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My outburst gets him to look up, but unfortunately, not at sweet Farmer John. Instead, he looks at Linus, who’s gnawing on the bumper of his car, and at Sharon, who I think might be attempting to take the wallet out of his pants.
I can tell by the look on Jake’s face that he’s taken my point about people not adopting goats, but maybe not exactly the way I’d hoped. I’m thinking I can salvage the situation when he steps forward, clearly intending to get in my face about this issue, and his expensive leather shoe smushes right into a present that one of the goats just left.
And let’s just say it’s not the kind of present anyone wants to receive, either.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he says, voice practically a growl as he lifts up the shoe. “First your damn bucket attacks me, and now this?”
“See?” I exclaim. “Exactly why you should just leave me and the goats alone. You’re clearly not built for a place like this.”
“Only because you’ve let this place go to shit,” he says, removing his shoe and holding it up to prove his point. “You know that bucket-beam-balancing thing you had going on was a safety hazard, right?”
“The bucket of hay that you knocked over?” I say, trying not to laugh as he detaches his other shoe from the muck. “That was a perfectly fine contraption.”
“It was held up by twine,” he says. “But that’s not the point. The point is, I’ll give you a week to move out. And that’s being generous. As for what you do with these… nuisances, let’s hope the town loves you as much as you say they do.”
He smirks at the last line, but only until he realizes that Father John’s gnawing on the shoelace of his clean shoe.
“These were nine-hundred-dollar shoes,” he seethes.
“I have an extra pair of Crocs I could lend you,” I say innocently, going to grab them from my work area. “They might be a little tight, but better than nothing, right?” I pull them out and hold them out, grinning as I display the pink Crocs in the air, attached jingle bells and all.
“Insanity,” Jake says, shaking his head as he stares at me. “Absolute insanity.”
He doesn’t even acknowledge my offer. Instead, he turns away and stalks back to his car in nothing but his socks. I try not to laugh as he shoos Sharon away from his car, but all of the humor dries up as he looks back at me.
“One week,” he says. “And then you’ll be leaving if I have to tow you off the property myself.”
Chapter Three
“Well, he could have been more pleasant about it,” I tell Lexi once Jake Sheppard is long gone and I’m back in the Airstream. “I didn’t have to offer him my pink Crocs, but I’m an extremely generous person.”
“The ones with the jingle bells on them?” Lexi asks.
“My coolest pair,” I agree.
“I forgot what the Sheppard boys were like,” Lexi muses. “Sounds like Maggie’s got a grump on her hands, too. Were they always like this?”
“Who knows,” I reply. “They were a few years ahead of us in school so it’s not like we crossed paths much. All I remember is that they were hot. I have no recollections of them being such assholes.”
“Hmm,” Lexi murmurs. “Maybe leaving Reindeer Falls turned them into grumps.”
“Great.” I drawl the word out. “Now you sound like Maggie. Soon you’ll be claiming all they need is a dash of holiday spirit to fix them up.”
“I was kidding!” Lexi objects, laughing. “It sounds like Jake needs more than a cinnamon stick and a sprinkle of nutmeg to redeem himself.”
“At least there’s still hope for Carter,” I mutter with a sigh. “He’s the youngest, right? The professional baseball player?”
But Lexi sidesteps that question. “I just can’t believe Jake wants to put a golf course on your farm. The only golf course that belongs in Reindeer Falls is putt-putt, and we already have that. Christmas-themed putt-putt, North Pole and all.”
Thank Santa himself that Lexi’s on my side about this. Not that she’s ever anything but on my side, but sometimes, being the goat-farmer friend means your friends look at you like you’re… well, like you’re one essential oil short of a full deck.
Maggie and Lexi have always been supportive. When I was first starting out, they were willing to try any of my soaps, even before I figured out the frozen goats’ milk trick. Though, looking back, they might have only pretended to shower with those first batches. But still, I appreciate the support. Then, of course, there were the times when I tried to make goat-cheese chocolate-chip cookies a thing, only I’m not a baker, and even if I was Ginger Winter herself, there’s no way I was making that combination work.
