Chapter Five
MARC
Everything felt different. Like standing on a half-frozen lake, waiting for the ice to crack.
Although, nothing had technically changed. My world still ran on appointment reminders and routine checkups. The air still smelled like disinfectant and the weird herbal cleaner Jane insisted made the place “welcoming.”
My brain, however, wasn’t soothed by the familiar rhythms that usually grounded me each morning.
Because no matter how many times I told myself I’d done the responsible thing last night by raising legitimate concerns, suggesting ways to prevent potential risk, and making sure the animals would be protected—I couldn’t shake the image of Delaney standing in a room full of people, chin lifted, looking at me like she was trying not to break in half.
And worse?
I had been part of breaking her.
My first patient wasn’t due to arrive until eight.
I liked a buffer. A calm start. Fifteen minutes to breathe before the appointments stacked up and some inevitable emergency wedged itself into my meticulously planned schedule.
There was comfort in preparing for the chaos, like having exam rooms ready, my instruments laid out, and my mind settled.
The goat chose that exact moment to let out a bleat that sounded like a tiny, defective yet furious car alarm.
“Good morning to you too,” I muttered to him, setting my keys on the counter of the back room where I’d kept him overnight.
The demon himself was currently contained in a large metal crate that normally housed overenthusiastic golden retrievers post-surgery.
I’d lined the bottom with towels and hay, which was now mostly destroyed.
He’d shredded one towel into confetti and kicked the other into the corner like it had personally insulted him.
His shaggy brown coat was matted in places, especially around his haunches, and he still smelled like wet hay and pure spite. I’d tried to wash him yesterday, but he made it clear he’d rather die than submit to soap and water.
The feeling had been mutual as I too would rather die than subject him to soap and water.
Jane walked in a minute later, carrying two steaming cups of coffee and wearing an expression that said she’d wait until I was ready to talk but was absolutely going to make sure it happened.
She handed me a mug, and then her gaze landed on the crate.
“Awww,” she said, delighted. “You kept him.”
“I did not keep him,” I corrected, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic like it might anchor me. “I’m temporarily housing him until Theo can take him to the shelter.”
The goat stared at me through the bars with what I could only describe as smug judgment, like he could smell the lie from three feet away.
Jane crouched beside the crate, talking in that soft baby voice that animals seemed to love. “Hello, handsome boy.”
He pressed his tiny wet nose to the bars and bleated sweetly, like he hadn’t spent yesterday morning headbutting my knee into a different zip code.
Traitor.
“Don’t fall for it,” I warned. “He’s a menace.”
Jane looked up at me, eyes bright with mischief. “He sounds like the perfect project for you. Maybe you can get him into shape before animal yoga starts.”
I dragged a hand down my face, the stubble rasping against my palm. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Jane straightened, sipping her coffee with exaggerated innocence.
She thought she was subtle. She wasn’t. I could see the big grin she tried to hide behind her mug.
She might be only a few years older than me, but I swear she tried to interfere in my life as much as my younger sister, Grace did. “Oh, really?”
“Yes, really.” I paced two steps away—all the room would allow— and chugged half my coffee in one burning gulp.
“Then maybe you can tell me why you look like you fought a war in your sleep and lost?”
“I don’t … I’m not …” I glanced down. She had a point. I was usually impeccably dressed—crisp button-down, pressed slacks, everything in its place. This morning, I’d thrown on the first clean shirt I’d grabbed and barely remembered to brush my teeth.
“So was it the yoga part or the working with Delaney part that’s bothering you the most?” She’d overheard enough of my bitter mumblings about Delaney now owning the shop across the street for the past three months to know there was history between us.
Fury sparked hot in my belly. “I can’t believe Glamma did this!”
I turned and paced two more steps. The room suddenly felt like the size of a shoebox.
Jane leaned against the wall, quietly sipping her coffee, like she had all day to watch me unravel.
“She knows Delaney and I can’t stand each other,” I said, my voice rising. “Why would she ever think this is a good idea?”
Jane shrugged, maddeningly calm. “Knowing your grandmother, she has her reasons.”
