“How was your meeting?” Libby asked, belatedly realizing it would be the wifely thing to say.
The tense line of his mouth relaxed into a curve of satisfaction. “I was able to preview the Scylla and Charybdis. The prototype of my personal drying station,” he explained as Uncle Richard joined them. “But that’s not what I wanted to speak to you about.”
“Ah.” Libby scanned the yard, in case there was an escape hatch hidden under the bushes.
“How’s your back?” Hildy asked suddenly, clutching her uncle’s arm. “It must be acting up. From the trip and all.”
“Not really. I had a private cabin on the plane—”
“You don’t have to be brave in front of me, Uncle Richard.” She looked up at him through trembling lashes. “I know that old fencing injury is a torment.”
“I don’t like to complain,” he started to say, yelping as the goat tried to ram him in the thigh. Jefferson grabbed the trailing rope, pulling it away from Hildy’s uncle.
“I know.” Hildy patted Uncle Richard’s sleeve before turning to Mr. L. “I don’t suppose you have anything that might help with a stiff lower back?”
Libby’s pretend-husband puffed up so fast, she was surprised he didn’t float off the ground. “The Kitzlochlamm.” The consonants were so guttural Libby was afraid she’d have to Heimlich him. “Named for the mystical ravine with crystalline geysers hidden behind ancient rock.”
“That sounds intriguing.” Uncle Richard put a hand to his back. “Perhaps a soak wouldn’t go amiss.”
“This is the pinnacle of home spa technology,” Mr. L promised, leading him away. “I fear it will make your own plumbing appear inadequate.”
“I hope your uncle knows he means literal plumbing,” Libby said as the door closed behind them. “He wasn’t trying to emasculate him.”
“Eh. His ego can survive a few dings.” Hildy bent to addressthe goat. “And now we can have fun with these precious babies. This must be Ginger?”
The brown goat twisted out of reach before doubling back to lunge for a mouthful of Hildy’s skirt.
Libbyhmmedin agreement. It sounded as likely as anything else. “I’ll take—it from here,” she told Jefferson, covering her stumble by confidently holding out a hand for the rope. Was “Ginger” a boy or a girl? She couldn’t think of a way to discreetly check without getting kicked in the face.
Behind the house, the other goat was still tied to the patio furniture, next to an overturned chair.
Hildy frowned. “I thought Poki was white.”
Everyone turned to look at the black-and-white-spotted animal dragging the table across the flagstones.
“It was a privacy issue,” Libby explained.
“For the goats?” Jefferson asked, in the tone of someone pretty sure he’d misunderstood.
“I felt it was important to maintain healthy boundaries. In terms of social media. We don’t like to expose them to the public too much. Technically they’re still minors.”
Hildy nodded. “Goat years must be like dog years.”
“You could say that. They’re definitely in their teenage phase right now.” Libby raised her voice to make herself heard over the bleating. “Acting out. Typical adolescent behavior.”
The goat seemed to take offense at this description, forcing Libby to dodge a flying hoof.
Hildy squinted at the goat’s hindquarters. “I could have sworn Poki was the boy.”
Libby started to nod, before noticing the dangling udders.
“Did they give you the wrong ones?” Hildy asked. “That happened to my step-aunt, with her Pomeranian. It was a lot harder to tell with all the fur.”
“Animals are funny that way.” Libby tried to casually pet theblack-and-white one, but it nipped at her hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. They’re very sensitive.”
“Have you tried antidepressants?”
Jefferson frowned at Hildy. “For the goats?”
