“He’s not my boyfriend,” I mumbled.
Hewasn’t.
I just… maybe wanted him to be.
It was stupid.
“Right, your fiancé,” Dante teased.
Mark pulled up, stepped out of his car, and fell in beside me and Dante, watching the show as Seth—possibly the most mud-covered of them all—and Harvey heaved the struggling goat into the pickup.
“Oh dear god,” he said.
“Should we help?” I asked.
“And miss the free show?” Dante raised an eyebrow. “Besides, there’s only one goat left. How bad could it be?”
The words had barely left Dante’s mouth when the goat in question took off, kicking up a spray of fresh mud as it headed for the barn, Theo close on its heels, bounding along like this was the happiest day of his life, already covered in mud.
That doglovedbeing covered in mud.
“I’m gonna help,” I said, shrugging my coat off—Harvey was in rolled up shirt sleeves, and so were Wes and Seth. Andre had stripped all the way down to a t-shirt I guessed had been white this morning, and his pants were soaked up to his knees.
Other cars started pulling up as I jumped the fence, not wanting to lose precious seconds opening the gate. The wedding was meant to start in less than half an hour.
I had to catch this goat.
“Iggy?” Harvey yelled, glancing away from the goat for a moment.
“I got him,” I called back, positioning myself between goat and barn. The goat and Harvey were both closing in fast, but I was ready for them.
“Go left,” Harvey said. “I’ll go right. On my signal.”
I nodded, watching the goat intently as it came toward me. There was no way I could cover the whole barn door, but between the two of us…
“Now,” Harvey called out.
I surged forward, tunnel-visioned, toward the goat.
Harvey did the same.
The next thing I knew, I was tripping over him as he fell backward, grabbing me with both hands and pulling me into the mud he’d just run through.
I landed heavily on his chest, the squelch of the mud under us making me wince, the force of the fall making it hard to breathe. Harvey groaned under me, coughing and gasping for breath, both hands still fisted in the chocolate brown sweater he’d picked out for me to wear today.
Perfect. That had goneexactlyto plan.
“You never could tell left from right,” I said wryly.
Harvey groaned again, letting his head fall into the mud, defeated.
“I’m gonna turn that goat into a wallet,” he said.
“You can’t,” I said. “He’s got a collar. Someone loves him.”
I watched Wes carry the goat out of the barn past us with a deep burgundy rose in its mouth.
Harvey burst into laughter, head still in the mud, curls damp and plastered to his cheeks and forehead. He was exhausted, flushed, still struggling to catch his breath, but glowing.
