29. Walker
Chapter 29
Walker
I pull my truck into my driveway and hit the brakes.
There’s a goat.Tied to my damn mailbox. With a For Sale sign hanging around its neck, the letters painted in what looks like hot pink glitter glue.
The goat—big, bearded, and pissed—lowers its head and rams the post box so hard the whole thing shakes. I sigh, put my truck in park, and climb out. The goat lifts its head and gives me a death glare.
“Son of a—MACK!” I holler toward the house. “What the hell is this?”
The front door swings open, and Mack steps onto the porch like she hasn’t just pulled some unhinged small-town Craigslist stunt. I'm not even sure this is legal.
“Oh, good! You’re home!” she calls. “Billy’s for sale.” She says this like this is the most normal conversation we've ever had.
I pinch the bridge of my nose to keep from losing it. “You can’t just tie a goat to the end of the road like a yard sale lamp, Makayla Leigh.”
She crosses her arms. “Why not? You always say people impulse buy crap. I thought maybe someone would see him and think, ‘Damn, I need a goat today.’”
Billy lets out a deep, guttural bleat, eyes glowing like Satan himself, and lunges at me. The rope jerks him back, but not before I dodge a solid attempt by him to the shins.
“Yeah, real sellable,” I grumbled, grabbing the rope.
Mack waves a hand. “That’s why he’s out there! That one’s a billy goat, and he’s mean as hell, Dad. He’s gotta go.”
I stare at her. “And instead of, I don’t know, asking me first, you figured you’d just slap a sign on him and park him roadside like a free couch?”
Mack shrugs. “Could’ve worked.”
I exhale hard. “We’re taking him back to the barn before someone calls the sheriff.”
Mack groans but follows as I lead the goat back toward the barn, muttering about the lunatic I'm raising. Billy fights me every step of the way, pulling and bucking like an overgrown toddler who doesn't want to leave Target.
As we reach the barn, Mack huffs. “Fine. I’ll try something else.”
I'm already skeptical as I glance at her. “Something else like what?” I'm actually afraid to hear her answer.
Mack lifts a shoulder. “I’ll take him to the bar.”
I stop mid-step and turn to her slowly. “The hell you will.”
She grins. “C’mon, think about it. Saturday night crowd? Drunk people make terrible decisions. I could get double what he’s worth.”
I press my fingers to my temple.I feel a massive headache coming on. “Mack.”
“Dad.”
I exhale and look up at the barn ceiling, whispering a prayer for patience. I know that I did this. I encouraged her to be independent, entrepreneurial, and problem-solving. And now, I have to own it. Plus, the goats are my fuck up.
Apparently, twenty-four damn goats are my fuck up.
Billy the Demon bleats.
I sigh.
Maybe if we put a For Sale sign on Billy at the bar, that wouldn't be such a bad idea.
It’s late. The house is quiet.
Maggie’s asleep. Mack’s asleep. Violet should be asleep.
This is why I don’t think twice when I walk out to the back porch, pick up my guitar, and start playing.
It’s a habit. A ritual. Something I do when the words get too heavy in my chest. It’s the perfect way to wind down.
I pick at a melody, my fingers moving on instinct. Then, before I even realize it, I’m singing. And that’s when I hear it.
A sharp inhale.
I look up—and there she is.
Violet. Standing in the doorway with a blanket wrapped around her and her hair falling down around her shoulders. Watching me.
We lock eyes, and I freeze mid-verse. She just stands there, staring at me like I’m her prize.
I clear my throat. “How long have you been standing there, Red?”
She swallows. “Long enough.”
Shit.
She takes a slow step outside, eyes still locked on me. Then another. And another until she stands right in front of me, close enough that I can smell the vanilla and coconut in her shampoo.
I set my guitar down, suddenly feeling exposed in a way I haven’t in years, even when I showed Violet the cabin. Singing and playing for an audience is a piece of my soul I never thought I’d share with anyone ever again.
“You sound…” She shakes her head, almost disbelieving. “Holy shit, Walker.”
I grunt, crossing my arms. “It’s just a song.”
She lets out a breathless laugh. “It’s not just a song.”
I narrow my eyes. “If you start fangirling, I’m out.”
She grins. “Oh, I’m definitely fangirling.”
The way she looks at me right now makes my heart hitch, skip a damn beat, do funny shit. I shake my head, leaning back against the couch. “Violet. What am I gonna do with that mouth?”
“Fuck it,” she says, dropping onto the armrest beside me.
I love her smartass mouth. And the images that flood my brain are all I can think about. I try to push them aside, but they’re there now, thanks to her. I chuckle. “I mean it.”
She grins so widely it should be illegal. “You, sir, have been holding out on me. Now I want all the private performances that I can get.”
She grins at me as if she’s not just talking about music. Fuck. Me.
I groan and tease. “I knew this was a mistake.”
She smirks. “A very sexy mistake.”
I tilt my head, unamused.
She hums, mock-serious. “I feel betrayed, honestly.”
I groan again.
She pokes my knee. “You sound like sin wrapped in whiskey.”
