Chapter 9 Lindsey
LINDSEY
“I can’t do this anymore,” Lucy wails through the Bluetooth on my car as I drive to Mr. Greene’s farm. “Our dogs are terrified. This puppy is on another level. She’s destroyed every pair of socks we own. She chewed a hole in the wall. The wall, Lindsey. How is that even possible?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “My hands are tied. I checked in on Ron this morning, and he said it would be a few more days.”
“Willow is going to divorce me.”
“You’re not married yet,” I say with a chuckle.
“And if this dog stays here one more day, I never will be,” she pouts. “How’s Ron doing, anyway?”
“He sounded like he was in better spirits,” I answer. “But I know he misses June Bug and can’t wait to have her home.”
“That makes two of us,” she mutters.
“Listen, I’ll ask Kayla if she’d be willing to help, but it’ll have to wait till later because I’m almost at the farm.”
“Maybe Mr. Greene could use her to keep the goats in line.”
I chuckle. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Fine,” she says, but I can hear her smile through the phone as I end the call.
I turn onto the long gravel drive that leads to Mr. Greene’s farm, winding up a wooded hill.
Once I hit the clearing, I gasp. The three-story home and rustic barn come into view, but they’re not what catches me off guard.
Parked alongside Mr. Greene’s worn pickup with the attached trailer is a fire truck.
And there, on top of the roof above the second floor balcony, is a very pregnant goat.
I park and head up to where Mr. Greene is standing amongst a handful of firefighters, yelling obscenities up at the animal who looks down, unimpressed.
“Hey, Mr. Greene,” I say as I approach.
He turns to greet me, but I barely notice because I catch a glimpse of another familiar face: Oliver.
“Well, look who it is,” Oliver says with a smile that could melt ice caps.
“Dr. Haggerty, thank goodness you’re here,” Mr. Greene says.
“The kids left the back door cracked again, even though I’ve told ’em over and over again to make sure it shuts behind them when they come inside,” Mr. Greene explains around the toothpick he has wedged between his teeth.
“Anyway, me and the missus was out tending to the chickens when we heard our youngest, Bobby, screamin’ bloody murder because Agatha showed up outside his bedroom door.
The sound must’ve startled her, ’cause she somehow managed to push through the window to the roof before I could get inside. ”
I cock my head and study Agatha, who is pressed against the shutters of the third story window.
“So, I called you and the fire department because I didn’t know what to do,” Mr. Greene continues. “We tried to lure her back in the house, but she wasn’t having it.”
A firefighter with bronze skin, whom I recognize from the day Ron fell ill, speaks up. “I say we just go up on the ladder and carry her down.”
“That won’t work, Martinez.” Oliver shakes his head. “You’ll spook her, and she could fall off.”
“Then what do you suggest, Probie-Wan Kenobi?” Martinez quips, folding his arms over his broad chest.
“I’ve got to admit, this never happened back in Texas.” Oliver turns to me. “You have any ideas?”
I chew my lower lip for a moment, lost in thought as I weigh our very limited options.
“I don’t know,” I say, “but we need to act fast because I’m pretty sure she’s in labor.”
“How can you tell?” Oliver asks.
I gesture toward Agatha with my head. “Look how crooked her tail is and how prominent her hips are. That tells me the kid has dropped into the birth canal. And you see the way she’s kind of hugging the side of the house?
She’s probably experiencing some contractions.
Goats tend to pull away and hide when those start up. ”
Mr. Greene turns to me. “What should we do?”
I glance back at the rig, where the engine is still running, before catching Oliver’s eye. “You can make that thing into a crane, right?”
A flash of confusion passes over his face before his mouth settles into a knowing smile.
“I like the way you think,” Oliver says, leading me toward the truck. “Come on. I’ll get the sling.”
Moments later, I’m on the roof with a bucket of feed, speaking to Agatha in soothing, hushed tones.
