Chapter 1 #2
Gertie's ears perk up at the sound. She abandons the roses and begins walking toward me with what looks like genuine curiosity. For a moment, I think I might actually be able to grab the goat.
Then Gertie spots something more interesting—the breakfast buffet being set up for the residents' morning social on the pool deck. With renewed energy, she bounds toward the tables laden with fruit, pastries, and what's about to become goat food.
"Stop that goat!" Valerie's voice screeches from somewhere behind us. She's apparently recovered from her fall and made it outside, though she's limping dramatically.
The sirens grow louder. Through the entrance gate, I can see the first police car pulling up, followed by what looks like animal control and—I groan—a code enforcement vehicle.
This is it. My perfect record is about to be destroyed by a therapy goat that isn't even a legitimate therapy animal. Valerie will have me fired by lunch. My reputation will be ruined. And somewhere in this mess, poor confused Mrs. Parsons is probably still looking for Harold.
Gertie has reached the buffet and is making quick work of a fruit tray when the first officer walks through the gate. My stomach drops even further, which I hadn't thought was possible.
I know that walk. That particular way of scanning a scene with professional assessment while somehow looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Even from across the pool deck, I can see the exact moment Jax Masterson recognizes me—the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the pause in his stride.
Of course it would be him responding to this call. The universe has that kind of sense of humor.
He looks good. I hate that he looks good. The uniform fits him perfectly, and he's filled out since I last saw him at Hudson and Kate's wedding months ago. We've successfully avoided each other at every community event since, and now here he is, about to witness my complete professional meltdown.
Behind him, I recognize Officer Declan Hayes and someone from animal control. The code enforcement officer is still getting out of his vehicle, clipboard already in hand.
Jax's eyes meet mine across the chaos—Gertie destroying the buffet, Valerie screeching about lawsuits, residents filming everything, Mrs. Parsons now standing by the pool gate looking lost—and I see something flicker across his face. Amusement? No, that would be too much to hope for.
He walks toward me with that measured pace that means he's about to be insufferably by-the-book about everything.
My perfect morning, my perfect record, and my perfectly maintained distance from Jax Masterson are all about to collide in a spectacular failure that probably violates at least a dozen city ordinances.
Gertie looks up from the devastated buffet, a banana peel hanging from her mouth, and gives a satisfied "maaah."
"Ma'am," Jax says as he approaches, his voice professionally neutral in that way that makes me want to throw something at him, "I'm going to need you to explain why there's a goat in the pool area."
Ma'am. After everything we were to each other eons ago, I'm ma'am now.
"It's a therapy animal," I say, lifting my chin and trying to salvage some dignity despite being barefoot, disheveled, and covered in goat-chase sweat.
His eyebrow raises slightly—that insufferable eyebrow raise I remember from high school when he caught me trying to sneak into the movies without paying.
"A therapy goat," he repeats flatly.
"According to Mrs. Parsons, yes."
"The same Mrs. Parsons who reported her deceased husband for noise violations last week?"
Of course, he knows about that. Of course, this is how my morning will continue its downward spiral.
"Officer Masterson," Valerie interrupts, limping over dramatically. "I want that woman arrested for gross negligence and that animal removed immediately. Do you have any idea what this is doing to our property values?"
Jax pulls out his notepad, and I know that look.
He's about to go full regulation on everyone, starting with me.
The boy who once helped me sneak that stray dog into my grandmother's RV is gone, replaced by Officer By-The-Book, who's about to cite me for every possible violation while Valerie watches in vindictive glee.
"First things first," he says, clicking his pen. "Let's secure the animal. Then we'll deal with the ordinance violations."
Violations. Plural.
Gertie chooses that moment to hop onto one of the pool loungers, apparently tired from her morning adventure. She settles down like a dog, watching the growing crowd with mild interest.
"I'll need to see all documentation for this animal," Jax continues, not looking at me. "Ownership papers, vaccination records, and any therapy animal certification."
"It's in Mrs. Parsons' apartment," I say. "Sort of."
"Sort of?"
"It's a receipt from Bob's Feed and Seed."
I see his mouth twitch slightly—the ghost of what might have been a smile if he wasn't so committed to being professional.
"That's not a therapy animal certification."
"I'm aware."
"Then you're aware this violates city ordinances 247.3, 247.5, and 248.1?"
"I've been a little busy chasing the goat to review the specific ordinance numbers."
"There's also the matter of property damage," he continues, as if I haven't spoken, "disturbing the peace, and what appears to be theft of a breakfast buffet."
Behind him, Declan is trying not to laugh and is unsuccessful. The animal control officer has approached Gertie with a lead, and the goat is being surprisingly cooperative, probably exhausted from her crime spree.
"This is all going in my report," Valerie announces. "The board will hear about this. Your employment here is over, Ms. Greene."
Something flickers in Jax's expression at that, but his voice remains steady. "Ma'am, I'll need to interview all witnesses separately. Officer Hayes, please take Ms. Thornfield's statement. I'll handle Ms. Greene."
Of course he'll handle me. Because this morning isn't humiliating enough.
Valerie looks torn between wanting to witness my downfall and wanting to be the center of attention for her own dramatic retelling. The promise of giving an official statement wins out, and she limps off with Declan, already launching into her tale of assault by a goat.
The animal control officer has successfully leashed Gertie and is leading her toward the van. Mrs. Parsons follows, looking confused but determined.
"That's my Gertie," she calls out. "Harold will be so upset if she's late for her appointment."
The crowd is dispersing, though phones are still out, undoubtedly uploading the morning's entertainment to every social media platform in existence.
Which leaves me alone with Jax for the first time in over ten years.
"You're barefoot," he observes, finally really looking at me.
