“And you!” The woman spins around and pokes me in the chest, leaving a bewildered, sauce-soaked Mr. Landon to wander off alone. “What the hell do you think you’re doing running around on a busy sidewalk like that? You could have really hurt someone.”
Holy shit.Who is this?She stares at me through thick glasses, the bright green frames smeared with the red sauce that I’m just now noticing is also dripping down the front of her shirt. She rests her fists on her wide hips and glares at me, her flushed face gorgeous despite her obvious anger. My mouth works silently, the words in my brain a jumble of mismatched questions and compliments, leaving me staring dumbly as her fury increases.
“Nothing to say for yourself? You ruined my sauce.”
This woman is not scared of me in the slightest. I have at least a foot on her, not to mention probably a hundred pounds, and she’s staring me down in the middle of the street better than anyman I’ve ever faced in the ring.She’s fierce, and I love it.Maybe my luck with women is finally changing.A grin creeps onto my face as a plan to ask this woman out forms in my mind, but before I can act on it, she throws her hands up and huffs out a breath.
“Never mind. I need to get my pots and figure out how to get this sauce off the street before it makes more of a mess.” She turns her back on me and faces the mess on the sidewalk. “Now, where did that other pot go?”
“Let me get that for you,” I mutter, finally finding my voice as I step into the street to grab the pot.
“Winston, don’t you dare touch that. Shoo!” I spin around to see what would be a strange sight in any other town, but in Tuft Swallow, it’s just another day. The woman has taken a defensive stance, arms spread wide in front of her, as she attempts to shoo a curious, fluffy, white-coated goat away from the red mess staining the sidewalk. “No! Bad Mr. Mayor. Gah…Your dad will kill me if you get sauce all in your pretty fleece. Never mind what deputy mayor Verona will do to both of us if you do anything to make yourself look less respectable. You know she’s desperate to find any reason to impeach you. Now shoo. Go. Get going. Get!”
Seeing an opportunity to help, I place the pot I retrieved with the other, creep up behind the goat, wrap my arms around both sets of legs, and hoist him into the air. “Now what? Should I take him home?” I ask the woman. Despite his size, the goat is surprisingly easy to carry. He seems completely unfazed by my presence as he rests placidly in my arms. I would expect a farm animal to protest at least a little at being lifted into the air by a stranger, but then again, what do I know? I grew up in gyms and training facilities far away from any farm. This could be totally normal behavior for a goat. I have seen this one wandering around town a fair bit. Maybe he’s more of a pet thana farm animal, after all. Remembering that she called him Mr. Mayor, I add, “Or would City Hall be better?”
“Uh, home?” The woman asks, before blowing out a relieved sounding breath. “Take him to his dad. Do you know where Impeckable Auto is? That’s where he spends most of his day. Get him out of here before he gets into the sauce or I’ll have hell to pay with his dad. It’s almost shearing time, and I doubt he’ll be happy to have Winston’s angora soaked in red sauce and smelling like garlic.”
“Yep. I’ll bring him there now.”
I’m halfway down the street with a two hundred pound goat in my arms before it dawns on me that I didn’t even ask the woman her name. No matter. I’ll be fixing that mistake as soon as I can get this goat back to his owner. Because whoever that woman was, she’s the only woman I’ve met in Tuft Swallow who I want to know more about. And damn, am I ever excited about that.
But... What was she was saying about this goat being the mayor?
I thought that was just a joke in the Nosey Pecker.Huh.Would you look at that? It’s not all unsubstantiated gossip, after all. Who knew?
Return Of The Tramp Stamp
Tina
What the hell wasthat?I think while staring up at the sky from a prone position on the cold sidewalk, muscles aching like I’ve been in a car crash. I was bringing my sauce back to the restaurant kitchen after the handyman got my gas range lit, and the next thing I know, I’m sprawled on the sidewalk. After being slammed into by a brick wall as I took the last step off the stairs from my apartment, I watched in horror as my hard work turned end over end in what looked like slow motion; the pots spilling their sauce in arcs of glistening red as they tumbled to the sidewalk with a crash.It looks weirdly similar to the setof a slasher flick,I thought as I watched the carnage unfold. Or maybe like a crime scene from one of my podcasts.