“It’s gonna be okay, girl,” I say to her as the crane inches toward where I’m standing. The ropes and hooks swing slightly in the breeze.
I harness Agatha in the sling, making sure to keep the pressure off her belly. Though she doesn’t love me poking around as I hook her up, she seems to sense I’m there to help and allows me to continue.
Once the rig is close enough, I fasten the sling to the rope, pulling to make sure it’s secure.
“We’re ready,” I call down to Oliver, who gives Martinez the go-ahead. In a matter of seconds, Agatha is lifted into the air and placed gently on the ground. She bleats her displeasure as Oliver dashes to unhook her, and she darts toward the barn no sooner than the harness hits the ground.
I ease myself back through the window and rush downstairs to the sound of cheers from the rest of the firefighters and Mr. Greene’s neighbors who have now gathered in the yard to watch the spectacle.
“That was incredible,” Oliver says, meeting me at the bottom of the front porch steps with open arms. It’s the second time this week I’ve found myself in his embrace, and I’m afraid I like it a little too much. “You were incredible.”
The way he lowers his voice so that only I can hear him stirs something deep inside me and causes me to take a step back.
“You guys did great too,” I say with a tight smile. “But I should go check on Agatha.”
“You want me to help you with—” Oliver starts to offer his assistance, but I cut him off.
“I’ve got it from here. Thanks.”
“Hey Rookie, don’t you have somewhere to be?” Martinez asks Oliver as I start toward the barn.
I don’t hear his response, but I glance back just in time to see the doors to the rig close with him inside.
Lucy races outside to meet me as I trudge up Mom’s sidewalk after getting back from the farm Sunday afternoon.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, glancing back at the unfamiliar pickup parked on the street in front of the house. “Mr. Greene’s goat was on the roof, and then she went into labor.”
“I’ve been trying to call you,” she shout-whispers.
“Did I mention I was dealing with a pregnant goat on a roof?”
She runs up the stairs and blocks the door. “Before you go inside, I need to tell you something, and I want you to know that Willow and I had nothing to do with it.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Did you guys try to bring up Mistletoe Fest again? Y’all know that’s a bad idea.”
“Trust me, I wish that’s all it was.” A nervous laugh bubbles out of her. “No, it’s something else. Or rather someone else that’s joining us for dinner.”
“There’s nobody Aunt Rose could invite to a family dinner that would surprise me,” I say. “Her ability to shock me went out the window when she showed up to my birthday brunch with that Elvis impersonator.”
I start to push past my sister, but she grabs my arm. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t Aunt Rose’s guest.”
I study her worried expression, and then it hits me all at once. “Oh my God. Does Mom have a date in there? She does, doesn’t she?”
Why didn’t she say something earlier? I’ve been staying with her for days and she hasn’t uttered a word about it. Maybe she felt it best to wait until we were all together, but still, I’m hurt she didn’t give me a heads-up.
Lucy opens her mouth to speak, but I maneuver around and head toward the sound of laughter in the kitchen. I can’t say I didn’t hope that our mother would date again, but I expected there would be some sort of conversation about it first.
I enter the kitchen to find my mom in full Martha Stewart hosting mode, laughing with none other than Oliver while the rest of my family looks on in amusement.
My mouth is frozen in an O, and Oliver’s gaze snags on me, looking almost as stunned as I do.
“Come on, kids.” Ellie’s voice is an octave higher than normal. “Let’s go to the playroom.”
She and Willow herd Noah and Emily out of the room, tossing worried glances back in my direction.
“Oh good, you’re here!” My mother’s smile falters as she dashes to my side and slides her arm around me. “Oliver, this is my oldest daughter, Lindsey. Lindsey, this is Oliver.”
Lucy steps in warily behind me as Oliver crosses the tile floor to greet me. Ben leans against the counter, his eyes wide and his hand covering his mouth.
“Yes,” Oliver says, his eyes sparkling like a moonlit lake. “We’ve already met. In fact, we were just on the same call at Mr. Greene’s farm.”
