Chapter 11 Eliza
Eliza
I wake up angry, which isn’t unusual, but this time I can’t pinpoint exactly why. Something about last night sits in my stomach like bad cheese, and I keep replaying Reed’s presentation while I feed the goats their morning hay.
He was brilliant. Confident, passionate, an extension of the friendly guy who knew half the vendors at the holiday market. Then his father showed up like some smarmy hornet and just… demolished him.
I chuck hay with more force than necessary, making Persephone bleat in protest. “Sorry, girl,” I mutter, but I’m not really apologizing to the goat.
I’m pissed that Reed stood there and let his father steamroll him. I’m pissed that he didn’t correct the “assistant” thing. But I’m really pissed that I care this much about what some uptight tree scientist does or doesn’t say to his daddy.
By 9:00 am, I’m knee-deep in mucking when I hear a truck rumbling up my driveway. I nearly faint with relief at the sight of Martinez, the farrier, showing up for the hoof inspection.
“?Buenos días, Eliza!” Martinez calls, climbing out of his truck with his usual easy grin. I wonder if he knows he’s about to save my ass without compensation. He’s wearing those faded jeans that fit him just right and a flannel shirt that brings out his dark eyes.
“About time,” I say, but I’m smiling despite my mood. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about my wee beasties.”
“Never,” he says, pulling equipment from his truck. “Just been swamped with emergency calls. You know how it is.” He doesn’t say he’s been prioritizing clients who pay, and this classy attitude is another thing I love about him.
Martinez has been our hoof guy since I started, and he’s one of the few people who treats my herd like a real business instead of some kind of hobby farm. He’s never once made me feel stupid for asking questions, even when I didn’t know the difference between hoof rot and laminitis.
I think he’s just a few years older than me, and I have no idea what inspires someone to work as an animal foot tender in a major urban area, but he appears to have plenty of work, so who am I to ask questions?
“What’s the verdict?” I ask as he approaches the goat pen. “Are my girls going to pass inspection?”
“Let’s see.” Martinez vaults over the fence with athletic ease, immediately surrounded by curious goats. “Hey there, ladies. Who wants to go first?”
For the next hour, I watch him work his way through my animals with professional efficiency and genuine affection. He checks hooves, files them down, and rubs ointment on some sores. The goats seem to enjoy the attention, which is more than I can say for my own infrequent checkups.
“These animals are in excellent condition,” he says, scratching Ursula behind the ears while she tries to eat his stylus. “Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”
“Thanks.” The relief is immediate and overwhelming. No inspection issues means I can keep the Bramblewood contract, pay Martinez, and maybe even put away a little money for winter. “Nothing terrible about Maleficent’s left front hoof?”
“Minor chip, but it’s healing well. Nothing to worry about.” Martinez moves to the fence, making a final note. “You’ve got good instincts with these animals, Eliza. A lot of people treat goats like they’re lawn mowers with legs, but you understand them.”
His hand lands on my shoulder as he says it, warm and friendly, and I realize I’m laughing for the first time since last night’s disaster. “Tell that to the city permit office.”
“The permit office can kiss my—”
“Eliza?”
We both turn toward the voice. Reed stands at the edge of my driveway, holding a paper bag and wearing an expression I’ve never seen before. Uncertain. Almost… jealous?
“Reed,” I say, suddenly aware that Martinez’s hand is on my shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought something for the goats.” He holds up the bag awkwardly. “Organic carrots. As a thank you… for everything.”
Martinez glances between us with obvious curiosity. “I’ll just finish up my notes,” he says diplomatically, moving toward his truck but not quite far enough to be out of earshot.
“You didn’t need to do that,” I tell Reed, accepting the bag of carrots.
“Yes, I did.” Reed’s gaze keeps drifting to Martinez, who’s pretending to be absorbed in his tablet. “About last night—”
“Don’t.” I cut him off before he starts apologizing. “Just don’t.”
“I should have said something. When my father called you my assistant—”
“Reed, stop.” I can feel Martinez listening. “It’s fine.”
It’s not fine, but I’m not going to hash this out in front of the farrier.
Reed runs that familiar hand through his hair. “Is that your veterinarian?”
“He’s finishing up a hoof inspection.” I glance at Martinez, who’s definitely eavesdropping. “Martinez, come meet Reed. Reed Saint Nicholas, Alberto Martinez.”
“Not my real middle name,” Reed insists.
The two men size each other up with the kind of polite wariness men seem to specialize in. Martinez extends a hand first.
“The tree guy,” he says with interest. “Eliza mentioned your arrangement. Fascinating.”
“Thank you.” Reed shakes his hand, but I can see tension in his shoulders. “How long have you been working with Eliza’s animals?”
“Years now. Since she first started the business.” Martinez grins. “Watched her build this whole operation from nothing. Pretty impressive woman.”
Reed’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “Yes, she is.”
An awkward silence stretches between them until Martinez clears his throat. “Well, I should check on that donkey before I go.” He gestures toward his legs. “I made sure to grab the thick chaps.”
I laugh as Reed looks perplexed. “Chiron’s protective of me,” I tell him as we head toward the donkey’s enclosure. “Don’t take it personally when he tries to bite you.”
Chiron stands in the center of his pen, a furry dictator with ears pinned back and hostile eyes locked on Martinez. When the farrier approaches, Chiron snorts and backs away, shaking his head.
