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Chapter One
I’m going to say something that’s going to make some people mad.
Christmas isn’t my favorite holiday.
There, I said it.
Now, maybe this isn’t the kind of thing that people in Los Angeles or New York City would get mad about. It wouldn’t end any friendships in Dallas. But in the city I live in? Yeah, those are fighting words.
I grew up in Reindeer Falls, which is basically a city-sized love letter to Christmas. I mean, it’s in our name, for Santa’s sake. Any other place, people might talk shit about you for having a summer Santa in your yard or an all-year-round Christmas tree. But here? In Reindeer Falls, you’re basically expected to.
And look, it’s not like I’m some kind of Ebenezer Scrooge. I like Christmas a normal amount. I put up Christmas decorations and lights, and not just because my Christmas cop of a best friend would give me a violation if I didn’t. I love the twinkly lights and I like the occasional sleigh ride. But I’m not obsessed like Maggie—that’s the Christmas cop best friend.
Christmas and I, we’re on decent terms. But that’s it, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s fine.
I will say, though, that Christmas is good for business. In fact, I’ve been working nonstop for the last few weeks to try to get enough product to meet the holiday demand. I happen to make the perfect gift for just about anyone on your list. Sisters, mothers, grandmothers, co-workers. I’ve even got something for the man in your life. And, as a small business, I do it all myself.
Well, the goats help. It’s definitely a joint venture.
As if she can read my thoughts, Sharon, one of my smallest goats, lets out an indignant “bah,” like she knows I even thought of not giving her enough credit. She’s brown and white and angles her head so that she’s giving me the most judgmental expression possible. Some people might think goats can’t be judgmental, but those people clearly haven’t met Sharon.
“I’m not saying you don’t do a lot of the work,” I tell her, stirring the most recent batch of Snow in Love soap in my trusty crockpot. “I’m just saying that I do a decent amount, too, and it’d be nice if you gave me credit for once.”
Sharon huffs, tossing her head. That’s when I notice the ungrateful little snot has tossed off the adorable Christmas bows that I tied on her horns.
“Again?” I demand, abandoning the crockpot to search the ground for the red and silver bows. Nearby, Linus, the goat I’ve had the longest, joins me. You might think this is because he’s trying to be helpful, but I know it’s because he’s trying to get close enough to snag the extra treats in my pocket.
“You guys make it really hard for a girl to make her soap, you know that?” I tell them, finding the bows hidden under the work table and snatching them up.
Linus just nudges my leg and blinks up at me, looking pitiful until I finally give in and sneak him a piece of carrot. The little devil. He knows I have a soft spot for him, since he was the first goat that I ever rescued. I can still remember finding him as a baby on the side of the road, abandoned by someone and worn down to skin and bones. Which is hard for a goat, since they eat pretty much anything. But Linus was wasting away, and when he turned his golden eyes on me, I knew I was a goner. From then on, it was gonna be Linus and me against the world, no matter what. In an instant, I was a mom. Well, a goat mom, but love is love and all that.
I didn’t know anything about goats when I took him home in my car that night. A Honda Civic, if you’re wondering, because I wasn’t exactly expecting to rescue a goat that night, or ever. I used an old blanket to scoop him up and eased him into the backseat. A quick Google search and a dash into the local store to stock up on baby bottles and milk got us started. Later, I’d do more in-depth research—and trade in my Civic for a truck—but in that moment, I was just looking to keep Linus alive.
I snuck him into my parents’ place. I’d just graduated and moved in while deciding what was next for me, which, as it turned out, was goats. It wasn’t easy that first night, especially since he kept trying to bleat under the blankets, but I managed to pretend like I was singing. Then I washed him off in the tub. I stayed in there for a while, and when my parents got nosey, I told them I had food poisoning and to steer clear. It was enough to buy me some time that night, and I was able to get Linus cleaned up and then into my room.
