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This goat’s nameless, nothing but a piece of property that doesn’t belong to us.
“Cole!” she squeaks. “I’m serious! I can see you’re still thinking about bringing him back, but didn’t you hear what I heard earlier? Didn’t you hear that hunch-backed old man who didn’t have a heart talking about packing this precious creature up like a couch, and taking him to some sad little petting zoo across the state? I don’t want that to happen.”
“It’s not up to us.”
“Sure, it is. He came here, to us, and that means he likes us, and he chooses us. And doesn’t he have a say in what happens to him?”
This isn’t happening.
I want to put this day behind me, not stand here in my flannel PJ pants and sweatshirt arguing. Even though the fire’s stoked and cranking out heat and my sleeping bag is warm and I’m tired, now I have to find Skye so she can contact the man who owns the property next door.
It’s the right thing to do. The sensible, practical thing.
Also, apparently, the last thing Olivia wants to do.
She’s hugging the darn, dirty animal as though he’s her new best friend.
She rocks to her heels and grabs her phone from a nightstand. Of course, it was within arm’s reach. Even though we don’t have any cell service, she still keeps it close.
“Olivia, it doesn’t matter what the goat wants. He’s—”
“Take a picture, please, will you?” she interjects, with a smile so bright for an instant—only a very short, split second—I forget what I’m upset about. “I can’t believe he came back to us!”
“Well, he came back to you,” I grumble. “He doesn't want anything to do with me.” As soon as I say that, the creature faces me, looks right into my eyes, and bleats.
And okay, maybe he’s a little bit cute.
He totters over and nudges my leg. Despite my best efforts, I can’t help but reach out and scratch him under the chin.
His fur is softer than I expected.
“See?” Olivia says, while beckoning him back. “He likes you, too.” She wraps her arms around him, then leans forward to hand me her phone.
Which I take.
I’m starting to understand why Trent’s always being bossed around by Olivia. It’s hard not to do what she says because she says it like it’s the only option.
I feel like her puppet as I snap about a dozen photos. I try to shake the feeling off, but it’s hard to. Because now she’s going on about how Blue will stay with us for the night, and it’s in that brisk, all-business tone like it’s already decided.
One person is making the house rules around here, and it’s not me.
“Do you think he’ll sleep on the bed with me?” she asks.
I climb back into my sleeping bag. “I don’t know, Olivia.” Don’t know. Don’t care.
She can insist that a farm animal crowds into this already small yurt with us, but she can’t make me act cheerful about it. I’m done being her puppet for the night.
Blue’s pacing, checking out our digs. He sticks his nose toward my duffel. Probably figuring out which end to start eating it from, once I’m out for the night.
“He seems nervous,” Olivia notes, as she climbs back into bed. She pats the covers, and Blue trots her way. But instead of jumping up, he passes by her and looks up at the macrame wall hanging.
Maybe he’ll eat it. I wouldn’t be too torn up about that, either. The thing’s an eyesore.
“I’m going to read aloud to him,” Olivia announces. “Do you mind?”
“Yes, I mind. Why do I have a feeling you’re going to do it anyway?”
I want to sleep.
