Free He's Got Her Goat by Christine Page B

with him, send him my way. I don’t mind taking your leftovers.”
    Being spoken of like you were a slab of meat did nothing to improve his opinion of the wealthy girl before him. Right now Sterling was glad he’d never called her back, and the next time they spoke, he’d have no problem telling her what he thought.
    Clearing his mind as to whom the appendage belonged to, he focused on the job at hand and rubbed the soap along the top of her foot, producing an excited giggle from the heiress. Bending his knee, he lodged her foot against his thigh, so he could lather the soap. That’s when he noticed that this soap was like nothing he had ever felt before. It lathered thick and foamy with the consistency of old fashioned shaving cream. The fragrance was sweet, soothing and earthy. He rinsed the foot and could immediately tell the difference. The skin was supple but not oily. This stuff was incredible.
    He started on the other foot, working the soap up to a deeper lather, then rinsing and lathering again with less water to see how the product would respond. Less water produced less bubbles but had a more luxurious feel while you worked it, and when you washed it off, left the same velvety texture.
    About a dozen people were watching him. He’d been so drawn to the soap he hadn’t seen them there. As Julie slid her sandals back on, he sat on his heels and shook his head. The soap was miraculous and worth every penny. Yesterday he had only encouraged the woman to use it. He’d never touched it himself. Sterling caught Paige’s attention. “I hadn’t realized.”
    Her look was cold. “Neither had I.”
    Sterling wanted to talk to her, to find out what was going on, but another woman sat in the chair. He was curious to try a different variety so he allowed it. He spent the rest of the morning on his knees. Women lined up around the block to have their feet washed. If milking goats for twenty minutes had left his hands and back sore, it was nothing compared to three hours of this.
    It was nearly eleven when a large foot was stuck in his face, its sensible black shoe still on. He looked up. It was the old florist woman next door. The one from yesterday. She must have arrived at her booth, realized they were using her bowl and wanted it back. He had never been so grateful in his life. He lifted the aluminum container while she wedged her large figure in the white chair.
    “Oh no you don’t. I expect fair payment.” She jabbed a finger toward her foot.
    He filled the bowl and consigned himself to the job, even untying and removing her shoes. When he was done, he raised his eyes to check her mood. She gave out a satisfied sigh and got to her feet. He tried to give her back the bowl again, but she wouldn’t take it and turned to Paige. “You can rent it for the price of one of those soap things.”
    Paige handed her a round soap cake. “I hope you enjoy it.”
    The woman actually smiled back. “I’d enjoy it more if he came with it.” She tapped Paige with her elbow and laughed with a harsh crackly cough.
    The next customer had already taken her place, and Sterling was almost out of patience. He walked to the pump, feeling little more than a slave and wondered why he was putting up with it all. As he lifted the handle and pumped it three times. No water came. Then Paige’s hand settled against his own.
    “You don’t need to do this anymore,” she said.
    He gave her a half smile. “Couldn’t if I wanted to. We’re out of water.”
    She turned to her customers. “Sorry, we’re taking a break for lunch. No more feet washing for now. Thank you all.” There was a chorus of disappointed moans from those waiting.
    Paige packed up the display shelves, and Sterling was shocked how little product she had left. She turned to him. “What do you say we go get lunch and mail those boxes?”
    He was a little surprised. “You’re closing the booth?”
    She nodded. “With the water gone, there’s no reason not to. I