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“Earlier you mentioned going to work at the farm,” I said, wanting to divert us back to a non-confusing topic. “What do you grow?”
“Not grow, raise. We raise goats.”
When it was clear he wouldn’t elaborate past that, I prodded for more. “Okay. You raise goats for…. what?”
“Mostly for meat. We sell them once they’re old enough, but recently….” He anxiously shifted in the seat as he mumbled something under his breath.
“What was that?” I asked, inching closer, practically leaning halfway across the center console.
He said it again, the same two words, but I still couldn’t make them out.
“Boat yogis?” I scrunched my nose, trying to configure various versions of what I thought I’d heard that made sense.
His exasperated sigh filled the truck’s cab. Leaning back, he tapped the back of his head against the seat. “Goat. Yoga.”
“Shut. The. Front. Door,” I exclaimed. “You and Trap have goat yoga. Out here? Is that part of your job to introduce other men to—”
“No, not us,” he said, like the idea actually pained him. “A woman ‘rents’ the kids, uses them for her goat yoga business, and then we take them back when she’s done.”
“Why?” I asked, tilting my head.
“To sell to someone else to eat.”
“Poor goats,” I joked. It was the circle of life, and there was a huge culture that loved goat meat. Good for the two men figuring out various income streams for the animals. “This is so random, but have you thought about another line of revenue with the goats? When I was alone and not sucked into some crime documentary, I’d get lost in these TikTok rabbit holes, I mean like hours of my life gone—”
“Why were you so alone?” He both looked and sounded pissed at the idea. “Where was your husband?”
I pursed my lips, not eager to explain the details of my shit marriage. How I was alone more than I was with Barrett.
“That’s a whole different can of worms. But like I said, our marriage was over long before I talked to the FBI. Anyway,” I drew out the word to change the subject from Barrett and how I’d wasted years desperate for even a morsel of attention from him. “Land clearing. With the goats. You should look it up.”
Up ahead, a picture-perfect, old-school downtown area came into view. I sat up straighter in the seat, leaning forward until my arms rested on the dash to take in every detail. “Oh my goodness, it’s like the original downtown in the town I grew up in. Except this one looks updated and thriving,” I said, noticing most of the storefronts were filled with items for sale or had Open signs dangling on the other side of the glass.
“It’s slowly being revitalized. Since there isn’t a large chain superstore within fifty miles of here, most of us shop local. There’s a farmers market every Saturday with fresh vegetables, fruit, and other things that help the community.”
He whipped the navy F-250 into the angled parking spot in front of a two-story storefront with General Store written in gold lettering on the glass. My heart dropped. The drive and conversation were so distracting that I’d forgotten one key component of shopping.
Money.
Chewing on the edge of my lip, I swallowed down the rising embarrassment. For the second time in less than thirty minutes, his deft fingers grasped my face, though this time his thumb tugged my lip free.
“What?” he asked. Arm resting on top of the steering wheel, Shade’s full focus was on me.
An embarrassed flush heated my cheeks. “I don’t have any extra money,” I whispered. “To help pay for Cat’s stuff.” My stomach rolled with unease. The money Max had given me was intended for food and basic necessities, not kitty litter and toys. “And you already paid for the vet bill—”
“Like that woman would let me pay,” he grumbled, though there was a lightness in his tone. “You forget that I understand your situation, Georgia.”
“I don’t want to freeload, take advantage of your kindness,” I said, voice tight. “But the cash Max left for us is for food. I don’t even have access to my bank accounts or credit cards or—”
“Okay.”
I blinked over at him. “Okay?”
“Yep. I’ve got this.”
“But why?”
“Why not?” he retorted, crossing both thick arms over his broad chest, making the cotton material of his long-sleeve shirt stretch to the max.