“Well, isn’t that something,” Aunt Rose says from where she sits in the rolling office chair we’d put her in to help her get around. She pokes a cookie in her mouth, holding the jar in front of her like a shield.
“Um…hi.” My cheeks are on fire, I am on fire, and the entire room is on fire. “It’s good to see you again but, um, what…what are you doing here?”
Oliver opens his mouth to answer, but my mom jumps in.
“You two know each other?” Her voice has turned to molasses, which is one of the tells my mother is lying. “What a small world. Isn’t it, Rose?”
“It sure is,” Aunt Rose mumbles, reaching her hand inside the Tiffany blue porcelain container.
My mom places her hands firmly on my shoulders, as if she’s Vanna White and I’m the prize she’s presenting.
“You see,” she says, “when I called the fire department the other night to help Rose, it was Oliver here who saved the day. He mentioned he was new in town, and I suggested he come over for dinner, both as a thank-you and to meet some young folks his age.”
I smile at Oliver. “That’s my mom. She’s big on southern hospitality.” And absolutely, certifiably insane.
My brother clears his throat. “Listen, Oliver, would you mind coming and talking to the kids for a second? Noah is obsessed with firefighters. You’re like a rock star to him.
He’s going through this phase where he doesn’t want to eat his vegetables.
I know this is probably a weird request, but maybe it would help if—”
“If he knows firefighters get big and strong by eating their broccoli?” Oliver asks, completing the thought with a chuckle.
“Exactly,” Ben says as he leads Oliver out of the room, but not before he throws one last wide-eyed glance at me over his shoulder.
Lucy gestures after them. “I’m just gonna…” She trails off before scampering from the room.
“Are you feeling okay? You look flushed,” Mom asks. “Rose, doesn’t she look flushed? Is your fibromyalgia acting up, sweetheart?”
I swat her arm. “No, it’s not. What is the matter with you?”
“What?” My mom presses her palm to her chest.
“I expected better than this from you.”
Aunt Rose snickers as she pulls a glass off the counter and fills it with chardonnay. “Well, that was your first mistake.”
“I know how this looks, Lindsey,” my mom says with a casualness that tells me she, in fact, does not know how this looks. “But maybe this can be an opportunity for you and Oliver to get to know each other better.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I would prefer to do that on my own terms?” I whisper loudly. “You are off your rocker!”
Aunt Rose shrugs. “I tried to tell her.”
“Oh, don’t act like this wasn’t at least partially your idea,” I hiss before turning back to my mom. “This is wildly inappropriate.”
She squeezes me around the shoulders. “Honey, I was only trying to help. I know you, okay? And if left to your own devices, I was afraid you’d never give this Oliver fellow a fair shot. I just want you to be happy.”
I push my fingers through my hair and blow out a breath. “I realize the boundaries in this family get a little fuzzy sometimes, but you have got to stay out of my personal life.”
“I’ll ask him to leave if that’s what you want,” Mom says.
I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s not what I want, but I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of telling her so.
“No,” I finally say. “But only because you’d look like a lunatic, which would, in turn, make me look like one.”
“The apple never does fall far from the tree.” Aunt Rose raises one perfectly painted-on brow.
“I’m going to go upstairs and change real quick,” I say, attempting to soften the scowl on my face.
Mom grabs the bread basket from the counter. “Don’t be long, sweetie.”
“I won’t,” I say, bounding up the stairs.
I’m glad to see Oliver, even if I’ll never admit it to my mother. But she has to learn it’s not okay to interfere in my life.
I smile to myself, a plan already forming in my mind. I whip my phone out of my pocket and fire off a text to Lucy, even though she’s just downstairs.
I think I figured out how to get June Bug out of your house.
The bubbles pop up almost instantly.
Say less. What do you have in mind?
I shut the door to my room and bite back a grin as I tap out my response.
Perhaps Mom could use a furry companion for a few days to fill the free time she’s spending meddling in my love life. What do you think?