Chapter 11
Goose Step: A running technique when the player slows down and takes a small hop before sprinting in a different direction.
Translation: A wonky sidestep that works well against alpacas.
Wolf
So, we have Trumpet and Manwich, the alpacas that live here permanently, as the welcome committee for Mount Millie. We have
a small ten-cow herd of no-name cattle, Clyde the Clydesdale, Diego the donkey, and the goats are all named after the Spice
Girls. But I cannot remember the damn goose’s name.
I set my pitchfork down after mucking out the last of the stalls and walk over to open the binder again. “What was the name
of the damn goose?” I murmur to myself.
“Fowl Pacino,” a voice utters from down the alley, and I turn to see Everly walking toward me with two bottles of water. She
hands one over, and I accept it gratefully, my body drenched in sweat from the day.
I take the bottom of my shirt and scrub away at my face to wipe the sweat off. When I lower it, I find Everly staring at my
abs. I can’t help but flex a little before dropping it, breaking her eye contact.
“Trista loves a good pun,” Everly says as a flush creeps up her neck. She takes a dainty sip of her water, trying to look
casual. “How’s it going out here?”
“Alright,” I say as I point to the pens. “I think I’ve got them all cleaned out, but I don’t exactly have a frame of reference for what’s good cleaning and what’s bad, so if it’s not good enough, someone will have to tell me.”
Everly tips her head and eyes Stevie sitting on the floor outside the pen I just vacated. “What’s she doing?”
I shrug. “Coloring.”
She laughs. “Why there?”
“I don’t know. She sits outside every pen I’m working in. I almost tossed a shovel full of shit in her face once by accident.
Can’t seem to get rid of her. Is her mam okay with her being out here alone?”
Everly smiles and shrugs. “She’s got you.”
I huff out a noise of discontent. “I don’t have a lot of experience babysitting.”
“Maybe it’s Stevie doing the babysitting,” Everly replies with a waggle of her eyebrows. “Hey, Stevie? You want to come back
up the mountain with me in a little bit? After we input this new alpaca that’s on his way up, I’m going to work from my cabin
for the rest of the day. You can color there with me.”
“I’ll stick with Nana,” she sings, barely looking up from her coloring book.
Everly frowns, and I just roll my eyes.
After a moment, she locks eyes with me, a peculiar look on her face, and then shakes her head like she’s changed her mind.
She makes a move to leave before my words halt her in her tracks.
“You planning a matchmaking event for the animals in there with your aunt or what?” I bite the inside of my cheek to stop
my smile.
Everly’s eyes fly wide. “No . . . but I am planning a matchmaking event. Maybe we can throw an animal in with it.”
“It was just a joke.”
“I know, but how cute could that be? I’m totally writing that down.”
She hums to herself as she tucks her water bottle under her arm and opens her furry notebook to take a note. She always has
furry fucking notebooks. This one is white fur with pink polka dots. Her tongue darts out and slides over her peach-toned
upper lip, and I have to clench my jaw and look away. Being this close to her is a strange thing to get used to. However,
I can’t help but admire her passion for something as simple as matchmaking animals and people. I’m trying to remember the
last time I was excited about anything as much as Everly is about her crazy matchmaking. Rugby maybe?
She recaps her pen and taps it on her notebook as she hits me with an odd look. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
I frown and prop an elbow on my shovel, eyeing her curiously as her neck starts to turn red and blotchy.
“Did you really want to come to that party with me?” Her eyes fly wide. “I mean, not with me, of course . . . not like a date. That’s weird. You’re my best friend’s brother. Ick!” she sputters, and a little spit
comes out of her mouth and hits me right in the eye.
I fight the urge to wipe it off because I don’t want to make her even more uncomfortable than she clearly already is. Could
have done without the ick comment at the end of her little sputtering rant.
“But like . . . do you wanna come with and stuff?” she stammers out, that red in her neck crawling all the way to her cheeks.
“Like as a companion? Not like a sexual companion. I just mean like . . . a buddy. A pal. A big-brother thing.”
“Big brother?” My brows lift.