“Easy, big guy,” Martinez murmurs, moving slowly. “Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
Chiron disagrees. Violently.
What follows are ten minutes of the most ridiculous chase scene I’ve ever witnessed. Martinez tries every trick in the veterinary handbook—treats, gentle coaxing, strategic positioning—while Chiron evades him with the determination of an animal who’s offended by the entire concept of medical care.
“Jesus,” Martinez pants, leaning against the fence after his latest failed attempt. “That donkey has serious trust issues.”
“Tell me about it.” Turning to Reed, I add, “He’s been like this since I got him. Won’t let anyone near him except me, and even then, it’s on his terms.”
Reed has been watching the whole spectacle with growing interest and moves closer to the fence, studying Chiron with scientific intensity. “Has he been tested for mineral deficiencies?”
“Uh…” Martinez looks between Reed and me with new respect. “That’s a really good question. Eliza?”
“That sounds expensive,” I mutter. “He’s probably fine.”
Martinez shrugs. “You want to hold him for me, so I can at least peek at his feet?”
Martinez and Reed mutter about donkey nutrition as I watch Saint Nicholas transform to the easygoing, quirky guy I hung out with in the greenhouse.
Reed knows things about copper and how that affects shiny coats, and Martinez seems impressed.
Until Chiron bites him in the thigh, and he leaps out of the pen with a string of Spanish curses.
“Let me try something,” Reed says, pulling a carrot from the bag he brought.
“Reed, I really don’t think—” I start, but he’s already moving toward Chiron.
My demonic donkey, who just spent ten minutes evading a trained animal professional, stands completely still as Reed approaches. No pinned ears. No threatening posture. Just curious attention as Reed extends the carrot through the fence.
Chiron steps forward, sniffs the offering, then gently takes the carrot from Reed’s hand.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Martinez breathes.
I stare in shock as Chiron allows Reed to scratch his neck, actually leaning into the touch, he’s enjoying it with a feline purr. This is the same animal that bit the mailman and refuses to let anyone except me put on his halter.
“Good boy,” Reed murmurs, offering another carrot. “You’re just misunderstood, aren’t you?”
I watch this man I’m supposed to hate sweet-talking my vicious donkey, and there is nothing I can do to stop the flood of heat soaring to my center.
Martinez approaches slowly, and this time Chiron tolerates the examination without protest. Within minutes, Martinez completes his checkup and declared the donkey’s feet in perfect health.
Reed steps back from the fence, looking as surprised as the rest of us. After Martinez leaves with reminders about his invoice and the suggestion that we hide vitamins in Chiron’s carrots, Reed and I stand by the donkey pen in awkward silence.
“That was…” I search for words. “Chiron doesn’t like anyone.”
“Maybe he recognizes a fellow outsider,” Reed suggests quietly.
Something about the way he says it makes my chest tight. “Reed, about last night—”
“I should have defended you.” The words come out rushed, practiced. “When my father called you my assistant, I should have corrected him immediately. You’re not my employee, you’re…” He trails off, struggling with the words.
“I’m what?”
“You’re my friend. You saved my trees, you made the presentation possible, and I let my father dismiss you like you were nobody.” Reed’s voice gets quieter. “I’m sorry.”
The apology hits harder than I expected. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Reed is quiet for a long moment, watching Chiron munch contentedly on his carrot. “Because when my father talks, I turn into a twelve-year-old kid who just wants his approval. Even when I know he’s wrong.”
I think about my own mother, the way I avoid her calls and change the subject when my sisters bring her up. The way I’ve never once told her exactly what I think of her parenting choices, even though I’ve rehearsed the conversation a thousand times.
“Yeah,” I say. “I get that.”
My phone buzzes with a text, and I pull it out absentmindedly.
EDEN
How did the hoof visit go?
I glance at Reed, who’s still feeding Chiron carrots like they’re old friends.
ME
All good. Animals passed inspection. Reed showed up and somehow charmed the devil donkey.
My phone immediately explodes with responses.
EILA
Reed was there??
EVA
Wait, Chiron LIKED him???
ESTHER
That donkey hates everyone except you
EILA
If Chiron approves, that’s basically a divine sign
EDEN
Animals can sense people’s true nature
EVA
Plus, he gave you a Christmas ornament yesterday and bought you warm nuts??
I stare at the screen, heat creeping up my neck. My sisters have apparently been discussing my love life without me.
It’s not like that
EDEN
Sure it’s not. Question: is he still coming to the cookie exchange?
I look up at Reed, who’s completely absorbed in scratching Chiron’s ears. The donkey is practically purring.
“Reed?” I say before I can lose my nerve.
“Mmm?”
“Are you planning to come to my family’s cookie exchange?”
He glances up, surprised. “Do you want me to come?”
The honest answer is yes, which terrifies me. “My sisters will never forgive me if I don’t bring you.”
He smiles, bright and genuine, like I just offered him unlimited candy at the movies. The sight tightens my chest. “Then I’ll be there.”
As Reed heads to his car, I watch Chiron follow him to the fence line, clearly hoping for more carrots. My phone buzzes again.
EDEN
Well?
He’s coming to cookies
EILA
EXCELLENT
EVA
We’re going to love him
ESTHER
If the donkey likes him, we like him
I pocket my phone and look at Chiron, who’s staring forlornly after Reed’s departing car.
“Yeah,” I tell my ridiculous donkey. “I know how you feel.”