feasible. Why was he waiting to do what he’d planned to do three years ago? With Abby by his side, Clay suspected there’d be no end to what he could accomplish.
“Why don’t we find a nearby alpaca ranch and take a little road trip?” Abby wiped off her fingers and pulled her phone from her bag. “This is Texas. They have a ranch for everything, I bet there’s one close to here.”
If there was ever a perfect chance to spend more time with Abby and get her away from Ramblewood, then an alpaca ranch was the way.
“Sure, why not? I need to update my research, anyway.”
Abby tapped on her phone’s screen. “There’s one an hour from here. How about tomorrow?”
“It can’t be first thing in the morning. A rancher’s work is never done and I’m only one person with many mouths to feed and water. I have some fencing to mend on one of the corrals before I move the goats. Even a small herd like mine needs to be on the move so they can graze, plus it helps keep my land from becoming overgrown.” His shoulders slumped. “And the roof on the pigpen is about to fall in. I also have a daily manure delivery to make to my neighbor. He’s an organic farmer and the easiest way for me to dispose of mine is to sell it to him. How about late morning?”
“I can help you, if you’d like.”
“Shovel manure? Gather eggs from ornery chickens? I’m not saying you can’t handle the work, I’m just saying ranching is a dirty job.”
“I’m not afraid to get dirty, Clay.” Abby’s face was full of strength and determination.
A new and unexpected warmth surged through him as he envisioned Abby working beside him on his ranch.
“I appreciate the offer, and if you move to Ramblewood then I might just take you up on it, but for now, you are a guest whenever you visit my ranch. All I ask of you is to see if you can arrange our visit tomorrow. We can’t just show up unexpectedly. I wouldn’t want a stranger driving onto my ranch asking for a tour without calling ahead. Figure we’ll be there around one.”
“I am so excited. I can’t wait to hug an alpaca.”
Clay almost choked on his soda. “Abby, you can’t just run up and hug one.”
“Sure you can.” Her thumbs typed wildly on her phone’s miniature keyboard. “Look.”
Abby handed Clay her phone. On the screen was photo after photo of people hugging alpacas.
“People actually do that? Well, then, alpaca hugging we will go.” The words, as corny as they sounded coming from his mouth, made him smile. Alpaca ranching may be a serious dream for Clay, but Abby reminded him not to take it or life too seriously. Something he’d been doing far too much of lately. It had never been something he could discuss with Ana Rosa for fear it would blow his cover. Paulo would’ve loved it. Ana Rosa he wasn’t so sure about. Somehow, the image of them on an alpaca ranch didn’t fit as well as it did with Abby. He easily envisioned her there by his side.
“Who knows,” Abby said. “Maybe your dreams will come true on this trip.”
Clay regarded her across the table. If only she knew how deep his dreams ran and the part she played in them. Closing his eyes, he wanted to commit this moment to memory before everything changed.
* * *
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Abby swung by Clay’s ranch to see if they were still on schedule. She knew she could’ve called, but she wanted to see the man at work, in his natural environment, not all showered and clean as usual.
“I made arrangements for our alpaca tour.” Abby opened the gate to the goat pen and slipped in beside Clay, helping him empty one of the water troughs. “I also booked a spa appointment for Duffy.”
“Wait, what?” Clay straightened the trough, his arms covered in dirt and dust, sweat trickling down his neck, a formerly white shirt clinging to his body with perspiration. Good God. He was one hundred percent rugged male and the new sight gave her
a better appreciation for how hard he worked. “A spa appointment for the dog?”
“Dogs needed to get beautified, too.” Mazie had bragged about Penny’s Poodle Parlor, and after reading their menu of services Abby had figured it would be a nice place for Duffy to spend part of the day while she and Clay visited the alpacas.
“If you say so.” Clay shook his head. “What time do you want me to swing by and get you?”
“I’ll pick you up after I drop him off. Say around noon?”
“Abby.” Clay laughed. “I’m six foot five. I can’t fit in your car.”
“Sure you can.” Abby exited the pen. “Trust me. I’ll see you a little later.” She fought a smile as she pictured Clay getting into her car.