I glance down at my feet, my shoes abandoned somewhere on the second floor. "Heels aren't ideal for livestock pursuit."
"Livestock," he repeats, and this time I definitely catch the smile trying to escape. "In a luxury condominium."
"It's been quite a morning."
He clicks his pen again, studying me with an intense focus that used to make me feel like the only person in the world. Now it just makes me feel exposed.
"You realize I have to write this up."
"I realize."
"Multiple violations."
"You mentioned."
"Including the failure to maintain a pet-free environment as specified in city health codes."
"It's not my goat."
"You're the property manager. It's your responsibility."
There it is. The same tone he used when he told me he was choosing the police academy in Dallas over our plans to stay in Hibiscus Harbor and go to college together. Matter-of-fact. Decided.
"Fine," I say, crossing my arms. "Write me up. Cite me for every violation you can find. I'm sure Valerie will frame them for her office."
Something shifts in his expression—surprise, maybe, at my directness. But before he can respond, the code enforcement officer arrives, clipboard at the ready.
"I'll need to inspect the premises," the man announces. "Document all violations."
"Of course you will," I mutter.
"I'll also need to speak with the animal's owner about proper permits and zoning compliance."
"Good luck with that," I say. "She thinks her dead husband bought the goat yesterday."
The code enforcement officer looks at Jax, who shrugs. "It's complicated."
Complicated. That's one word for it.
"Ms. Greene," Jax says, shifting back to his official voice, "I'll need you to come to the station to give a formal statement."
"Now?"
"Within the next twenty-four hours."
"Fine."
He hesitates, then adds, "You might want to get your shoes first."
I look at him—really look at him—and see something underneath the professional facade. Concern? Regret? Whatever it is disappears quickly, replaced by Officer Masterson's neutral expression.
"I'll send you the case number," he says, turning to leave. Then, so quietly I almost miss it, "You might want to document Mrs. Parsons' condition. For her sake."
Before I can respond, he's walking away, already pulling out his phone to presumably call in the situation. Declan is still with Valerie, who's gesturing dramatically about her near-death experience. The code enforcement officer is photographing the destroyed rose bushes.
And I stand alone on the pool deck, barefoot and defeated, watching my perfectly controlled life unravel like a cheap sweater. All because of a goat named Gertie, and a confused elderly woman who just misses her husband.
My phone buzzes. Three more complaints have come in, all about the morning's chaos. By lunch, the entire town will know about the great goat escape of Hibiscus Point. By dinner, Valerie will have called an emergency board meeting. And by bedtime, I'll be unemployed.
I need to check on Mrs. Parsons, deal with the damage, field the complaints, and somehow figure out how to keep my job. But first, I need my shoes. And possibly a strong drink, though it's barely eight in the morning.
As I head back inside, I catch sight of Jax's patrol car pulling away. Through the back window, I can see him talking to someone on the radio, probably filing his initial report. By-the-book Jax, following every rule and regulation while my world falls apart.
My three rules haven't prepared me for this. They certainly haven't prepared me for him being the responding officer. And they definitely haven't prepared me for the way my traitorous heart jumped when he looked at me, even while he was listing my violations.
I find my shoes on the second-floor landing, one of them bearing a suspicious hoof mark. Gertie apparently trampled them on her way past. Perfect. Just perfect.
My phone rings. Valerie.
"Ms. Greene, the emergency board meeting is scheduled for five PM. I trust you'll have your resignation letter prepared."
The line goes dead before I can respond. I stand in the hallway, holding my damaged shoes, and wonder if there's a city ordinance against property managers having nervous breakdowns.
Probably. And Jax would probably know the exact ordinance number.
I have nine hours to figure out how to save my job, help Mrs. Parsons, and somehow navigate the mountain of violations I'm about to be buried under. Nine hours to maintain some semblance of control over a situation that's gone completely off the rails.
My phone buzzes again. A text from an unknown number, though I recognize the official format.
Unknown: Case #HH-2847392. Report required within 24 hours. The station opens at 9 AM. - Officer J. Masterson
Professional. Distant. Exactly what I should have expected.
I slip on my damaged shoes and head for Mrs. Parsons' apartment. The elderly woman is sitting on her sofa, looking at a photo of Harold.
"They took Gertie," she breathes. "Harold will be so disappointed."
I sit beside her, forgetting about property damage and violations for a moment. "Mrs. Parsons, when did Harold bring Gertie home?"
"Yesterday. Or was it last week?" The confusion in her eyes is heartbreaking. "He said I needed company. I get lonely when he's at work."
"Mrs. Parsons, do you have any family I could call?"
"My niece. Sarah. She lives in... oh, where does she live? Harold knows."
I gently take the photo from her hands, noting the date on the back—five years ago. Long before Harold's death. This is more than just confusion. This is something that needs real help, not citations and HOA meetings.
"How about I help you find Sarah's number?"
As I help Mrs. Parsons look through her address book, my phone buzzes again. Another complaint. Then another. The code enforcement officer needs access to the damaged areas. Valerie wants documentation of everything for the board meeting.
Mrs. Parsons pats my hand. "You're such a sweet girl. Harold always said so."
I glance at the clock. Eight-fifteen. I have less than nine hours to somehow fix all of this, and I'm sitting here with goat-damaged shoes and my heart still racing from seeing Jax.
My phone buzzes once more. This time it's Charli.
Charli: Heard about the goat. Are you okay?
I start to type back, but Mrs. Parsons needs me to read her the numbers in the address book—her eyes aren't what they used to be.
The code enforcement guy is probably already measuring violations by the pool.
Valerie's definitely drafting my termination recommendation.
And somewhere in town, Jax is filing a report with my name all over it.
Mrs. Parsons squints at the page. "I think that's a seven. Or maybe a one?"
Everything else will have to wait.