I sighed and glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes had passed. I still needed to check the exam rooms, prep my equipment, and somehow get my brain to stop replaying Delaney’s voice. “I need you to keep an eye on him.” I pointed at the goat. “Don’t let him convince you to let him out.”
Jane raised an eyebrow. “Marc. He’s tiny. I think you’re exaggerating.”
“Tiny things can do the most damage,” I said, glaring at the furry terrorist.
The goat chewed hay and maintained direct and unsettling eye contact.
Jane laughed. “You might want to turn that mood around before our patients arrive.”
“I’m fine.”
She hummed. “Sure. Just keep telling yourself that. And maybe head over to see Delaney later and try being friends.”
I shook my head. She didn’t get it. There wasn’t any way in this timeline where Delaney and I ended up as friends. It wasn’t possible. We’d be lucky to achieve a shaky truce during this animal yoga disaster.
Delaney’s face flashed in my head again. The way her chin had lifted when she argued. The slight tremor in her voice when she said “this wasn’t just a fundraiser.”
I’d seen her angry a thousand times.
I hadn’t ever seen her nervous. Not like that.
My chest tightened, ribs squeezing my insides like someone had given me a tight hug.
“Bleehhh-maaah ehhh-aaah!”
Jane laughed. “He wants breakfast.”
“Of course he does.” I walked to the back storage room and grabbed a bag of grass hay I kept for the occasional rabbit or guinea pig overnight. It wasn’t goat-specific, but it would do.
I slid a handful through the bars.
He began eating like he’d been starved for a week, and maybe he had been. There was no telling how long he’d been wandering around town alone, terrorizing innocent people.
I should probably call the nearby farms to see if they were missing a livestock gremlin.
The front door chimed, signalling my first patient had arrived.
Jane nodded toward the goat. “I’ll keep an eye on him, but I’ve got to get up front and greet our first appointment.”
“Okay.” As I turned away, she called my name.
“Marc?”
I stopped. “Yeah?”
Her expression softened. “Go easy on Delaney. She’s under a lot of pressure trying to run the business, plus she’s still grieving for her aunt.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
“I know,” I responded quietly. “I’ll try.”
I did know, and it made me feel even worse. Delaney had let me see the side of her begging for acceptance, for belonging. And I knew exactly what it looked like when someone walked into a room full of people and tried to pretend they fit in.
I’d been doing it my entire life.
A loud bark echoed from the waiting room—a Labrador with a limp whose owner had called yesterday, her voice cracking in worry.
Routine snapped into place. My shoulders lowered. My breathing evened out.
I could handle this.
I could handle animals.
I could handle problems that had clear diagnoses and treatment plans.
What I couldn’t handle was Delaney Hart looking at me like I was going to be the reason she’d never find acceptance in Ruby River.
Thirty minutes later, I’d finished the exam, prescribed anti-inflammatories, gave the owner the reassurance she needed, and moved on to the next patient.
The goat screamed in protest every time I walked past his crate.
He hated being ignored.
I understood that feeling more than people realized.
By noon, I’d caught up with my schedule and was miraculously running on time—the only thing keeping my nervous system from staging a mutiny. Jane brought me a turkey sandwich and a bag of chips, then waved her hand dismissively when I tried to hand her money.
“Don’t worry about it. You buy my lunch more often than not.”
I nodded and took a bite. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I’d missed breakfast.
“You need to call Theo,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “Before you end up naming him and buying him a tiny sweater.”
I groaned at her obvious joy with the situation. “I’m not buying him a sweater.”
“Yet,” she replied, chuckling softly as she went back to her desk.
I frowned at the crate and the tiny terror inside. He stared back, chewing hay like he was plotting my demise once I let him out.
I picked up my phone and dialed.
Theo answered on the second ring. “Ruby River Animal Rescue.”
“Theo. It’s Marc.”
“Hey,” he replied warmly. “Let me guess. You’re calling about our newest Main Street hooligan.”
I didn’t bother asking how he knew. This was Ruby River. Everyone knew everyone else’s business before it happened. “Tell me you have room.”
Theo exhaled, and my stomach dropped before he even spoke. “I don’t.”
