Buck Adams did not deserve his ex-wife’s goat. He was a terrible pet owner and neighbor, and person in general, and I refused to feel guilty about what Ian and I had done.
Despite being tired, I couldn’t settle back into sleep. I was eager to check on Ralph and make sure he was okay. And the part of me that was a vindictive shit stirrer wanted to peek out my back window to see if my neighbor had noticed his goat was missing yet.
There was a text waiting for me when I got out of the shower ten minutes later.
Ian: Good morning, Bo Peep. Your mom invited us over for lunch. I have some things for our goat child. I’ll see you in a few hours.
Me: Bo Peep is a shepherdess ... for sheep.
Ian: I know, but I’m still picturing you in the frilly dress with a staff. It’s really working for me.
I snorted a laugh and shook my head. He was ridiculous. And I wasn’t even touching the goat-child thing.
My amusement faded when I realized I’d need to come clean to my parents and siblings about Ralph, especially since I was keeping him on the farm. They deserved to know what I’d gotten us all into.
I wasn’t at all surprised that Mom had invited Ian and George over for lunch.
Christmas was in two days, and Sophia and Darren were in California. My parents were adamant that Ian and George spend the holiday with us. I wasn’t going to fight them on it or try to put distance between our temporary neighbors and us. I’d been the one to breach the divide in the first place during Thanksgiving. George deserved to make memories with his uncle. And if he wanted to make sugar cookies with my mom and watch the same holiday movies I’d grown up with, then I wasn’t going to stop him.
Ian and his nephew might not have their own Christmas traditions yet, but they were welcome to borrow ours.
Just before noon, Ian knocked quietly and let himself into my parents’ kitchen through the screened porch. George followed, and they both said hello to my mother, who gave the little boy a quick hug.
I was sitting at the table reading Dad’s newspaper, and I immediately took in Ian’s excited expression. He practically vibrated with unspent energy.
Jesus, this guy had no poker face whatsoever.
Folding the paper neatly, I stood and said, “George, would you like to help Amy finish up the pasta salad?”
“Does it have meat?” the kid asked suspiciously.
I bit my lip. He was back to being a vegetarian this week. “Just bacon.”
“Oh, I like bacon,” he replied happily and pulled the step stool over to the sink to wash his hands.
Grinning, my mom met my gaze.
“I need to talk to Ian for a minute,” I told her. What I really needed was to get him out of the kitchen before he eagerly blurted out what happened last night. “We’ll be right back.”
“That’s fine,” Mom replied. “Georgie and I have it covered.”
“Thanks, Amy,” Ian said, before opening the back door for me and following me outside.
He steered me in the direction of his SUV and opened the rear hatch with a flourish.
The back of the vehicle was full of forty-pound bags of alfalfa pellets.
“Someone will be by later today to deliver the hay,” Ian said, while I stared at him. “Once you figure out where you want him, Ralph can graze and forage for most of his diet.”
When I continued to stare, Ian shifted uncomfortably, pink creeping into his cheeks. “I did some research this morning,” he admitted.
I had too, but I suppose I hadn’t really expected Ian to step up and take care of this.
“I’ll reimburse you for the feed,” I said. I’d never been the one in a group project accused of not pulling their weight.
With dark brows lowered, Ian gave me a disapproving look. “No, you won’t. It was my idea to steal—to liberate the goat. I’m happy to keep the little guy stocked in farm food.”
“I know it was your idea, but I went along with it. You barely even had to talk me into it. Besides, it was my problem in the first place.”
