Chapter 15
fifteen
JOAN
In retrospect, it was not great.
Right off the bat, things went sideways.
Dressed in all black and—God help me—ski masks, we entered my neighbor’s backyard just after midnight. All the lights in the trailer were off, but that didn’t necessarily mean Buck was asleep for the night. We stayed quiet and moved quickly.
At our stealthy approach, the goat rose from where it was sitting. Luckily, it stayed quiet.
I played lookout while Ian knelt next to the animal. He pulled out the pocket knife I’d given him, but I felt compelled to whisper, “Make it look jagged. Like he chewed through it.”
Ian went to work on the rope while the goat shuffled beside him curiously.
He spoke gently to the animal, just words of encouragement under his breath.
The way a dog owner might speak to their pet during a walk.
Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, I could feel myself going soft and warm at Ian’s sweetness.
His quiet reassurance to a barnyard animal sanded down some of my tense, rough edges.
The night was cold, but the full moon shone brightly enough to be misleading. The silver glow softened much of Ian, too. The hazy truth was more bearable in the moonlight. Ian was out here risking life, limb, and legal trouble . . . for me.
I was sure he’d taken one look at me while Buck had thrown his childish tantrum and seen my rage that had no outlet.
Ian had offered up this reckless little adventure as a result.
He didn’t have to deal with my neighbor.
Until tonight, he’d never even seen this goat that led a terrible, mistreated life.
But here he was, an award-winning movie star, crouched in the dirt, carefully cutting through a rope so he could ease one animal’s suffering, and maybe mine, too.
It was startling to realize how well Ian knew me, how much he cared, what he was willing to risk. I didn’t feel like I deserved this—this unapologetic loyalty. But clearly I had it.
I shook myself and returned to keeping watch.
Now was not the time to be caught up in all these tender, moonlit emotions. Ian needed my attention on that trailer, so we didn’t get caught.
Once the goat was free, I held out a few apple slices I’d prepared ahead of time. We slowly but surely lured the animal across the field and back toward my house, where Ian’s rental car was waiting with a tarp in the backseat.
The goat was pretty good-sized. I was sure Ian was strong enough to lift him, but I was equally confident that the animal would bleat in protest. The apples worked until we got to the edge of Buck’s property. Ian tugged on the end of the lead, but the animal wouldn’t move.
“Take your mask off,” Ian whispered. “Maybe if he sees it’s you, he’ll follow.”
“We’re not exactly friends. I really don’t think that will make a difference.”
“Well, I don’t know what else to do besides throw him over my shoulder and run.”
“Don’t,” I warned. “He’ll scream, and then Buck will wake up.”
To appease the great goat herder, I lifted the edge of my mask and said, “Here, boy. Come on.”
The goat stared at me like I was an idiot, and, honestly, I probably was for going along with this scheme.
Ian tossed his hands up in exasperation. “What do we do now?”
Before I could answer, the goat took a step toward Ian. When he’d raised both arms, the bottom of his flannel had come untucked from beneath his dark hoodie. The goat zeroed in on the fabric and took a bite.
“Hey!” Ian hissed.
But I took hold of Ian’s arm and urged him backward. Sure enough, the goat followed, lunging toward the flannel to nibble again.
“I like this shirt,” Ian complained.
“Well, if you like not being in jail, keep quiet and let him take a bite every now and then. It’ll get him back to the car. I’ll buy you a new shirt.”
Ian shot me a glare, and I had to resist the urge to laugh.
“Hurry up,” I said. “If that asshole wakes up, he’s liable to shoot us.”
Ian grumbled but waved the tattered tail of his shirt toward the goat, who trotted after him.
With the car in sight, Ian wondered, “Is there also a wife that we need to liberate? Anyone married to that dick?”
“No. She left him a few years ago. The town threw her a party. Besides, one theft is all I can handle tonight.”
Ian made a thoughtful hum. “I really prefer ‘rescue effort’ or ‘heist.’ At the very least, a”—he stopped walking and looked at me meaningfully—“kidnapping.” Then he grinned.
“Christ,” I muttered under my breath and kept walking.
“Get it?” he called as I opened the back passenger door of his SUV. “KID-napping. Because baby goats are called kids.”
“Yes, I get it. Whatever it is, it’s illegal, so shut up and let’s go.”
Still entirely too proud of himself, he hopped in the backseat and led the goat inside. I closed the door behind them and let out a huge sigh.