I rub my face. “You are so damn dramatic.”
She shrugs. “Sorry, I just—” She shakes her head, looking at me with something new in her eyes. “I can’t believe I live with you, and you’ve been hiding this. ”
I exhale through my nose. “I wasn’t hiding it.”
She raises an eyebrow.
I sigh. “Okay, fine, I was hiding it.”
Her grin gets wider. “So, you admit it?”
I narrow my eyes. “I am this close to throwing you into the lake.”
She ignores me, grabbing my guitar off the couch. “Play me another one.”
I blink. “Absolutely not.”
“Come on, Asher.” She wiggles the guitar at me. “One more song.”
And fuck me, if I don't love her saying my name. No one ever calls me that. But hearing it come from her...it just does things to me.
She doesn’t back down. And before I know it? I’m strumming. And she’s watching me.
I’m singing for her. And this time, I don’t stop. I don’t know how long we sit there.
I just know something has changed. The woman I've fallen completely head over heels for holds my heart in the palm of her hands. I couldn't stop and wouldn't stop even if I could. I'd do anything for this woman.
Because when the song ends, and the last note fades between us, she’s still staring.
And this time, it’s not funny. It’s not teasing. It’s real.
Her voice drops, quiet, soft in a way I don’t think I’ve ever heard before. “That was beautiful, Asher.”
Something in my chest tightens. I swallow, fingers flexing over the guitar strings. “Thank you.”
She shakes her head. “You're beautiful. Everything about you. Your heart, your soul, and your music. It's all so beautiful.”
And damn it, I think she might actually see me. The real me. The one I’ve been hiding. The one I’ve kept locked up for way too long.
I shift, exhaling hard. "Don't make it a big thing."
She smiles, but it’s softer this time. “Asher,” she murmurs, voice like a promise. “It already is.”
She makes me play three more songs. Demands. And I do it because I'd do anything for her. And I love singing to her. There's something so beautiful and intimate about singing to someone you're in love with. I didn't realize that until now.
I grouch about it the whole time.
She ignores me.
And when I finally walk her to her room, she looks up at me, and grins.
“G’night, rockstar.”
I roll my eyes. “I hate you.”
She laughs. “No, you don’t. You love me.”
She’s right. I really, really do. I tried not to, I really did. But I love her.
She turns to go, but I don’t let her. I don’t even think, I just wrap my hand around her wrist, tugging her back, and before she can say another smart remark, I press her against the wall, my body crowding hers, my hands braced beside her head.
Her breath hitches, her eyes go wide.
I tip my head down, my mouth so close to hers that I can feel her breath. “You love me too, huh?” I say in a rough voice, teasing her.
She licks her lips, and says, “Maybe.”
I kiss her. Not softly, not careful.
Desperately. Like she’s the last drink I’ll ever have. The last moment that I’ll ever capture. And hell, does she kiss me back. She feels so good and tastes even better.
This time, she’s all mine.
I do not like being woken up at two in the damn morning. Especially not by the sound of my fifteen-year-old daughter pounding on my bedroom door like she’s got a warrant to serve.
“Dad! Get up! Emergency!”
I groan, barely cracking an eye open. “Unless the house is on fire, go back to bed.”
“It’s worse.”
I scrub a hand down my face. “If this is about a goat?—”
“Oh, it’s absolutely about a goat.”
Five minutes later, I’m outside, shirt in my hand, boots half-laced, freezing my ass off as I trudge toward the barn, deeply regretting every decision that led me to this moment.
Violet, who should be asleep like a normal person—already stands by the barn door, wrapped up in one of those big, cozy sweaters that make her look soft and comfortable. Too comfortable, considering I’m out here suffering.
“What the hell are you doing here, Red?” I grumble, shoving on my flannel but not bothering to button it.
“Mack woke me up,” Violet says, smirking. “Figured it had to be good.”
“Oh, it’s great,” Mack announces, throwing the barn doors open. “Because, surprise! Dot had her babies.”
I step inside and exhale hard, still half asleep. "Who is Dot?"
There’s Dot, my supposedly-not-pregnant goat, standing over two tiny, shivering babies. Two more goats to the collection. But damn, if they're not cute.
Violet lets out a soft gasp. “Oh, they’re adorable.”
“They’re a damn inconvenience,” I mutter.
Mack grins. “You say that now but wait till you name them.”
“I am not naming them. ”
“You totally are,” she says smugly. “It’s part of the process.”
I groan and survey the barn. “They’re freezing. We need to warm them up.”
Violet is already moving, crouching beside the babies with a towel. “On it.”
I reach for the smallest one at the same time as she does, and of course my hand lands directly on hers. Warm. Soft. I freeze. So does she. Neither of us pulls away. We just sit there, holding hands over a goat like absolute idiots.
Then Mack makes it worse. “Oh my God,” she says, way too loudly. “Are you guys holding hands over a goat right now?”
I jerk my hand back so fast I nearly fall over. “No.”
Violet smirks. “Technically, yes.”
“Oh my God,” Mack cackles. “That’s so gross. Are you gonna, like, gaze into each other’s eyes and talk about your feelings?”
