The worthless animal bleating in front of her could be a great-great-granddaughter of those her family kept, for all its fancy pedigree and funny-looking ears. She prods its kid gently with her foot, and it maas in response. She’d found the kid sprawled on the ground just past dawn this morning and walked back to the cottage to call Cort and fetch a bottle of mineral oil. Then she’d returned here, but she’d be damned if she was going to be the one to wrestle the oil down the animal’s throat. Although if Cort doesn’t get here soon, she might have to. At last she sees his pickup truck bouncing up the hill. He’s got that ridiculous animal with him, sticking its head out the passenger-side window and grinning. Why it can’t ride in the truck bed like a normal farm dog is beyond her. The truck rolls to a stop, and Cort hurries out, the dog bounding down behind him. They both skid to a stop in front of the fence. “Is she up yet?” Gert shakes her head. Cort glances down over the fence, then swings the gate open and comes in, gently closing it against the dog’s inquiring face.
