I played lookout while Ian knelt next to the animal. He pulled out the pocket knife I’d given him, but I felt compelled to whisper, “Make it look jagged. Like he chewed through it.”
Ian went to work on the rope while the goat shuffled beside him curiously. He spoke gently to the animal, just words of encouragement under his breath. The way a dog owner might speak to their pet during a walk. Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, I could feel myself going soft and warm at Ian’s sweetness. His quiet reassurance to a barnyard animal sanded down some of my tense, rough edges.
The night was cold, but the full moon shone brightly enough to be misleading. The silver glow softened much of Ian, too. The hazy truth was more bearable in the moonlight. Ian was out here risking life, limb, and legal trouble ... for me.
I was sure he’d taken one look at me while Buck had thrown his childish tantrum and seen my rage that had no outlet. Ian had offered up this reckless little adventure as a result. He didn’t have to deal with my neighbor. Until tonight, he’d never even seen this goat that led a terrible, mistreated life.
But here he was, an award-winning movie star, crouched in the dirt, carefully cutting through a rope so he could ease one animal’s suffering, and maybe mine, too.
It was startling to realize how well Ian knew me, how much he cared, what he was willing to risk. I didn’t feel like I deserved this—this unapologetic loyalty. But clearly I had it.
I shook myself and returned to keeping watch.
Now was not the time to be caught up in all these tender, moonlit emotions. Ian needed my attention on that trailer, so we didn’t get caught.
Once the goat was free, I held out a few apple slices I’d prepared ahead of time. We slowly but surely lured the animal across the field and back toward my house, where Ian’s rental car was waiting with a tarp in the backseat.
The goat was pretty good-sized. I was sure Ian was strong enough to lift him, but I was equally confident that the animal would bleat in protest. The apples worked until we got to the edge of Buck’s property. Ian tugged on the end of the lead, but the animal wouldn’t move.
“Take your mask off,” Ian whispered. “Maybe if he sees it’s you, he’ll follow.”
“We’re not exactly friends. I really don’t think that will make a difference.”
“Well, I don’t know what else to do besides throw him over my shoulder and run.”
“Don’t,” I warned. “He’ll scream, and then Buck will wake up.”
To appease the great goat herder, I lifted the edge of my mask and said, “Here, boy. Come on.”
The goat stared at me like I was an idiot, and, honestly, I probably was for going along with this scheme.
Ian tossed his hands up in exasperation. “What do we do now?”
Before I could answer, the goat took a step toward Ian. When he’d raised both arms, the bottom of his flannel had come untucked from beneath his dark hoodie. The goat zeroed in on the fabric and took a bite.
“Hey!” Ian hissed.
But I took hold of Ian’s arm and urged him backward. Sure enough, the goat followed, lunging toward the flannel to nibble again.
“I like this shirt,” Ian complained.
“Well, if you like not being in jail, keep quiet and let him take a bite every now and then. It’ll get him back to the car. I’ll buy you a new shirt.”
Ian shot me a glare, and I had to resist the urge to laugh.
“Hurry up,” I said. “If that asshole wakes up, he’s liable to shoot us.”
Ian grumbled but waved the tattered tail of his shirt toward the goat, who trotted after him.
With the car in sight, Ian wondered, “Is there also a wife that we need to liberate? Anyone married to that dick?”
“No. She left him a few years ago. The town threw her a party. Besides, one theft is all I can handle tonight.”
Ian made a thoughtful hum. “I really prefer ‘rescue effort’ or ‘heist.’ At the very least, a”—he stopped walking and looked at me meaningfully—“kidnapping.” Then he grinned.
“Christ,” I muttered under my breath and kept walking.
“Get it?” he called as I opened the back passenger door of his SUV. “KID-napping. Because baby goats are called kids.”