A few hours later, Abby dropped Duffy off at Penny’s Poodle Parlor, confident he would have a good time, despite his bath and haircut. Penny had a stunning black-and-white parti-poodle named Bella that Duffy fell in love with instantly. The upstairs was an entire playroom devoted to dogs.
Abby pulled alongside Clay’s house a short time later. She released the lever under the Mini’s passenger seat, allowing it to slide backward.
“I’m not going to fit.” Clay poked his head through the sunroof, and Abby inhaled the fresh scent of Ivory soap. “My belt comes up to your roofline. I can literally step into your car through the sunroof.”
“Don’t you dare,” Abby warned. “Stop squawking and get in the car. We’re going to be late.”
Clay opened the door. “Do the alpacas have some place to be?”
“Ha-ha. Get in.”
Clay practically fell in, forcing Abby to hide her laughter.
“How does this thing make it over speed bumps?” He swung his legs inside.
“It doesn’t always. I got stuck on a big one once and my car became a teeter-totter. Luckily, some teenagers felt sorry for me and lifted me off it. But don’t be fooled, it’s far from being a lightweight car. Close the door already.”
Clay reached for the handle and eased the door shut. “Hmm.”
“Hmm, what?” Abby asked.
“It’s actually pretty roomy in here.” Clay glanced around. “I wouldn’t want to be in the backseat, but this works.”
“I’m so glad you approve of my car.” Abby smirked and backed out of the driveway.
“My apologies.” Clay leaned over the seat and kissed her on the cheek. “Did you ever play rapid fire as a kid?”
“No, what is it?” Abby giggled. “Do I want to know?”
“Usually, you have more than two people, but this will work.” Clay reached out and entwined his fingers with Abby’s. “I first played it when I was in a church youth group. It’s a series of rapid questions. I ask one, you answer, then you fire back one of your own. It’s a getting-to-know-you type of game.”
“Sure. Fire away, cowboy.” Abby stole a glance in his direction.
“Rancher,” Clay corrected.
“What’s the difference? The Langtrys don’t have cows and they’re cowboys.”
“I just never thought of myself as one. I was never in the rodeo like they were, and while Dream Catcher is technically a cutting horse, I only ride him as one when I’m actually helping another rancher move cattle.”
“So that would technically make you a cowboy.” Abby smiled. “But, okay, rancher it is.”
“Favorite board game?”
“Clue,” Abby answered. “Favorite movie?”
“Die Hard With a Vengeance. Stop snorting over there. Favorite sport?”
“Hockey. Favorite—”
“You’re a hockey fan?” Clay interrupted. “Who’s your team?”
“You’d think I’d be a Penguins or Flyers fan because I’m from Pennsylvania, but I’m a New Jersey Devils fan.”
“Yep, that fits you.” Clay chuckled. “I’m a Dallas Stars fan. We’ll have to watch a game sometime.”
“All right, but I’m warning you, I’m one of those loud sports fanatics who yells at the television. So bring your ear plugs. My turn still, favorite book?”
“To Kill a Mockingbird,” Clay replied. “Children?”
The question startled Abby. “Is this part of the game?” She looked at Clay and saw him waiting for her answer. “I’d love a houseful of them. More so now that I’ve spent time in Ramblewood. It’s not as affordable in Charleston and...I don’t know, the wide-open space here screams for a big family. A family I could actually call my own, without feeling as if I was on the outside looking in. You?”
Clay tightened his hand over hers. “I’ve always wanted children. It didn’t work out that way—”
“Yet.”
Clay sheepishly grinned at her, and for a split second, Abby easily pictured what he had looked like as a child. She wondered what their children would look like. Whoa. She was getting way ahead of herself. She may be contemplating moving to Texas, but it was not to move in with Clay. She’d live—where? When she considered moving to Ramblewood she always pictured she’d be—with Clay.
They continued firing questions back and forth until they pulled into the alpaca ranch. Clay was surprised to learn Abby loved football as well as hockey and could climb a gym rope faster than most men.
“Look at them.” Clay leaned out the window.
