Page 11 of The Worst Possible Plan

Oh no. This was not happening.

“Looks like the animals have arrived early,” commented the volunteer, like he was announcing light rain instead of my complete professional collapse.

My heart dropped. “No. Nothing is ready yet.” If whoever was in that trailer expected me to know what to do with a petting zoo, I was going to have a stroke.

The trailer door clanked. Something inside bleated loudly.

A man stood there with a sturdy stance and an expression like he had already decided this was not his problem. Mid-fifties, gray beard, work boots, baseball cap, and a clipboard tucked under one arm. Behind him, something thumped hard against the trailer wall.

“You must be Sophie,” he said, walking up to me.

“Yes,” I said because my reputation as the woman accepting disasters had already spread. “And you are?”

“Earl,” he said. “Petting zoo.”

I stared at him. Part of me wanted to laugh, but then I remembered laughter was how people tipped into madness.

“You’re early,” I said instead, my smile tightening. “You’re actually a day early.”

Earl’s mouth twitched, and I could tell he was not at all bothered by this information. “Paperwork says today.”

Damn. Whose fault was that? Mine? Very possible.

The trailer rattled again. Whatever was inside was probably plotting my downfall.

“Thank you for coming, Earl,” I said, my voice climbing to a pitch no adult woman should use in public. “But the fencing isn’t here until tomorrow. So maybe you could just… come back then?”

“Can’t,” he said. “Got another delivery.”

I nodded like this information didn’t just derail my entire sense of reality. I might’ve had a brief out-of-body experience. Hard to say. I wasn’t entirely present for it.

So this meant I was now in charge of livestock with no enclosure.

Fantastic.

Nothing says “welcome to your new career” like unsecured livestock.

He lifted his clipboard. “I just need a signature.”

I grabbed his pen and scribbled my signature, not really seeing it.

Earl looked past me, already clocking the empty patch of grass, the folded tables, the pile of decorations, and my face. “Where do you want them?” he asked, already walking toward the back of the trailer.

“I…” I might cry today. It was looking increasingly likely.

Earl released the latch and swung open the trailer’s rear gate.

A goat leaped out.

“Wait! Are you crazy!” I stepped forward. “Have you lost your mind! You can’t unload them yet. There’s no fencing.”

The goat stood there, its black-and-white coat gleaming in the sun and its golden eyes calmly surveying its surroundings.

From inside the trailer came the clatter of hooves and the unmistakable sound of something much larger.

I spun around.

An alpaca appeared, easing down the ramp with surprising grace. Its creamy white fleece bobbed with every step, and it paused at the bottom to stretch its long neck toward me. Dark, curious eyes peered from beneath dark lashes while its pointed ears flicked forward and then back, catching every unfamiliar sound.