She shoves her fingers through her hair and shakes her head. “Just forget I asked.” She turns around, her shoulders practically pinned under her ears, and I can’t help but smile as I watch her shuffle away.
“Hey, Stretch,” I call out, my eyes lingering on her ass before she stops in her tracks.
“What?” She sighs and turns back to me, her mouth turned down in an adorable little pout. “Just say it. I’m a moron.”
“You’re not a moron.” I chuckle and prop my hands on my hips. “But sure. If you want me to go, I’ll go.”
Her lips part. “You will?”
I shoot her a teasing smirk. “Yeah, I need to see for myself if you spit on everyone’s faces you talk to or if that was a
gift just for me.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You know, one of these days, you’re going to embarrass yourself, and I’m going to be super kind
and gracious and not point and laugh at you.”
“I didn’t point.”
“You didn’t have to,” she tuts and then smiles. “But you’ll really come with me? ’Cause I don’t want to go alone.”
And I don’t want you to go alone are the words that I want to say back, but don’t. Because she’d probably think I’m a loon.
Which clearly, I am.
“Yeah, why not. Not like I’ve got anything better to do.”
She rolls her eyes and smiles before the sound of an engine distracts us. I look out the barn door and see a truck and trailer
pulling in. Everly turns her clear blue eyes to me. “Showtime, Wolf.”
“Okay, the owner said this alpaca isn’t halter broke, so whatever you do, don’t tug on the halter, or he’ll fall down on his side, and you’ll never get him back up,” Trista says as she pulls open the door to a white livestock
trailer, revealing a four-foot-tall ball of white wooliness.
“Oh, he’s a cutie,” Everly says excitedly as she peers into the trailer from the ground.
“Super cute!” Trista agrees in a weird, growly voice as she climbs up into the trailer. “You’re going to get along great with
Trumpet and Manwich.”
I cringe from my place beside Everly. I wouldn’t use the word cute to describe this creature standing before me. This one might even look diseased. It’s definitely different-looking from the
two we already have.
“Come on up here and join me, Wolf,” Trista says as she gently grabs the halter rope hanging from the animal’s face. She hands
it gently over to me. “I’m going to let you bring him into the holding cell while Everly and I go fill out the paperwork with
the owner, Mr. Smith. Here at Mount Millie, we let all animals come in how they want to. So just ease your way out with our
new wooly friend. Take your time and let him lead you into the holding cell, not the other way around. We’ll be back when
we’re done with the owner. Sound good?”
“Um . . . I guess so.” I gape back at Trista. “Are you sure I’m the one who should be doing this?”
“Yeah, this is a good first-day confidence booster. You’ll be great.” She laughs and pats my arm as she hops out of the trailer
and follows Everly into the barn with Mr. Smith.
“You can do it,” Stevie says, hanging over top of her bike rack on the side of the barn. Her hair is dangling in the gravel,
but she still has a perfect upside-down view of me.
I feel like all she’s missing is a bowl of popcorn to enjoy the show.
“You wanna help me out, maybe?” I ask, obviously very desperate if I’m seeking the assistance of a three-year-old.
She shakes her head, and I sigh as I gaze back at the strange-looking animal inside this smelly trailer.
He has a tuft of white, wooly hair at the top of his head, and his eyes are dark and glossy like two creepy marbles stuck in its face.
His mouth is a weird black line, and his crooked lower teeth stick out above his lower lip.
“You kind of look like a llama and a poodle had a baby, don’t you, lad?” I take a deep breath as I take one cautious step
toward the alpaca. He jerks his head, eyes wide like I just offended the sorry bastard . . . and then, without warning, the
feckin’ thing launches at me, slamming its fuzzy head straight into my gut like a rugby player attempting a tackle. He catches
me on my heels, and I fly backward, landing hard on my back.
A warm squishiness on my spine has me dry heaving in disgust, but before I can even look at the horror show that is likely
the back of my shirt, the animal takes a flying leap out of the trailer, stumbling all over like a baby giraffe who barely
knows how to walk.
I scramble up, legs wobbling as he jogs toward the barn entrance. He stops in his tracks before he crosses the threshold,
like he got a look at the accommodations and didn’t approve.
