Page 110 of Falling for the Grinchy Bad Boy

41

JOY

The goat was possessed by the devil himself. I was absolutely convinced of it. Who the hell thought a goat was a good substitute for a cow? Or a sheep. They were not the same.

Not that I knew a lot of cows or sheep, but I was certain they could not be like goats. This goat in particular was an asshole. Were they all like that?

“Come on, Gertrude,” I pleaded, pulling on the stubborn animal’s lead rope while she planted all four hooves and stared at me with those unsettling rectangular pupils. “It’s just a nice little pen with hay and a manger. Very cozy. Perfect for goats.”

Gertrude remained unmoved by my sales pitch. I needed a goat whisperer. Or an exorcist.

The Christmas market had been open for two hours, and most things were running smoothly. Families wandered between the vendor booths, children clutched cups of hot chocolate, and the choir’s voices drifted across the square in perfect harmony. It should have been magical. It would have been magical, if not for the live nativity scene that was rapidly devolving into complete chaos.

Who thought a live nativity was a good idea? Oh right. I did. But in my defense, the goat had not been my idea, and she was the problem.

“Joy, I think this beard is giving me a rash,” Joseph complained. He wasn’t actually Joseph because I was pretty sure the real Joseph wasn’t a lecher. This guy was. He had been hitting on me relentlessly since putting on his costume. “Maybe you could help me adjust it? Or we could grab dinner after this winds down? I know a great place in⁠—”

“The beard stays on, Brad,” I interrupted, giving Gertrude’s rope another futile tug. “And I’m busy.”

“Okay, we’ll skip dinner and get right to the good stuff.”

I sighed and looked at him. “The good stuff?”

He waggled his eyebrows. “You know, the good stuff. I think me and you could have a good time. We’re compatible.”

“What in the hell makes you think we’re compatible?”

And yes I just cursed at Joseph. Jesus’s daddy. I was probably going to hell but that wasn’t going to be the first or last thing to send me there.

That was when Gertrude decided my coat sleeve was dinner.

“Gertrude, no,” I groaned.

The donkey—whose name was apparently Chester, according to his owner—chose that moment to lumber over and nudge my hip with his enormous head, nearly knocking me off balance. He seemed to think this was great fun and immediately did it again, harder this time. I could have sworn the jackass was smiling at me.

“Chester, no,” I said firmly, trying to maintain my grip on Gertrude’s rope while fending off the overly affectionate donkey. “Go back to your spot.”

Chester responded by trying to nibble on my jacket as well. It was red. I thought red was a bull thing. I really needed to brush up on my farm animal information.

I looked at Brad. He didn’t offer to help.

Asshole.

Meanwhile, the baby playing Jesus—a six-month-old named Tyler whose parents had volunteered him for the role—had been crying steadily for the past twenty minutes. His wails cut through the peaceful Christmas music like a fire alarm. I could see parents in the crowd starting to give our nativity scene concerned looks.

“Maybe we should take a break?” Mary suggested. The woman, a third-grade teacher, looked like she was regretting volunteering for this particular duty.

“No, we can’t take a break,” I said, desperation creeping into my voice. “People are expecting the live nativity. It’s supposed to be the highlight of the evening.”

I yanked on Gertrude’s rope with renewed determination, putting my full body weight behind it. The goat finally took a step forward, directly as I pulled backward with maximum force. I stumbled, my foot sliding in something soft and decidedly unpleasant.

Donkey poop.

Of course.

I stood there with manure squishing under my boot, holding the lead rope of a demonic goat while a baby screamed and a grown man in a fake beard continued to leer at me. I felt my carefully maintained composure finally crack.

My first instinct was to find Cooper.