I ran a hand through my hair and prayed he was joking. “Come on.”
“I’m serious,” he said, the apology clear in his tone. “We’re at capacity. We took in fifteen cats in a hoarding situation, plus two dogs someone dumped on the highway. I’m juggling fosters—”
“So there’s no one to take him?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Not right now.” Silence stretched between us. “Unless you …”
My jaw tightened. Yes, I was a registered foster. Yes, I was currently animal-free at home. No, I didn’t want to take on a bleating catastrophe with hooves.
The goat snorted like he was laughing at me.
Like he’d already won.
“Okay,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “Temporary. How long?”
Theo sighed. “I can ask around. But realistically? A week? Maybe longer.”
A week.
Or longer.
Damn it.
I pictured my house—quiet, controlled, predictable. Then I pictured that goat prancing through, jumping and climbing like a tiny wrecking ball, destroying everything in his path.
“Marc?” Theo’s voice softened.
“It’s fine,” I lied. “I’ll figure something out.”
Theo’s relieved sigh crackled through the phone. He was a good guy. I wasn’t angry with him.
I was angry with the goat, who was currently staring at me like he’d orchestrated the entire thing.
“I wanted to thank you for last night,” Theo said, cutting through my spiral. “You were right to point out the stress factors. We need to do it safely. And … if we do this right, it could really help with our proposal.”
My throat tightened. “It’s the only reason I’m going through with it.” That and avoiding Death by Glamma. Both were highly motivational.
Theo lowered his voice. “Are you still working on the additional funding paperwork they sent us?”
I glanced at the ceiling like it might offer divine intervention. “Yes.”
“I’m not supposed to say anything,” Theo said carefully, “but Everly mentioned there might be someone from the foundation coming to town in a few weeks to evaluate our program in person. If we can show strong community support—safe, well-run events—it could go a long way in us being awarded that grant.”
The words sank into my chest like a weight.
This was why my skin was buzzing last night. Why I couldn’t let animal yoga turn into a disaster. Why I had to make sure we pulled off this disaster calamity-free.
If we messed this up, we didn’t just lose a fundraiser.
We’d lose momentum. Credibility. Our chance to expand, to offer better care, to stop having to turn people away when they begged us to take in one more animal.
We could lose the chance to help the ones who needed it most.
“I won’t let it fail,” I promised.
Theo was quiet for a beat. “I know you won’t.”
I ended the call and stared at my reflection, warped in the dark phone screen.
The goat cried out again, likely reminding me he existed. Like I could ever forget.
I turned toward the crate. “You,” I said, pointing, “better behave.”
He blinked slowly and chewed his hay like he hadn’t a care in the world.
Jane peeked around the corner. “Bad news?”
“The shelter’s full.” I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to work out the knots forming there.
She winced. “So … you’re keeping him?”
“Temporarily housing him,” I corrected through clenched teeth.
Jane looked far too pleased. “Is the barn set up? Fencing secure?”
I stared at her.
She tilted her head. “Marc. Please tell me you didn’t buy a farmhouse outside of town without considering the possibility of animals.”
I did not buy it for animals. I bought it because it was quiet, had land, and no neighbors close enough to bother me with small talk. “I have a barn and a small fenced-in area. It’s old, but—”
Jane clapped her hands together. “Perfect. The goat goes to your farm. The goat gets a spa day. The goat and you become besties and you two live happily-ever-after. Everybody wins.”
“Goats don’t do spa days.” Why I fixated on that sentence among all the crazy talk she was spouting, I had no idea.
Jane grinned. “Tell that to Delaney. I bet she’d give him a bath with milk and honey, complete with crystals lining it for good vibes and soothing music playing in the background.”
The image was so ridiculous, my mouth twitched.
And honestly? I could see Delaney doing exactly that, arguing with me that it was in the goat’s best interest.
Jane’s eyes comically widened. “Oh, my God. Was that a smile?”
“It was not.”
“Marc smiled,” she sing-songed, then said it again louder.
“I’m going to fire you,” I warned, turning away before she could see the heat creeping up my neck.
She laughed before going to greet the next patient.