I glare at her. “Mack?—”
“Or maybe you should just kiss right now and get it over with.”
Violet chuckles, standing up and tossing a towel at my chest. “Tempting.”
I catch it, scowling. “You’re not helping.”
“Not trying to.”
Mack grins like a damn hyena. “Oh, this is the best night of my life.”
I exhale hard and start rubbing down the baby goat, ignoring the way my neck feels too damn warm. “I'm basically a goat farmer now, aren't I?”
Violet pats my shoulder. “You did this to yourself, big guy.”
I groan and look up at the ceiling, praying for patience. Then I look at Mack, who smirks like she absolutely enjoys this way too much .
And they're right. I did this to myself. But I love it, and I love them. I love every adventure with them.
I slap the sign onto the bulletin board at the bar and step back to admire my work.
GOATS FOR SALE–CHEAP.
Healthy. Mostly friendly. Some have anger issues.
Buy one, get a second one free (you won’t regret it, but I will).
See Walker before he loses his mind.
I rub my eyes and yawn so hard my jaw cracks. It’s been three days since Dot decided to drop a surprise litter, and between dealing with newborn goats, my actual ranch work, and Mack trying to sneak one into the house because “it looked cold,” I haven’t slept more than a handful of hours.
Cash whistles behind me. “Heard you’re a goat farmer now.”
I turn to face him, squinting. “Heard you’re a bar manager now.”
He smirks. “Yeah, but I picked that career on purpose. Can't say the same for you from what I've heard.”
I groan and drop onto the nearest barstool, yawning again. “Look, man, I just need a few suckers—uh, fine upstanding citizens—to take some of these goats off my hands before Mack gets even more attached and then they’re part of the family.”
Cash leans against the bar, arms crossed, grinning like an idiot. “How many we talkin’?”
“Twenty-four. Actually, twenty-six now.”
His grin disappears. “Jesus, Walker. You running a damn petting zoo? ”
“Not by choice,” I mutter. “One minute, I had a few goats. Next thing I know, they’re multiplying.”
Cash chuckles and shakes his head. “You puttin’ ‘em on a payment plan? Or is this a take-a-goat, don’t-look-back kinda deal?”
“Cash, I will straight-up put a goat in your truck right now for free.”
“Tempting, but no.” He holds up his hands and laughs.
I wave a tired hand at the bar regulars. “Fine. Someone here wants a goat. I know it.”
I turn toward the first man I see Bobby Ray, who’s halfway through his second beer. “Hey, Bobby. You ever wanted a goat?”
Bobby Ray scratches his beard. “Hmm. Do they eat weeds?”
“Absolutely,” I lie. I think they do, but I'm not entirely sure. I mean, they ate all my flowers. But no way am I telling him that.
He nods, considering. “Do they eat cans?”
I blink. “What?”
“Like in cartoons. Have you ever seen that? A goat just gnawin’ on a tin can?”
I sigh. “Bobby, if you take two goats, I will personally test-feed them a damn soup can and report back.”
He nods slowly. “Alright. Put me down for two.”
Two down. Twenty-four to go. I'm back at square one.
I turn to Jolene, who’s shaking her head before I even say anything. “No,” she says firmly.
“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask.”
She narrows her eyes. “You were gonna ask if I want a goat.”
“…Okay, but what if I wasn’t?”
She smirks. “Were you?”
I groan. “Just take a damn goat, Jolene.”
“Pass.”
“Cash will give you free beer for a week. ”
Cash looks up. “No, I won’t.”
I glare at him. “Not helping.”
He grins. “Not trying to.”
I move down the bar and lock eyes with Earl, an old rancher who hasn’t said a word since I walked in.
“Earl,” I say, using my most serious rancher voice. “You need a goat.”
Earl squints at me. “The hell I do.”
“Earl,” I say again, slower this time. “You need a goat.”
“…Do I?”
I nod.
He sighs. “Fine. One.”
“Two,” I correct. "It's a bogo thing."
Earl grumbles but holds up two fingers. “Fine.”
Two more down. I drag a hand down my face, exhausted. “Anyone else?”
Silence.
Then, from the corner booth, a cowboy I don’t even know raises a hand. “You got any of them fainting goats?”
I squint at him. “Why?”
He grins. “They’re funny as hell.”
I have no idea if any of my goats faint, but at this point, I’ll say whatever it takes. “Sure do.”
“Hot damn. I’ll take three.”
I slap the bar in triumph. “Hell yes, that’s the spirit. Now they’re bogo, so that means you get four.”
Cash shakes his head. “You’re a mess.”
“I’m a desperate man.” I yawn again, stretching. “Now, if y’all excuse me, I’m gonna head home before Mack tries to get these goats registered as emotional support animals.”
Cash chuckles as I stand up. “Good luck with that, Goat King.”
I glare at him. “I hate you. ”
He grins. “No, you don’t.”
I sigh. “Yeah, whatever.”
Then I walk out of the bar, several goats lighter, and pray to God that by this time next week, I won’t still be drowning in them.