Page 106 of The Worst Possible Plan

The little donkey, his ears flicking back and forth while he wandered toward the fresh hay with complete confidence, as though he’d already decided this place suited him just fine.

All four of them. Together. Exactly the way they’d been at the festival. Nobody separated. Nobody missing.

And alive. More importantly, looking wonderfully, gloriously unconcerned. And safe.

My chest tightened for an entirely different reason.

Bandit looked up. His little ears shot straight into the air the second he spotted me. Recognition exploded across his tiny goat face. And then he let out one enthusiastic little bleat before sprinting straight toward the fence. His entire backside bounced with every step.

And then it hit me.

Captain Competent had taken the animals.

26

ERIC

Ibalanced another fence board against the post before driving one last nail into place. The wood settled flush against the support with a satisfying thud before the nail sank home.

Satisfied, I stepped back and wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my arm. My shoulders ached from hauling lumber most of the afternoon, but it was the good kind of tired. The kind where you could actually see what your work accomplished.

A flash of movement caught my attention. I looked up just as the goat ran across the pen, bouncing up and down as he went.

I frowned. That is a strange one. I didn’t feel like chasing him down if he hopped the fence. I turned around to see where he was going⁠—

And froze.

Hartwell stood twenty feet away, one hand still hanging uselessly at her side, the other clutching her car keys so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Her chest rose and fell a little too quickly, like she’d run the last hundred yards. Her blue eyes slowly moved across the pasture, to the animals, the new shelter, the feeding bins, everything all at once.

I’d been so focused on my work, I hadn’t even heard her pull up my driveway.

And Hartwell now appeared completely speechless.

I wasn’t entirely sure that had ever happened before. I’d seen her talk through panic, embarrassment, excitement, and even exhaustion. Genuine surprise was the one thing capable of shutting her up.

The goat kept bounding toward the fence, his tail wagging furiously before he stuck his nose through the rails as far as physically possible.

Sophie just stood there, like her brain simply couldn’t catch up with what she was seeing. I watched as confusion spread across her face, and something inside my chest loosened.

I set down the hammer, and it landed in the grass beside the toolbox. “I figured…” I began carefully, “this was probably easier than letting them disappear.”

She didn’t answer. Just walked toward the fence, slowly, like she was afraid the whole thing might vanish if she moved too fast.

The goat stretched farther through the rails until she finally reached him.

The second her fingers disappeared into the white fur behind his ears, he practically melted against the fence. His eyes drifted shut in complete contentment.

A shaky breath escaped her.

I waited.

She still didn’t say anything.

I’d interviewed enough people over the years to recognize shock, a complete emotional overload. Sometimes people yelled. Sometimes they cried. And sometimes they simply ran out of words.

I cleared my throat. “I owe you an apology.”

Her hand stopped for half a second and then continued scratching behind the goat’s ears.