Page 109 of The Worst Possible Plan

And for the first time since I’d snapped those handcuffs around her wrists, I didn’t want her walking away from me again.

27

SOPHIE

For a long moment, I couldn’t make my mouth work.

I just stood there, looking at him, at the animals, back at him again. My gaze kept bouncing between Eric and the pasture as though my brain refused to believe both things could exist at the same time. Kind sheriff. Gorgeous sheriff. Goat-rescuing sheriff. I’d stumbled into some alternate universe where emotionally available men built fences instead of excuses.

My heart felt too big for my chest. It felt like somebody had replaced all my internal organs with helium balloons and good intentions.

“You…” My voice caught. I swallowed hard and tried again. “You did all this for me?” My throat tightened around the words. I had about a thousand other questions lined up behind that one, all trying to squeeze through the same tiny opening at once.

He nodded once, like buying four animals, building them a home, and completely dismantling every defense mechanism I’d spent years carefully constructing was just another afternoon project.

I looked around the pasture again, to the new fence and shelter, the fresh hay, water, everything. Bandit happily chewed on a piece of straw like he’d already decided this was home. Theo had discovered the hay pile and appeared to be conducting an extremely thorough quality inspection. Daisy stood nearby with quiet confidence, clearly having accepted this entire arrangement far faster than any of the humans involved. Even the little donkey looked suspiciously pleased with himself.

Nobody had ever done anything like this for me.

Ever.

Not Henry, not anyone. And it wasn’t because they were trying to impress me before eventually disappointing me in increasingly creative ways.

Just because they cared. Because somewhere along the way this impossible man had looked at four animals and decided to solve the problem.

My emotions promptly dissolved into a complete and utter mess.

I had officially progressed from “angry enough to yell at the sheriff” to “might burst into tears because he built a goat enclosure.” There really ought to be road signs warning people about emotional whiplash. Mine had become severe enough to qualify for medical observation.

What a day.

I laughed once. Then sniffed. Then laughed again. Sniffed a couple of times more. Very sexy. My emotional range had become deeply concerning. Five hours ago I’d stolen a livestock truck. Then I’d gone to jail. Then I’d declared Captain Competent an emotionally constipated asshole. Now I was standing on his property contemplating whether it was socially acceptable to cry over properly installed fence posts.

Apparently yes.

The sheriff watched me quietly. “You okay?”

“No.” I laughed through another shaky breath. “I mean… yes.” I rubbed at one eye before another completely traitorous tear escaped anyway. “Maybe? Ask me again in ten minutes when my personality finishes rearranging itself.”

The sheriff let out a laugh.

I let out another sniff.

“I don’t know.” I pressed one hand against my forehead. “My brain has officially resigned.” It packed up its tiny desk plant, stole the good pens, and left me with absolutely no qualified replacement.

He shook his head, smiling. “You really do live in a different universe.”

I grinned. “It’s part of my charm.” I looked back toward the pasture one more time. “They’re safe.”

He nodded. “They are.”

“And they’re really staying here?” I asked, still feeling like this was too good to be true.

“They are.” There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in his voice. Just certainty. Somehow that made my chest squeeze even harder.

My eyes burned all over again. “You built all this today? You’ve got some kind of superpower hiding under that sheriff badge?”

He laughed. “I had some help getting supplies.” He shrugged. “The rest wasn’t complicated.”