Ian shook his head sadly. “Don’t talk about little Ralph Judd-Wells that way. He’s not a problem.”
“What did you just call him?”
Ian tutted. “He’s ours. He should have both of our names. Judd hyphen Wells. Alphabetical seems fair, but I’m open to Wells-Judd. Both have a nice ring to them.”
My mouth dropped open. “You’re ridiculous.”
There were awful, terrible feelings swirling around my middle. Warm, fluttery emotions that had no business reacting this way to a hyphenated last name related to a barnyard animal.
Was this how normal people felt all the time? So vulnerable and helpless in the face of well-meaning, adorable behavior.
Pushing all that uncomfortableness aside, I argued, “Besides, I’m the one taking care of the goat. Hiding the goat and risking a criminal record for the goat. You just met him yesterday.”
Ian shrugged. “We’ve bonded, Joan. It’s too late. Plus, I already told Georgie about him. I promised he could meet Ralph after lunch.”
I stared incredulously at the man before me. “You seriously told George about Ralph and then left him alone with my mother?”
Realization dawned, and panic took over. “Oh, shit.”
And that was how my parents found out about the goat in the barn.
After lunch, Ian and I were standing outside Ralph’s open stall while George petted and talked to the goat. We’d brought a fresh bowl of feed and replenished the animal’s water. He munched happily while George chatted nearby.
From the entrance to the barn, Candace and Mercer called out a greeting, and then came to stand next to us.
Following the wedding last weekend, my sister and her new husband didn’t want to miss the holidays at home. So they’d decided to wait until February to take their honeymoon. They were probably planning on helping make homemade caramels this afternoon with my mother. It was her holiday specialty.
“Mom said you guys were out here and had something to show us,” Candace said as she eyed the goings-on in the barn curiously. “Are you finally taking me seriously about the petting zoo?”
“Yep,” I said.
My sister’s eyes widened. “Wait, really?”
“This is Ralph,” Ian told her.
Candace appeared confused. “But you were so against it. Even though I said I’d take care of the animals. You just went out and got a goat without telling anyone?”
“Not exactly,” I admitted, crossing my arms over my chest.
My parents hadn’t cared about the goat using the old barn, but they’d been a little concerned about where he’d come from.
Candace straightened and eyed me. “Are we aiding and abetting a runaway goat, Joan?”
“No, Candace. We are not.”
Then Ian helpfully added, “Definitely not a runaway. He’s stolen.”
Mercer’s head whipped in my direction, and my sister’s mouth dropped open. She stood gaping like the largemouth bass mounted on the wall of her office.
Grinning at me, Ian shrugged.
I covered my face with my hands.
It took about five minutes, but Ian happily told the story of how Ralph came to be at the orchard. Personally, I felt like he needlessly embellished his heroics, but Candace and Mercer didn’t seem to mind his overacting. Plus, they seemed to appreciate all the goat-name puns he somehow recited from memory. He’d even added a few more.
“I like the name Ralph,” George had said with approval as he hugged the good-natured goat around the neck.
“I understand the need to rescue the animal from that kind of situation,” Mercer said evenly, once Ian had finished his tale. “But we don’t know anything about caring for goats. What kind is it, anyway?”
