Three solid chests. Six arms reaching out to catch me. One very undignified oomph as I take down what feels like half a ton of cowboy.
We go down in a tangle of limbs and cursing. I land flat on my butt in the sawdust, staring up at three very different expressions: one annoyed, one amused, and one concerned.
“Well,” says the grinning one, Jesse, maybe? “That’s one way to meet someone.”
“We’ve met before. I’m your neighbor.”
“All grown up now,” he adds, smiling.
Rita, meanwhile, has found the youngest brother’s leather belt and is chewing on it while he tries to pull it away from her.
“Hey! This is my good belt!” He’s laughing even as he says it, which makes Rita more determined to claim her prize. “Come on, goat, let go!”
“Control your livestock,” Wyatt growls, standing up and brushing sawdust off his jeans. His eyes are stormy, and his mouth is set in a hard line.
“She’s not livestock,” I snap back, scrambling to my feet. “She’s a pet. With issues. We all have issues, you know.”
“That’s one word for it,” Jesse says, still grinning. He extends a hand to help me up, but I ignore it and dust myself off.
“Your goat has good taste,” he continues, nodding toward Rita. “That’s genuine leather. Looks like you’re losing your belt, Boone.”
“Rita, drop it!” I grab for the belt, but she dances away, trailing leather behind her like a victory banner.
Boone, who’s cracking up, finally catches one end of the belt. “Tug of war with a goat. This is a new low, even for me.”
“Just let her have it,” I say, exasperated. “I’ll buy you a new one.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, still laughing. “She’s earned it fair and square.”
Rita, sensing victory, gives one final tug and trots away with her prize, smugly satisfied with herself.
“That goat is a menace,” Wyatt says flatly.
“That goat is the least of your problems,” I shoot back. “Your family’s over there destroying mine, and you’re worried about livestock control?”
“Our family?” Jesse’s eyebrows shoot up. “Your dad’s the one waving around utensils like he’s ready to kill.”
He’s not wrong, but I’m not about to admit that. “Your grandfather started it.”
“Your dad escalated it,” Wyatt says.
“Your grandfather threw the first spoon!”
“It was a ladle, and it was self-defense!”
We’re standing there glaring at each other when Boone starts laughing again. “Y’all realize how ridiculous this sounds, right? We’re arguing about spoons.”
“Ladles,” Jesse and I correct in unison, then glare at each other harder.
“Even better,” Boone grins. “Nothing starts a family feud like kitchen utensils.”
I hate that he’s making sense. I hate that he’s cute when he laughs. I especially hate that all three of them are looking at me as if I’m some kind of exotic disease they’ve never seen before. Like they don’t know whether to be intrigued or repulsed.
“Look,” I say, crossing my arms, “I’m sorry about Ritaand the belt and the whole crashing-into-you thing. I better get her home before she destroys anything else.”
“Smart plan,” Wyatt says. “Might want to invest in a stronger rope while you’re at it.”
“Might want to invest in a personality while you’re at it,” I snap back.
