3. Sophie #2
“Stop that,” I said, pulling away and walking off. I needed to think. Panicking wasn’t going to catch a goat. This was my job. Okay, yes, I’d exaggerated my experience. Fine. A lot. But I’d figure it out. I had to.
The alpaca followed me again across the square, past the decorations, and around a folding table. It always remained exactly two feet behind me like a fluffy stalker. If I wasn’t so stressed, I might have thought it cute.
“The donkey’s in the road!” yelled a voice.
I whirled around.
The donkey was, in fact, in the road. Standing directly in the center of Main Road.
I sighed. “You guys are killing me.”
A car stopped. Another car stopped behind it. Then another. Within thirty seconds, I’d somehow created another traffic jam, this time using livestock.
That had to be a record.
A large white SUV rolled up beside the growing line of cars, its tires crunching over the edge of the gravel shoulder.
The late afternoon sun flashed off the windshield, and a bold gold-and-black sheriff’s star stretched across the front door.
MAPLEWOOD FALLS SHERIFF was printed in large letters along the side, impossible to miss even from halfway across the square.
My stomach dropped so fast it practically left my body.
Captain Competent was back.
Damnit. Not him. Anybody but him. A state inspector? Fine. The mayor? Manageable. A television news crew? Honestly, at this point, why not?
But not Sheriff Eric Walker.
I had spent the entire afternoon trying to convince myself that our first meeting had been a temporary humiliation. A brief professional setback. A minor bump in the road.
The road had looped back around and hit me in the ass again.
The driver’s door opened, and the sheriff climbed out. He was all steady and capable, the exact opposite of the woman currently supervising a traffic jam caused by a donkey.
My gaze snagged on his shoulders for a second too long. Then his jaw. Then his hands. Those big, manly hands would feel delicious on my skin…
I shook my head from those thoughts. Literally. There was actual shaking.
My life was actively falling apart, and I was fantasizing about a man’s hands.
I really needed higher standards.
I needed a bottle of wine.
Captain Competent surveyed the scene—the stopped traffic, the donkey, the goat, the alpaca currently attached to me like an emotionally dependent shadow. The smaller alpaca had barely moved since it stepped off the trailer. Then his gaze landed on my face.
And there it was again.
That look. Like a calm, assessing expression that somehow made me feel like he’d already figured out every bad decision I’d made in the last twenty-four hours.
Which was concerning because there had been several.
For a long moment, he said nothing. “It’s been four hours,” he said, watching me again.
I considered lying. Not because it would help.
Mostly because I was panicking. Also because something about the way he looked at me made me want to sound far more competent than I actually was.
Unfortunately, there was a very large difference between sounding competent and standing beside a traffic jam caused by a donkey.
Instead, I said, “In my defense, they weren’t here when I started.
” The second the words left my mouth, I realized how ridiculous they sounded.
Like I was explaining to law enforcement that I hadn’t started the fire.
I had merely been standing beside it. Or maybe adding tiny decorative sticks to it while insisting everything was under control.
Neither option felt particularly strong.
His eyes moved from the goat, who was now chewing what may or may not be permit paperwork, to the donkey and then the alpaca who chose that exact moment to rest its head on my shoulder.
The alpaca looked weirdly content about the arrangement too, as though we’d known each other for years and regularly spent afternoons together discussing our feelings.
If I was a witch, I would have magicked myself invisible right now. Or opened a portal and stepped into another dimension. Preferably one without livestock.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t a witch. I was just a woman who had lied about event-planning experience and somehow ended up emotionally hostage to an alpaca.
Captain Competent exhaled slowly. “I didn’t think I’d be back so soon, Hartwell.”
Something prickled at the back of my neck at the way he said my name. I pointed at the animals. “Technically, this isn’t my fault.” Even to my own ears, it sounded weak. Not completely weak. Just the sort of argument someone makes when they’re already losing and know it.
The sheriff raised an eyebrow. “That’s your defense?”
Was he trying to annoy me?
I shrugged. “It’s all I have.” Which was, unfortunately, true. I could have attempted a longer explanation, but I suspected it would somehow end with me sounding even guiltier. Experience suggested that the more words I used, the worse things got. It was kind of my thing.
The sheriff rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Tell me you have a plan.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My brain offered several possibilities. Lie. Run. Point at the alpaca and pretend to be busy. None felt particularly professional. Just a tad crazy.
The sheriff’s gaze held mine for a second longer. “That’s what I thought.” Then he glanced toward the donkey still standing in the middle of the road. “Let’s go, Hartwell.”
I stared at the sheriff moving away from me, at his very, very fine ass. “Where are we going?”
“To catch your livestock.”
Okay then.