“Good riddance.” She smiled up. “Let me know when you start interviewing for his replacement. I’ll do some snooping in case there’s stuff that’s not on their official resumes.”

“You have a sneaky side, don’t you?” Gabe looked down into the wide gray eyes that held a wicked sparkle. “I like it.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Tuesday afternoon, Audrey crossed from Gabe’s back deck to the tall shed—the coop—that housed the chickens. A wire enclosure was their yard. She thought country chickens would get the run of the fenced compound, but Gabe had set her straight. Apparently, big birds scratching in the garden for bugs would uproot seedlings and destroy plants. Bull had added that hawks and eagles found fowl to be excellent dining.

She never wanted to see that. Ever.

So the chickens stayed in their yard. Like chicken-shaped zebras, the Barred Rocks had black and white feathers with decorative red combs and wattles.

Bull called them sweet. And, although the sharp, yellow beaks had worried her, she’d come to like the pretty hens. Whenever she collected eggs, they’d come to the fence, clucking happily and expecting treats.

Gabe laughed at her because she felt guilty if she didn’t have some.

On the side of the shed, she unlatched the hinged door to the nest boxes and gathered the eggs. A full dozen.

Excellent. She was going to make Gabe a cake. Not for any reason other than…well, because feeding him was a way to show she cared.

And she enjoyed cooking for him. He still seemed surprised when she did, as if no one had ever made him sweets.

She frowned. His mother had died when he was three, and his grandfather, who kept him for a few years, had worked a lot. Then there was foster care, which probably didn’t dispense a lot of love with food. After that, he went to Mako who had a no work, no eat philosophy. Their sergeant hadn’t been a very gentle person.

The thought of Gabe as a small boy, lacking for love, made her heart hurt. Their childhoods had been more alike than she realized.

As she carried the basket of eggs into the house, she made a vow that she’d see her man was well fed and well loved…while she was here.

But it was already July, and the end of the summer approached.

Propping up her phone so she could see the recipe, she beat the sugar, eggs, and butter into a smooth mixture.

At the end of August, she’d leave Rescue. Leave Gabe.

Her chest hurt.

In Chicago, even in the university library, she’d never felt as much a part of everything as she did here. Friendships didn’t last long in a city. People changed jobs and moved away.

Some of her friendless state was her fault. She never attended university activities.

Face it, she was a hermit.