Lush rolling hills were dotted with white, chocolate-and-gold-colored alpacas. Their big watchful eyes followed the Mini as they drove down the farm’s dirt road. A handful of Great Pyrenees dogs roamed alongside the younger alpacas.
“Can you envision this on your ranch?” Abby asked.
He could. With Abby by his side he could envision many things.
“Welcome to RJ’s Alpacas.” A man greeted them in the parking lot. “You must be Abby and Clay. I’m Bob, and you’re just in time.”
“Just in time for what?” Clay asked, shaking Bob’s hand.
“My wife and I are testing to see if one of our females is pregnant. Follow me, but stand back.”
Clay wasn’t sure what to expect, and neither was Abby judging by the way she tucked herself behind him as they headed for a metal barn.
Bob opened a door and led them into a room. “Stand over in that far corner. You should be out of spit range. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Clay raised his eyebrows at Abby and she giggled.
“Hello,” a woman said from behind a metal fence. Next to her stood a chocolate alpaca, wearing a halter with a lead rope attached to it. “I’m Joan, Bob’s wife, and this here is Felicia. The way we test to see if a female’s pregnant is by what is known as the spit test. Bob’s going to bring in a male, and if Felicia’s receptive to him, we’ll know she’s not pregnant. If she spits, then it’s a warning sign for him to stay away and we’ll soon have a little cria running around. A cria is a baby alpaca.”
“How long is their gestation?” Abby asked from the safety of the corner.
“Eleven months. Usually a single birth.” Joan looked up as the door opened. “Here we go. Stay against the wall. Bob is bringing in a macho, or a male alpaca, and—” Joan ducked out of Felicia’s way as she fired off a spray of spit.
“Oh, my God!” Abby shrieked and gripped Clay’s arm tightly. “Did you see that?”
Bob attempted to present the macho to Felicia again, but she quickly spit in its face.
“Oh!” Abby cried.
“She can really hock it up, can’t she?” Clay laughed.
“She’s definitely pregnant, Bob.” Joan ducked her head again as Felicia fired another spit attack.
Bob led the macho outside and Joan proceeded to wipe off her arm.
“That’s how you tell if a hembra is pregnant.” Joan handed off Felicia to Bob when he returned. Joan unzipped and removed her jacket. “I’d shake your hands, but I think you’d rather pass. Foll
ow me and I’ll take you on a tour.”
Joan led them to a four-seater John Deere Gator. Allowing Abby to sit up front, Clay climbed in behind her and enjoyed her enthusiasm as they began to move. He laughed quietly to himself, betting she didn’t have much of an opportunity to ride a utility vehicle while she was working inside a hospital all day.
The thought of Abby working indoors struck him as odd. Since the day he’d met her, she had seemed more the outdoorsy type. He imagined her smile wouldn’t shine as brightly as it did now if she were inside a stuffy hospital.
“How many alpacas do you have?” Abby asked.
“Forty-three.” Joan slowed the Gator. “We raise Huacayas to breed as well as for their fiber. Alpaca fleece is virtually indestructible. Garments dating back thousands of years have been discovered in ruins throughout Peru.”
“When do you shear them?” Abby asked.
“In the spring. Same as sheep. It’s a big job and we bring in professional shearers. We don’t have the experience to attempt it ourselves. An alpaca needs to be sheared a certain way to get the most out of their fibers.” Joan turned her attention to Clay. “I understand from my husband that your family used to own the sheep farm over in Ramblewood. I can remember going there twenty years ago, give or take a few. Quite an operation you had.”
Clay blinked, surprised to hear Joan knew who his family was, let alone had met his mother. He looked to Abby who mouthed sorry. He smiled and shook his head slightly.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the experience,” he said. “I’d like to do the same thing with alpacas, processing our own fiber, on a much smaller scale than my family had, but the same concept.”
“You’d fare very well in today’s market. American fiber is at a premium.”
“Do you process your own fiber?” Abby asked. “I’ve always wanted to spin my own.”
“Some of it. The rest I have processed by a mini-mill. From shearing to yarn is a lengthy process, but I recommend it to anyone who loves to knit. It’s a rewarding experience.”