Free Kiss Me Hello (Sweetest Kisses) by Grace Burrowes

more horses,” Trent said, “much less two draft animals. You?”
    “No fencing, though Inskip might let me board them with his cows.”
    “Not a good plan.” Because if there was one thing worse than a loose horse, it was a loose draft horse—or two loose draft horses. “What do Daisy and Buttercup have to do with Mac’s nonexistent love life?”
    James added a few little tucks and folds to his napkin. “Mac went out to dinner with the lady who owns the place and her foster kid. She kissed Mac right there in the restaurant, with everybody, including Vespa Boon herself, looking on.”
    Little brothers must tattle, but Trent sensed no glee in James’s disclosure. “I’ve seen Mac’s clients sometimes kiss him in the courtroom, when he gets them acquitted against the odds, or keeps them out of jail on subsequent offenses.”
    “Life is not a courtroom,” James said again. “A client kissing you or me or even Mac is not the same as this woman, who’d just met him, pulling a public stunt like that with Mac.”
    “Maybe not.” Trent took the last sip of his water. “But it’s Mac’s business. You wouldn’t like it if he told you you’re a damned fool for letting Vera go, and ought to get on your horse and win her back, would you?”
    James passed over the napkin, which had been transformed into an origami swan, complete with beak, tail, and majestic wings.
    “He already has.”
    * * *
    Everything about living in the country was different, and from Sid’s perspective, mostly not in a good way.
    Traipsing the length of the muddy, rutted driveway—nobody spoke sidewalk in these here bucolic parts—to catch the bus would wreck Luis’s designer sneakers in no time.
    Getting to sleep without the monotonous swish and whump of traffic six floors down was impossible. The night sounds were isolated and natural—barking dogs, crowing roosters, and even the occasional hooting owl—none of which was in the least comforting.
    Sid had the sense if she screamed, no one on two feet would hear her, and the cows and horses wouldn’t care.
    And she wanted to scream—she wanted badly to scream.
    Social Services would make an unannounced home visit any day, and the house was barely put to rights. When the case had been transferred up to Damson County from Baltimore, Sid had been warned the rules might change.
    This far from the city, caseloads were probably more manageable, and rules more strictly enforced. The new caseworker wouldn’t be as sensitive about Tony’s death and its impact on Sid. The local Department of Social Services might also not be as understanding about the cultural challenges facing a kid whose mixed heritage had been unusual, even in the metropolitan area.
    “I hate it here,” Sid informed her oldest cat, Bojangles. He was big, black, and long-haired, a perfect ornament to an apartment decorated in Eclectic Self-Expression, but no kind of farm cat. “Your turncoat brothers are probably all out gorging on mice until they’re the size of those idiot horses. It’s down to you and me, Bo.”
    Bo yawned.
    “Thank you for sharing.”
    Sid went back to hanging up clothes, clothes she’d probably not wear out here in the land of blue jeans and Timbos. Carhartt outerwear was popular too—so flattering to the figure.
    “I’m home!”
    The kitchen door banged as Luis announced himself, and Sid glanced at the vintage Garfield clock on her nightstand in consternation. Another day shot—completely shot—and still the house gave new meaning to the term “suitcase bomb.”
    “Up here, Weese!”
    He appeared in the doorway a moment later, his hair sticking out in all directions, his expression amused. “You’re trying to do housework again, Sid. I’ve warned you about this.”
    “Putting clothes away is not housework. It’s unavoidable drudgery, unless I’m to live out of boxes until we move again. How was school?”
    “Same, same. My trig teacher is cute.”
    “You made it a point to tell