I pull up my schedule on the tablet. “We need to establish a timeline for greenhouse shifts. The optimal growth window requires precise environmental controls, and I can’t have you improvising when?—”
“Hold up.” Eliza raises a dirt-caked hand. “I need to finish feeding these guys and putting out fresh water or they’re going to revolt. They should have been staying overnight at Bramblewood, but…”
She bites her lip in acknowledgement of yesterday’s disaster.
“You’re supposed to be helping me.” I tap the screen. “According to my calculations, we need to maintain sixteen-hour photoperiods with specific wavelength adjustments every?—”
An even louder bellow interrupts, this one definitely closer and significantly more threatening. Through the fence slats, I catch a glimpse of something large and gray moving with hostile intent.
“If you give me half an hour, we can get going.” There’s something mischievous in her expression. It makes me nervous.
I groan. “Fine. I’ll meet you at the facility in…” I check my watch. “Forty minutes.”
I’m halfway to my car when I hear hoofbeats behind me. I turn just in time to see a black and white goat charging directly toward me with the enthusiasm of a rabid golden retriever.
“She’s just being friendly,” Eliza calls, but her definition of friendly differs dramatically from mine.
I step sideways, tablet clutched protectively to my chest, trying to avoid the goat without actually running. My foot hits a patch of what I really hope is mud, and suddenly physics takes over.
The landing is significantly less dignified than I’d prefer.
I’m flat on my back staring at a gray November sky while a goat investigates my hair with aggressive curiosity. My tablet lies face-down in a puddle three feet away, and I can hear someone fighting a losing battle against laughter.
“Oh my god.” Eliza appears in my field of vision, her hand pressed to her mouth. “Are you hurt?”
“My dignity has sustained irreparable damage,” I mutter, not moving. “But physically, I appear to be intact.”
That completely destroys her composure. She doubles over, laughter spilling out of her. “I’m sorry,” she gasps between giggles. “I’m so sorry. It’s just… I have this thing where I laugh when people fall, and I know it’s not okay.”
The goat chooses this moment to lick my cheek. “This is exactly why I work with plants.” I sit up to assess the damage to my clothes. “Plants don’t have vindictive personalities.”
“Here.” Eliza extends a hand to help me up, and I notice she’s stopped laughing. “Cruella’s actually the sweetest one. She was just curious about the stranger.”
I accept Eliza’s hand, surprised by the calloused strength of her grip. She pulls me upright with minimal effort, and suddenly we’re standing much closer than necessary, her face turned toward mine with an expression I can’t quite decode.
I gesture toward the goat. “You named her after a villain?”
Eliza tilts her head. “The villains weren’t always evil.” Something electric passes between us. Awareness maybe, or just the aftermath of shared ridiculousness.
“Your tablet,” she breathes, but doesn’t move to retrieve it.
“It’s waterproof,” I say, but don’t move either.
We stand there for a moment, the morning air suddenly feeling warmer despite the chill, until another voice interrupts from the direction of the house.
“Eliza? Everything okay out here?”
A woman emerges from a van, and I immediately recognize the family resemblance—same dark hair, same direct gaze, though this sister moves with a different energy. More purposeful somehow. Gentle.
“Eden.” Eliza jumps like she’s been caught doing something inappropriate, which is ridiculous; we were just standing there. “What are you doing here so early?”
“Checking the hives before the weather changes,” Eden says, but her attention is clearly focused on me. She takes in my mud-stained clothes and soaked tablet with obvious amusement. “You must be the tree scientist who’s got my sister all beside herself.”
Eliza’s dark brows furrow. “This is Reed Saint Nicholas.” She puts extra emphasis on the second word, which I don’t understand.
“My middle name isn’t Saint,” I say, attempting to brush dried mud off my shirt with limited success, wondering what Eliza has said about me. Eden appears amused as Eliza releases an exasperated noise. I clear my throat. “And I won’t be a tree scientist much longer unless your sister gets moving.”
“He’s very particular about schedules,” Eliza says, and I genuinely can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or appreciative.