After confirming I have no broken bones or other horrible injuries, I force myself to my feet. “Shit,” I mutter to myself. “What the hell just happened?”
Mr. Landon is on the ground in front of me, his appearance making it plain he’s suffered the worst of the sauce spill. Where I have a few drops in my hair and on my clothes, Mr. Landon looks like he’s just emerged from a tub full of the tomatoey goodness.
“Oh, no. Mr. Landon. Are you alright?” He takes my offered hand and allows me to help him off the ground. I untie my apron and wipe at his suit, smearing the sauce and making the mess worse. “I’m not sure what happened. It’s a good thing it wasn’t hot yet, huh? It would have been so much worse if it had been hot.” I was thankful, if slightly irritated at having to turn around and come back down right away, when Thayer said he’d come and fix the range immediately, but now that I’d accosted a citizen with my cold sauce, I’m even happier. Poor Mr. Landon could have been seriously burned if the sauce had had any time to simmer.
“I bet that man knows something,” he says, pointing behind me.
Glancing over my shoulder to where Mr. Landon points, I spot the brick wall that ran into me. Except, instead of a wall, it’s a man. A giant blonde viking of a man in tiny running shorts. He stands there with his hands on hips, his shirtless chest distinctly, and unfairly (since he caused this mess), sauce free. It’s barely above freezing today, so what’s this guy doing out here nearly naked?
Not that I mind the view. He’s an impressive sight with his tree trunk thighs, enormous chest, and tattooed biceps. Theway he grins when he catches me staring sends a flush of heat to my belly, but I still can’t tear my eyes away.
“In light of this unfortunate incident, I hope we can rain check today?” Mr. Landon finally drags my attention away from the shirtless giant. “I really need to get home to wash all this off.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure. That’s a good idea.” I agree distractedly, stealing looks at the man in tiny shorts. “Have a nice day, Mr. Landon.”
“And you!” I spin around and poke the man in the chest, as the sauce covered Mr. Landon wanders off alone. “What the hell do you think you’re doing running around on a busy sidewalk like that? You could have really hurt someone.” I tap my foot with irritation. “Nothing to say for yourself? You ruined my sauce.”
Instead of offering any kind of explanation, the shirtless idiot just grins at me.
“Never mind. I need to get my pots and figure out how to get this sauce off the street before it makes more of a mess.” I turn away from the silent giant and survey the mess on the sidewalk. “Now, where did that other pot go?”
“Let me get that for you,” the man says, finally doing something useful by going to grab the pot I’ve just now noticed has made it all the way into the street. I’m gearing up to give him a piece of my mind, when a familiar bump to my butt warns of a visitor. A visitor who cannot be here right now.
I whirl around and point a finger at the offending butt bumper, who is inching closer to the worst of the saucy mess on the sidewalk. “Winston, don’t you touch that. Shoo!” The Angora goat ignores me completely, taking another step toward the red mess, the look in his eye telling me he intends to partake in whatever delicacy this is. “No! Bad Mr. Mayor. Gah…Your dad will kill me if you get sauce all in your pretty fleece. Never mind what deputy mayor Verona will do to both of us if youdo anything to make yourself look less respectable. You know she’s desperate to find any reason to impeach you. Now shoo. Go. Get going. Get!” I’m looking around for something to lure him away from the mess when the shirtless guy steps between me and Winston.
Without preamble, he squats, wraps his arms around Winston’s legs, and picks him up off the ground. My mouth drops open. That goat weighs at least two hundred pounds, and this man lifted him like he weighs no more than a bag of groceries.Who is this guy?
