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“Ryder?”
“You remember my oldest grandson?”
“Of course.” Wyatt’s best friend from childhood. “He’s in the Army, right?”
“Just retired.”
I search my memory for more about Ryder Stone. He graduated high school and joined the military when I was just a kid, so the memories of the real-life man are sparse. But I do remember staring at his military photo on the Stone’s fireplace mantel as a dreamy-eyed teenager. I used to drum up whimsical fantasies of being whisked all over the world by that man in uniform. But I’m not about to admit that to Paps. Or anyone else. “Is he in town now?”
Paps unlatches the crate door, careful to keep his weight against it so it only opens enough to squeeze his hand through with the leash. “Living in the small house, actually.”
An uninvited flutter tickles my stomach as I glance lightning quick to the left, and the direction of the small house. Since I’m only in town for a couple of weeks before heading back to Fort Collins and—with any luck—start my veterinary oncology specialty, I ignore the irrational sensation and the unexpected disappointment when all I see is a patch of weeds. “With his family?”
“Nope. Just him.”
This news shouldn’t affect me in any way, yet another flutter tickles my stomach. It’s enough to distract me when Gertie shoves the metal door open. She pushes Paps out of the way as she flies out the back of my Jeep without her leash. She lands in a lone mud puddle, effectively splattering me from forehead to kneecaps with mud. I feel a gooey smudge running down my cheek. Guess I was unconsciously manifesting a facial.
Paps doesn’t move to chase her since the goat just stands there staring at him curiously.
“She’s going to be a feisty one. You’re gonna have your hands full, Paps.”
“We need someone to shake things up a bit around here,” Paps says with a chuckle. Gertie’s head tilts curiously, as if she understands his challenge. “Sorry about the mess.”
If I dared to get upset over a little mud, I really have no business being a veterinarian. I shrug. “I’ve gotten a lot dirtier out here than this.”
“You certainly have.” Paps lets out an easy-going laugh that’s laced with reminisce. “You can wash up in the barn. You remember where the sink is?”
“I do.” As I head toward the side door of the barn, I swipe the mud from my cheeks and flick it to the ground. It’s not lost on me how the rest of the driveway is completely dry, aside from the single mud puddle between my Jeep and the golf cart. Though I refuse to believe it’s a bad omen, I decide Wyatt is definitely buying me ice cream later.
I’ve just turned on the water in the washroom when I hear another high-pitched scream. This time, I don’t even flinch. It might be that Gertie’s grown on me during the quick twenty minutes I’ve known her. Or it could be that all traces of exhaustion have vanished now that I finally feel home.
Good omen, I decide.
CHAPTER 2
Ryder
I’m pouring my afternoon coffee when I hear a shrill, horrific scream through the crack of my kitchen window. The hot liquid misses my yellow I hope you have the day you deserve mug, scalding the side of my hand.
“Fuck!”
Abandoning my precious nectar, I hurry my hand under a stream of cold water and hold it there. I lift my gaze out the window, searching for the culprit as the burning sensation starts to numb. Despite the scream’s high-pitched humanlike qualities, I recognize it for what it is: a damn goat.
After towel drying my hand, I grab my Stetson and place it on my head. Abandoning the ledgers that have been haunting me for weeks, I head outside to see which goat found a new octave. Because of the three goats at the Stone Ranch, I’ve yet to hear one of them bleat a soprano worthy note in the six months that I’ve been home.
Two of the dogs—Barney, the senior Great Pyrenees, and Gumby the three-legged Australian shepherd—trot alongside me, tails wagging.
“You know something I don’t, boys?”
My answer lies just around the corner of the barn. I catch Paps on his knees beside his golf cart, nudging a small brown and white goat who’s stiff on its side with legs stretched straight out. A hunter green Jeep I don’t recognize sits with its back end open, an empty crate giving the culprit away. I scan the area, but don’t catch sight of the guilty party who’s trying to pawn off a goat on Paps.
I fold my arms across my chest, waiting for Paps to look up. Barney plants his furry white butt beside my boot. Gumby, friend to all animals whether they want his affection or not, approaches the young goat.
“C’mon Gertie,” Paps says, his voice soft and soothing. Gumby licks the goat’s forehead, but the bugger doesn’t even flinch. Aside from its eyelids flashing a quick blink, she’s stone. “Ain’t nothing to be afraid of out here. You’re safe now.”
“Gertie?”
Paps doesn’t even have the decency to look startled.
