“They had to do that for Mitzi. The Pomeranian. Her therapist recommended it, to help with the separation anxiety.”
“Your aunt’s therapist?” Jefferson asked.
“Mitzi’s. My aunt has a different one.”
“They do prefer peace and quiet,” Libby said, as the brown goat rammed the leg of the table, shrieking in outrage when it didn’t budge. “Why don’t you two go inside and get some sleep? I’ll get them settled for the night. I’m sure they’ll be calmer in the morning.” She crossed her fingers behind her back.
Hildy looked from Libby to Jefferson. “You stay, JJ. Maybe you can get some action… shots. If you remember how to use yourzoom lens?”
“Good night, Hildegarde,” he said through a sigh.
The swish of the door closing was the last sound for several long, sticky moments—if you ignored the bleating. At least the presence of barnyard animals kept the scene from feeling too romantic, despite the moonlight and softly waving palms, with the gentle lullaby of the surf in the distance.
Libby’s brain provided a helpful series of what-ifs. What if she and Jefferson were alone out here because they’d met under normal circumstances, and gotten to know each other, and started dating, and she’d brought him to Tutu’s house as her boyfriend, and now they were going for an evening stroll? Preferably holding hands. Or maybe his arm around her shoulders? Definitely no goats.
Except her real self would never have met Jefferson, so in a twisted sense she owed “Lillibet” for bringing him here, even though pretending to be someone else was the thing keepingthem apart. If that qualified as irony, Libby decided she wasn’t a fan.
“Where do they sleep?” Jefferson started to untangle the black-and-white goat from the outdoor table. His mind was clearly on practical matters, not torturing himself with romantic hypotheticals.
“Don’t worry about it.” She turned in a circle to keep from getting tangled in the other lead. “You’re a guest.”
“Seems like you could use the extra pair of hands.” He came to stand beside her, pivoting when the goats started to crisscross. “These two hooligans look like trouble.”
“I don’t know what’s gotten into them.” Libby cringed at the sound coming out of her mouth. She should have rehearsed her fake laugh. “We can tie them up over here.”
“They spend the night in the open?” Jefferson asked, following her across the lawn.
“Yes. We—let them be free-range.” At least until Keoki got back and told her otherwise. “So they don’t get claustrophobic.” A terrible thought struck her. “Do you—know much about goats? From your work?”
It was Jefferson’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Mountain goats are an invasive species in the Tetons. People, uh, hunt them.”
“Oh. The poor things.” Libby hopped sideways to avoid a head butt to her calf. “I mean, balance is obviously important. Ecologically. And internally.”
Jefferson paused in case she wanted to throw in a few more inanities about her digestive tract. “Your goats are lucky.”
“We try not to stifle their individuality.”
“They seem very un-stifled.” He dodged a pair of dancing hooves while tying his goat to the trunk of a palm tree, then held out his hand for Libby’s rope. “What else?”
“Hmmm?”
“Is there a nighttime routine?”
“Oh.That.Usually I start with their affirmations.You’re so pretty, you have the softest fur,et cetera. And then a bedtime story—nothing too scary—and finally a song.”
He blinked at her. Libby tried very hard to hold on to her poker face.
“But that’s only if they’ve been good. There’ll be none of that tonight,” she told the goats with mock-sternness. Libby looked back at Jefferson with a smile that turned into a startledoofwhen one of the goats rammed her in the thigh.
The sneak attack sent her toppling into Jefferson. He caught her by the arms, steadying her before she could take them both down. She was pretty sure he could feel her heart thundering, especially since her chest was pressed against him. If this were a middle school dance, they’d be declaring their coupledom for all the world to see.
“Bad goat.” He spoke over Libby’s shoulder, still holding on. The brown one made a noise that almost sounded apologetic.
“I think they like your voice.” Libby touched her fingertips to her breastbone, knuckles grazing his shirt. “You feel it right there. The rumbliness.”
Jefferson’s throat moved as he swallowed. Libby’s gaze traveled upward from his throat, past the strong jaw, lingering on his mouth.
“Libby!” screeched a voice that was neither low nor soothing.
