Page 76 of Sinister Secrets

“But you introduced me to her.”

“I met her for the first time when I came home and found her in the driveway. I thought you must have given her the address.”

I cradle my face in my hands. “No. But I put Gator Glade Sanctuary on the flyer like an idiot.” Tipping my head to face him, I ask, “Did she mention my name?”

His eyes roll up as he thinks back. “Now that you mention it, no. She just told me she was there to fill the veterinary student position.”

“You know, with everything that’s been going on, I haven’t realized how strange it is that no one else has called about the trailer. She must have taken the flyer down. Jake,” I put a hand against my chest, trying to keep my heart inside, “she’s there alone with the animals.”

He jumps to his feet, pulling me with him. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 44

The drive back to the Sanctuary is tense, the endless miles of barren road seeming to take much longer to travel than usual. I only half listen as Jake tries to keep me distracted, his mind already working on the next problem we’re up against—whoever’s trying to frame me—and though I love him for it, it doesn’t work. All I can think about are all the horrible things that could have happened in the time we’ve been gone

As Jake outlines all the legal maneuvers he can think of to derail any actions Sheriff Kingston might try to take against me, my brain lists all the ways I’ve failed. I ignored my instincts when they told me Chelsea didn’t possess the experience with animals that you’d expect a veterinary student to have. I allowed a scam artist into our home. Allowed her to chase Jake away. Put precious lives in her care.

If anything bad has happened, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.

Finally, we arrive. As Jake pulls into the driveway, Chelsea’s car is nowhere in sight. He bypasses the house, continuing straight to the barn.

Even though the animals should be out right now during the heat of the day, the paddock is empty. The queasy feeling inside me grows as we get closer and neither Daisy nor Sam stick their heads out of their windows. They’re curious creatures. If they’re stuck inside, boredom would usually have them looking out, especially if they heard a familiar engine approach. Something must be wrong.

I hop out of the truck before it completely stops, my feet kicking up dust as I race inside, the thud of Jake’s steps close behind. Daisy nickers at my appearance, swinging her heavy head my way. But the relief I feel is short-lived. Because as my gaze moves past her, my eyes lock on the open feed room door.

Immediately, I change course, no longer intent on looking in every stall. There’s a much more pressing—and potentially deadly—issue at hand. I only hope that I’m not too late.

My feet skid in the dirt, almost sliding out from under me as I make the sharp turn, crying out, “Stephano!”

The pygmy goat stands on top of the stack of grain bags, the top one torn open, his little tail swishing back and forth as he gorges himself. He rolls an eye in my direction but doesn’t let my presence interrupt him. His stomach is swollen and distended, the left side jutting out like he swallowed a rock.

Sobbing, I sweep him up into my arms, careful to keep his top half elevated, doing my best not to cause him any discomfort. Turn just as Jake arrives. Cursing, he gives me a stricken look.

“He’s going to be okay, Cassie,” he assures me, turning on his heel and hurrying to the tack room. But I’m not sure that he is.

Pygmy goats are especially susceptible to bloat—when a buildup of gas in their rumen, or first and largest stomach, occurs. It can lead to a fatal amount of pressure on their vital organs. We need to release that pressure before it’s too late.

I rub Stephano’s left flank as I wait for Jake to reappear, glad that I don’t have to do this alone. He’s back in a second, slipping a looped lead around the goat’s neck. Once it’s secure, I set him gently on the ground.

“I’ll get the drench gun,” he says, handing me the end of the rope. “Baking soda?”

I nod, unable to talk as I start walking Stephano from one end of the barn to the other. Fortunately, there’s no froth visible around his mouth yet, but we need to get him to burp to relieve the compression on his organs. I listen for sounds of wheezing or labored breathing as I keep the goat moving, needing to know if things progress and his lungs become distressed.

“Got it.”

For the second time today, I watch as Jake drops to his knees before me, wishing that this occasion was as joyful as the last. He props the pygmy goat’s hooves on his thighs. I crouch down, rubbing his side and holding him in place as Jake works the drench gun into his mouth and between his teeth, then sends the baking soda and water mixture down his throat.

“I’ll call the vet,” Jake whispers. He presses a kiss to my forehead, gives my shoulder a bolstering squeeze, then extracts himself from beneath Stephano.

Wearily, I stand and begin walking again, knowing it’s going to be a long day. I’ve just reached the far end of the barn when a familiar voice calls from behind me.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

I whirl. Fight the urge not to launch myself down the aisle at Chelsea as the woman leans against one of the stalls like she doesn’t have a care in the world. I keep my pace slow and measured for Stephano’s sake as I stalk forward.

“You left the feed room open.”

“Okay. And?”