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“It fits.”

They beamed at each other and Mieka’s heart clenched while her belly warmed.

“We have four more kids that need names,” he said. “Need to keep moving.”

After another three or so minutes, they went to the next stall where two more little kids climbed all over her. She named these twin sisters Belle and Winnie.

Finally, they visited Karen. Nate had to keep her cornered while Mieka gave attention to her twin sons. It wasn’t that Karen was protective of her kids, it was that she was just an attention-whore and would shove her children out of the way to sit on your lap, then she’d aggressively head butt you for scratches and pets.

As was the way of the Karen, always out for attention.

She named Karen’s little boys Ruger and Trigger since they were speedy little dudes and kept zipping around the stall like little bullets.

“How’d you know about a Ruger?” Nate asked after they washed their hands again and exited the goat stall. “I’m impressed.”

“I might have googled it on my phone when you were detaining Karen. Gun related names for animals produced a plethora of options.”

His raspy chuckle made her nipples pebble.

They exited the barn into a bright, blue-sky day. The sun was bright and hot and that’s when she realized she’d been out in the barn since last night. The day had started, the sun had rose and she was still in her pajamas, hadn’t brushed her teeth or hair in ages, and she was ridiculously happy.

“What’s that smile for, Minx?” he asked, guiding her over to the left, away from the farmhouse. She didn’t question him and just followed.

Shaking her head, she stepped through the first gate of the double gate that would take them into the chicken coop. “This has just been a really great day. I witnessed new life born into the world, got to cuddle and name goats … it’s just been a lot of fun.”

“And it’s not even noon.”

Laughing, she nodded. “And it’s not even noon.”

He took her around to the back of the coop, both of them careful not to step on any of the what seemed like millions of cute orangy-brown chickens that clucked and bawked around them. “I’m sure Asher already did this this morning, but we can check for some second lays.” “What kind of chickens are these? They’re very noisy.”

“Rhode Island Reds, and yeah, it’s a noisy breed. But we don’t mind. They let us know when they’re happy and when they’re not.”

“Just a whole coop of Karens, huh?”

He snickered. “Yup. But most of these Karens are pretty docile.”

He lifted the door to reveal rows and rows of nests. Most were empty, but some had eggs.

Her eyes went wide.

“Never collected your own eggs before?”

She shook her head. “Only from the grocery store.”

“Oh, Minx, this is where it’s at. Farm fresh, free-range, organic, Omega-3 enriched eggs are the only way to go. They’ll ruin you for the store-bought ones.”

“Was it one of these eggs that was in my sandwich this morning?”

“We don’t buy eggs, so yup.”

“It was delicious. The yolk was a rich, dark orange and so creamy.” Her face fell. “Are there baby chickens in there?”

“They’re eggs. What did you think was in an egg?” He was looking at her like she’d just sprouted another head.

“I … I thought it was just yolks. That the baby chickens weren’t formed yet. But …” She cringed. “Is it like … developed?”

Laughing, he rolled his eyes. “Minx, these aren’t fertilized. They’ll never be chickens. All that’s in here right now is a dark orange creamy yolk. No feathers, no beaks. They were just laid today, anyway. Each girl lays between six and eight eggs a week.”