It was dark and quiet, save for the low hum of the hybrid engine. No movement or sound came from Buck’s mobile home.
We might just make it through this without getting arrested.
With another deep breath, I climbed into the front seat and put the vehicle in drive.
“Where are we going to take him?” Ian asked. He was trying to get the goat to switch to eating the apple slices instead of his shirt.
“There’s a barn at the orchard, from when my grandfather kept horses.
He’ll be safe there overnight until we can figure out a long-term plan in the morning.
The goat is actually Buck’s ex-wife’s. Jolly loves that thing, so naturally, that was what Buck went after in the divorce.
I figure we can eventually make sure she gets him back, but he’ll have to lie low for a while at the farm.
I don’t want Buck to accuse Jolly of anything.
Plus, Candace has been bugging me to start up a petting zoo for the tourists.
She might be getting her wish for the time being. ”
“So, we’re keeping him, then. At least for a little while.” Ian sounded excited. Must have been the rush of breaking the law in the middle of the night. I knew my own heart rate had yet to slow. I ignored the part where he’d said “we” were keeping the goat. There was no “we” . . . not really.
With the felony in progress, I hadn’t figured out what I wanted from Ian.
I assured myself there’d be time to sort through the complications later, when we weren’t committing a crime.
But a little voice inside my head warned that every minute Ian and George were in Kirby Falls was counting down until they had to eventually leave.
“Well, if we’re keeping it, we should name it,” Ian said, breaking through my complicated thoughts.
“It probably already has a name. Whatever Jolly gave it.”
“Shhh. Don’t ruin my fun, Joanie. What do you think about Selena Goatmez? Or Vincent Van Goat? Jean-Paul Goatier? Feta, or Ralph, or Cheese. Oh, how about Gordon Ramsaaay? There’s also Scape, Hornsby, or Gilbert Goatfried? Are you gonna laugh? Because you look like you want to laugh.”
Ian was watching me in the rearview mirror, so fucking pleased with himself and his rapid-fire puns. He still had the ski mask on, and I thought I was going to die from trying to keep a straight face. I bit the inside of my cheek as my shoulders shook.
“Oh, I know,” he went on cheerfully, “Simone Biiiiiles. ’Cause she’s the greatest of all time.”
My laughter burst out of me as I clutched the steering wheel. I pulled to a stop in front of the old barn and rested my forehead on my hands as I wheezed.
“Those were good, right?” he called.
“Yes, stop. Oh my God. Ralph. We’ll call him Ralph.”
“That’s not a pun at all,” Ian said indignantly. “I only threw that one in for fun.”
I turned around to peer into the dim backseat. “Well, I like it. He looks like a Ralph.”
The goat peered at me from its seated position, skinny legs curled under its body, floppy ears dangling adorably. He bleated as if in agreement.
“See,” I said, pointing.
Ian sighed. “Ralph, it is.”
My alarm went off the next morning at five, and for the first time in a long time, I decided to skip my run.
I was exhausted from last night’s events.
With Mac and Brady watching George, Ian had made us sit with Ralph in the barn for two hours, in case the goat got scared, he’d said.
But the animal had just settled down on a wool blanket I’d found in storage while Ian and I talked.
He’d asked me about all the pets I’d had growing up and then told me about the animals he’d worked with on films.
I was surprised to learn Ian really enjoyed riding horses, and he admitted he’d love to have one someday when he didn’t live in LA.
That conversation had painted a pretty picture I didn’t know what to do with.
It got a little too close to the things we didn’t talk about—like Ian leaving—and, more importantly, the things I didn’t want to think about.
Namely, the future and how well Ian fit in here in Kirby Falls.
Now, in bed, I sighed and sat up.
In addition to being worn out from staying up late, I was, frankly, still in disbelief over what I’d done.
I’d been a law-abiding citizen for thirty-six years. There’d been no rebellious streak when I was a teen. No youthful indiscretions that had ended in being scared straight. Hell, I’d never even gotten a parking ticket.
My brother was the reckless Judd. The one most likely to get himself into a law-adjacent situation.
And if Brady had done something as fucking stupid as steal a goat from his asshole neighbor with little to no planning, I would have lectured him until the cows came home.
Even knowing all that, I wouldn’t have changed my decision last night. I didn’t regret it.
Buck Adams did not deserve his ex-wife’s goat. He was a terrible pet owner and neighbor, and person in general, and I refused to feel guilty about what Ian and I had done.