The other two goats pressed against the fence, watching our approach with interest. I ushered Snickers through the already opened gate, then grabbed a thick wooden post from beside the shed and wedged it against the latch at an angle.
“There. Let's see you figure that out.”
Behind me, Rosie was making soft clucking sounds, herding the last chicken into the coop and fixing the latch.
“Crisis averted,” she announced, walking back toward me.
“For now.” I nodded toward Snickers, who was already testing the wooden post with her nose. “She's determined, I'll give her that.”
We stood there in comfortable silence, watching the goats settle down for the night. The moon had come out from behind the clouds, casting everything in silver light.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For staying. For helping with the soap, and this, and...” She gestured vaguely. “Everything.”
The words sat in my chest, warm and unfamiliar. I wanted to tell her I'd do it again. That I'd drop everything if she needed me. That somehow, in the span of a few days, she'd become the easiest person in my life to say yes to.
“Anytime,” I said, and meant it more than was probably wise.
She smiled, soft and genuine.
“Actually, give me your phone.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Your phone.” I held out my hand. “So you can call me directly instead of going through the clinic.”
“You mean instead of Sharon deciding whether my call is important enough to bother you with?”
“Something like that.” I huffed a laugh and took her phone, navigating to her contacts. I typed in my personal number, then paused at the name field. Something made me type just “Cal” instead of the formal “Dr. Sterling” or “Callum” that most people used.
I handed it back to her. “There. For emergencies.”
She looked down at the screen, her smile widening. “Emergencies?”
“If something happens—animal trouble, equipment breaks down—” I met her eyes. “I'll do my best to be there.”
“That's a dangerous offer.” Her voice was soft, almost teasing. “I need help pretty much constantly.”
“Good thing I don't sleep much anyway.”
She laughed, the sound warm in the cool night air. “You should, though. Sleep, I mean.”
“I'll work on it.”
We stood there for another moment, neither of us moving. The distance between us felt charged somehow, like the air before a storm.
“I should—” She gestured toward the house. “Let you get home. You've got to be exhausted.”
I was. But standing here with her, watching moonlight catch in her hair, I felt more awake than I had in months.
“Yeah.” I took a step back, then another. “Get some rest, Rosie.”
“You too, Cal.”
I walked to my truck, Pudding trotting beside me. When I opened the door, I glanced back. She was still standing there, phone clutched in her hand, watching me leave.
I lifted my hand in a small wave.
She waved back, that bright smile lighting up her whole face.
