We exchange a look, and Finn presses his lips together.
Then he follows me outside.
“I sincerely hope you secretly keep tranquilizer darts hidden under that pretty dress,” he growls quietly, “because there is absolutely no way we’re controlling these insane animals.”
A strange warmth spreads through my chest at the realization that he thinks I look pretty.
No.
Notyou.
The dress.
Important distinction.
I force myself to focus on the catastrophe in front of us.
The gardens now resemble a battlefield after a particularly violent war.
Callum is covered head to toe in mud.
Lachlan is inspecting his bleeding hands while swearing under his breath.
Alistair looks spiritually defeated.
The twins have dirt up to their knees.
Hamish is currently in the orchard dragging an uprooted rosebush behind him like a war trophy.
Ragnar stands triumphantly in what remains of the vegetable garden with one hoof planted atop a crushed cabbage like a conqueror posing beside defeated enemies.
I take a deep breath.
“Ragnar,” I say in my calmest veterinary voice. “It’s Mary. You know me. Nobody’s going to hurt you. We just need you to calm down and stop destroying everything.”
Ragnar looks directly at me.
His eyes radiate pure contempt.
Then he growls and resumes destroying the vegetable garden.
Beside me, Finn tries a different approach.
He slowly walks toward Hamish with visible hands and a non-threatening posture.
“Hamish,” he says calmly. “Drop the rosebush.”
Hamish looks at him.
Then bleats happily like he just received the greatest compliment of his life.
And sprints directly toward the orchard.
Of course.
The orchard.
Why stop now when there are still things left to destroy?
