“Yes, I get it. Whatever it is, it’s illegal, so shut up and let’s go.”
Still entirely too proud of himself, he hopped in the backseat and led the goat inside. I closed the door behind them and let out a huge sigh.
It was dark and quiet, save for the low hum of the hybrid engine. No movement or sound came from Buck’s mobile home.
We might just make it through this without getting arrested.
With another deep breath, I climbed into the front seat and put the vehicle in drive.
“Where are we going to take him?” Ian asked. He was trying to get the goat to switch to eating the apple slices instead of his shirt.
“There’s a barn at the orchard, from when my grandfather kept horses. He’ll be safe there overnight until we can figure out a long-term plan in the morning. The goat is actually Buck’s ex-wife’s. Jolly loves that thing, so naturally, that was what Buck went after in the divorce. I figure we can eventually make sure she gets him back, but he’ll have to lie low for a while at the farm. I don’t want Buck to accuse Jolly of anything. Plus, Candace has been bugging me to start up a petting zoo for the tourists. She might be getting her wish for the time being.”
“So, we’re keeping him, then. At least for a little while.” Ian sounded excited. Must have been the rush of breaking the law in the middle of the night. I knew my own heart rate had yet to slow. I ignored the part where he’d said “we” were keeping the goat. There was no “we” ... not really.
With the felony in progress, I hadn’t figured out what I wanted from Ian. I assured myself there’d be time to sort through the complications later, when we weren’t committing a crime. But a little voice inside my head warned that every minute Ian and George were in Kirby Falls was counting down until they had to eventually leave.
“Well, if we’re keeping it, we should name it,” Ian said, breaking through my complicated thoughts.
“It probably already has a name. Whatever Jolly gave it.”
“Shhh. Don’t ruin my fun, Joanie. What do you think about Selena Goatmez? Or Vincent Van Goat? Jean-Paul Goatier? Feta, or Ralph, or Cheese.Oh, how about Gordon Ramsaaay? There’s also Scape, Hornsby, or Gilbert Goatfried? Are you gonna laugh? Because you look like you want to laugh.”
Ian was watching me in the rearview mirror, so fucking pleased with himself and his rapid-fire puns. He still had the ski mask on, and I thought I was going to die from trying to keep a straight face. I bit the inside of my cheek as my shoulders shook.
“Oh, I know,” he went on cheerfully, “Simone Biiiiiles. ’Cause she’s the greatest of all time.”
My laughter burst out of me as I clutched the steering wheel. I pulled to a stop in front of the old barn and rested my forehead on my hands as I wheezed.
“Those were good, right?” he called.
“Yes, stop. Oh my God. Ralph. We’ll call him Ralph.”
“That’s not a pun at all,” Ian said indignantly. “I only threw that one in for fun.”
I turned around to peer into the dim backseat. “Well, I like it. He looks like a Ralph.”
The goat peered at me from its seated position, skinny legs curled under its body, floppy ears dangling adorably. He bleated as if in agreement.
“See,” I said, pointing.
Ian sighed. “Ralph, it is.”
My alarm went off the next morning at five, and for the first time in a long time, I decided to skip my run. I was exhausted from last night’s events. With Mac and Brady watching George, Ian had made us sit with Ralph in the barn for two hours, in case the goat got scared, he’d said. But the animal had just settled down on a wool blanket I’d found in storage while Ian and I talked. He’d asked me about all the pets I’d had growing up and then told me about the animals he’d worked with on films.
I was surprised to learn Ian really enjoyed riding horses, and he admitted he’d love to have one someday when he didn’t live in LA. That conversation had painted a pretty picture I didn’t know what to do with. It got a little too close to the things we didn’t talk about—like Ian leaving—and, more importantly, the things I didn’t want to think about. Namely, the future and how well Ian fit in here in Kirby Falls.
Now, in bed, I sighed and sat up.
In addition to being worn out from staying up late, I was, frankly, still in disbelief over what I’d done.
I’d been a law-abiding citizen for thirty-six years. There’d been no rebellious streak when I was a teen. No youthful indiscretions that had ended in being scared straight. Hell, I’d never even gotten a parking ticket.
My brother was the reckless Judd. The one most likely to get himself into a law-adjacent situation.
And if Brady had done something as fucking stupid as steal a goat from his asshole neighbor with little to no planning, I would have lectured him until the cows came home.
Even knowing all that, I wouldn’t have changed my decision last night. I didn’t regret it.
