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I will not pee my pants this time around.
This shrieking is embarrassing enough. I want to stop, but I can’t. And I also can’t stop myself from running toward Cole.
He’s big and muscular, and if thatthingwants to fight, Cole will be way better at grappling than I will be. Cole’s hand reaches back and settles protectively on my waist.
I’m pressed up to his back, gripping his shoulder, trying to fight off another scream.
I hate to say it, but when it comes to wild animals, I’m certainly not up for any Pioneer Woman of the Year awards.
I am sure ninety-nine percent of the population of Silver Creek is tougher when it comes to bears, coyotes, badgers, and anything else with claws and sharp teeth.
I don’t care. In my humble opinion, it’s better to be called a Scaredy Cat than get your eyes gouged out by some defensive bear just out of hibernation.
Besides my natural aversion to getting clawed or bitten, and just seeing a huge spider a couple of minutes ago, I’m already on edge.
Cole’s big hand pats my hip.
“It’s okay. It’s just agoat, Olivia. Get a grip.”
“A—a what?”
A goat?That barely makes sense. What would a goat be doing at a yoga retreat?
The creature galloping toward us bleats. The little, feeble sound is so adorable that I almost start crying.
Why have I never heard that sound in person before?
Sure, I’ve heard goats bleat on videos, online. Who hasn’t?
But in person, it’s a whole different thing. It’s like the little guy is saying ‘howdy’ and ‘are you my new mamma?’ all at the same time, with that little, pleading, warbly sound.
I step out from behind Cole. “Oh. It is. I guess I thought it might be a lion.”
“We don’t have lions in the states.”
“I know, I know. Sorry. It’s just that I have PTSD from a lion incident.”
“Are you serious?”
“Well, maybe not actual,clinicalPTSD but yeah, I do have nightmares. It was a pair… a male and female lion, out hunting. I worried I’d be dinner. The safari guide was having trouble starting up this old Jeep we were in, and the thing had no windows.”
He looks at me with curiosity, like he wants to know more. That’s a first.
Me, saying something Cole actually wants to know more about? Practically unheard of.
“Maybe I’ll tell you about it one day,” I say, as I drop down to my knees and open my arms.
“Yeah—yeah,” he stammers. “I think that’d be good.”
I’m tempted to sass him for how flabbergasted he sounds about the fact that I might have an actual, interesting story to tell. But now I’m too busy hugging the softest, cutest baby goat in existence.
He’s brown-and-white, with tiny round horns that pop up out of the patch of longer fur on the top of his head. His eyes are big, chocolate brown, and he’s bleating happily now, like he’s saying, “I found her! I found my mamma!”
“He likes me!” I say to Cole.
Cole’s doing that face-scrubbing thing again. Like I’m totally out of my mind, and he’s the only sane one around.
Um… I don’t think so. I’m definitely the sane one, here.
