Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 54852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Finn stopped by a muddy fenced-in area on the side of the barn that housed the largest pig I’d ever seen and what looked to be over a dozen wriggling piglets, some pink, but also some spotted gray like the mother. They didn’t bear a lot of resemblance to the pigs in the picture books Mom had delighted in reading to me as a child. In contrast to the mother, who was almost larger than my first Manhattan apartment, each piglet was smaller than a loaf of bread.
“They’re so tiny.” After glancing back to check on Mom, who had stopped by a different outdoor pen with some sheep, I admired the piglets some more.
“Cute, aren’t they?” Finn gave a fond smile. “I’d make a bacon joke but don’t want to offend. Are you vegetarian like your mom?”
“No. She didn’t go vegetarian until a few years ago.” One of her phases that had stuck, probably in large part due to her tender heart. She’d succeeded in getting me to watch the documentaries she’d sent my way about the health benefits, though. “I do try to eat as much plant-based food as possible, but I eat some lean meats in moderation.”
Finn’s smile turned all-knowing. “You’re all about the moderation, aren’t you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He gave another of his warm laughs. “Nothing. Simply that you’re buttoned awfully tight.”
“What?” I glanced down at my shirt. It wasn’t as slim fitting as some I owned.
“Not literally, Harrison. Come see yesterday’s criminals.” Finn led me inside the barn to an elevated pen with the young chickens from yesterday amid lots of clean wood shavings. They had access to a watering station and a warming lamp of some kind.
“Is this where they’ll live?” I caught sight of Mom still outside the barn. After stopping to see the sheep, Mom had finally made it to the piglets, and seemed in no hurry to catch up to us.
“No. Eventually, I’ll move them to pasture after they fully feather out, but they’ll need to be kept separate because of the recessive coloring gene we’re trying to breed for.”
“I never realized how much genetics play into farming.” Science classes were never my personal forte, and a big reason I’d gone for law instead of medicine.
Finn must not have heard the wonder in my tone because he frowned. “A good chunk of my degree was classes involving genetics.”
“You have a degree?” Again, I couldn’t help my surprise. I hadn’t thought of full-time farmers as having advanced degrees, but judging by Finn’s thundercloud of an expression, maybe I should have.
“Bachelor of Science from UVM. Summa cum laude, double major in Animal Science and Food Systems.”
“Oh.” Damn, he was impressive. And scary when mad. I truly had put my borrowed boot in it yet again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, you kind of did.” Finn’s mouth narrowed like he knew exactly what stupid assumptions I’d been guilty of.
Right as I was about to apologize again, Mom finally joined us. “What’s next?”
“Glad you asked.” For her, Finn had his usual welcoming smile. “Let’s visit the next barn. You coming?” The last was lobbed my direction, part teasing question, part challenge.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” More like I didn’t want to be alone in here with strange animals and uncomfortable thoughts about presumptions, and how I truly needed to stop making them.
I knew better, and still I’d managed to look like a pompous ass to a guy who’d been nothing other than kind and generous. I had to hope the next stop on the tour didn’t involve Finn dunking me in the nearest trough.
Chapter Five
Finn
Like a lot of upscale guys, Harrison hadn’t seemed willing to give much credit to those of us who worked with our hands. Why would anyone choose to be outdoors all day? I could practically hear Astin’s sneer, and even though it wasn’t fair to judge Harrison by my past, he made it hard not to lump him in with every other white-collar dude when he asked dumb questions like whether farmers had degrees.
I’d worked damn hard for my education, and I valued the degree almost as much as the photo next to it back at the house. My graduation had been among the last times the whole family had gathered for a snapshot before my dad passed away, and I could still recall how proud he’d been that day, seeing me graduate his alma mater, knowing I’d be working the land right next to him for years to come.
Except, it hadn’t worked out that way.
And now here I was, leading yet another tour for big-city transplants who probably had less than one Vermont winter in them before they hightailed it back to urban life. However, Harrison made it hard to stay frustrated because he seemed to be making an active effort to ask better questions as I continued the tour, especially when we stopped in the greenhouses.