Jaw clenched, I tear after the animal like we’re in a fucking match, and when it swerves left and attempts to run again, I
do a rugby goose step and course correct just in time to follow him. I manage to snag a fistful of halter rope and lock my
fingers tight as the fucker drags me in my sneakers across the gravel with more strength than it has any business having.
Suddenly, the little bastard stops dead in its tracks, and without thinking, because I’ve clearly lost all use of my brain
after getting my ass tackled by an alpaca, I catapult forward and yank hard on the halter.
Big. Fucking. Mistake.
The animal freezes, chin pointed up to the sky in protest as his whole body goes stiff, legs straight as fence posts, and
as if in slow motion, the massive thing collapses sideways into the gravel, neck flopped backward, freaky eyes bugged out
of his head, mouth clenched tight like it’s having a fucking stroke.
“Jaysus, is it dying?” I shout, wide-eyed and covered in what I now have confirmed is alpaca shite.
“No,” Stevie answers casually while climbing on the bike rack.
My heart batters in my chest as I loosen the slack on the halter and wait for the alpaca to jump back up, but it doesn’t move.
It just lies there like some sort of fuzzy crime scene, foam bubbling out of his weird little mouth. I start to wonder if
it has rabies or is possessed by the devil. Maybe both.
I inch closer to give his body a gentle nudge, trying to coax him back onto its feet. He makes a weird, throaty groan that
doesn’t sound good, so I move back.
Unfortunately, I’m not quick enough.
“Fuck!” I roar and jerk violently as a sticky liquid explodes across my face. “The bloody creature spit on me!”
I grab the hem of my shirt and wipe the horrifying substance off my mouth. The feel of it makes my stomach churn again, and
I kick at the gravel in frustration. “What the actual fuck! I didn’t know alpacas spit,” I roar as the animal remains lying
on the ground with zero signs of remorse.
Stevie giggles knowingly.
“How do I get it up?” I ask the likely fresh out of diapers child as I stand there panting for my life, barely holding it
together.
She shrugs and continues watching me with a gleeful twinkle in her eye.
Voices echo from inside the barn, sounding like they’re coming my way. My breath hitches with worry. The last thing I want
to do is look like a fucking idiot on my first day. And I especially cannot be unmanned by a bleedin’ alpaca in front of Everly
Fletcher. My ego could not survive it.
I need to get this animal inside. Now.
So, I decide if the alpaca doesn’t want to walk, it’s decided exactly how it wants to enter Mount Millie rescue center.
Holding my hand up in case the damn thing wants to spit again, I get close, squat down, and wrap my arms around the wooly beast’s neck and arse. With a grunt, I heft the giant shag rug with legs up into the air and clench my jaw as I shuffle over the gravel toward the barn.
The owner, Trista, and Everly appear just as I hit the doorway. Their timing is impeccable. They stop dead in their tracks
and blink back at me as sweat pours down my face.
Teeth clenched, I growl, “The alpaca wanted to be carried inside,” and muscle the animal straight past them toward the holding
pen, where I lower the wriggly bastard back down to its feet, my lungs burning with exhaustion.
The animal immediately springs to life and trots around the pen like nothing happened.
“Magical bleedin’ recovery, fucker,” I mutter under my breath as I look down at my body, which is covered in shite that I’ve
never seen before. My trainers have a hole in the toe, and I have no idea when or how that happened.
“It’s his first day,” I overhear Trista whisper loudly.
When I turn around, my eyes lock with Everly, who looks like she’s about to lose it as she covers her mouth and fights back
a laugh.
I scowl at her, fighting my own smirk, until the owner distracts both of us with, “I’m afraid I have one more animal sitting
in the front seat of my truck that I need you guys to take as well.”
The owner walks over to his vehicle, opens the door, and lifts out a large, clear tank with a freaky-looking lizard of some
sort inside. “This is my daughter’s bearded dragon,” he says with a regretful look. “I know I should take him to a pet store,
but I was hoping you could handle him for me.”
“Oh my God.” Trista bends over to tap on the glass. “A reptile is a first for us, but I’m sure we can find him a good home.”