Page 14 of The Worst Possible Plan

Captain Competent surveyed the scene—the stopped traffic, the donkey, the goat, the alpaca currently attached to me like an emotionally dependent shadow. The smaller alpaca had barely moved since it stepped off the trailer. Then his gaze landed on my face.

And there it was again.

That look. Like a calm, assessing expression that somehow made me feel like he’d already figured out every bad decision I’d made in the last twenty-four hours.

Which was concerning because there had been several.

For a long moment, he said nothing. “It’s been four hours,” he said, watching me again.

I considered lying. Not because it would help. Mostly because I was panicking. Also because something about the way he looked at me made me want to sound far more competent than I actually was. Unfortunately, there was a very large difference between sounding competent and standing beside a traffic jam caused by a donkey.

Instead, I said, “In my defense, they weren’t here when I started.” The second the words left my mouth, I realized how ridiculous they sounded. Like I was explaining to law enforcement that I hadn’t started the fire. I had merely been standing beside it. Or maybe adding tiny decorative sticks to it while insisting everything was under control. Neither option felt particularly strong.

His eyes moved from the goat, who was now chewing what may or may not be permit paperwork, to the donkey and then the alpaca who chose that exact moment to rest its head on my shoulder. The alpaca looked weirdly content about the arrangement too, as though we’d known each other for years and regularly spent afternoons together discussing our feelings.

If I was a witch, I would have magicked myself invisible right now. Or opened a portal and stepped into another dimension. Preferably one without livestock.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t a witch. I was just a woman who had lied about event-planning experience and somehow ended up emotionally hostage to an alpaca.

Captain Competent exhaled slowly. “I didn’t think I’d be back so soon, Hartwell.”

Something prickled at the back of my neck at the way he said my name. I pointed at the animals. “Technically, this isn’t my fault.” Even to my own ears, it sounded weak. Not completely weak. Just the sort of argument someone makes when they’re already losing and know it.

The sheriff raised an eyebrow. “That’s your defense?”

Was he trying to annoy me?

I shrugged. “It’s all I have.” Which was, unfortunately, true. I could have attempted a longer explanation, but I suspected it would somehow end with me sounding even guiltier. Experience suggested that the more words I used, the worse things got. It was kind of my thing.

The sheriff rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Tell me you have a plan.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My brain offered several possibilities. Lie. Run. Point at the alpaca and pretend to be busy. None felt particularly professional. Just a tad crazy.

The sheriff’s gaze held mine for a second longer. “That’s what I thought.” Then he glanced toward the donkey still standing in the middle of the road. “Let’s go, Hartwell.”

I stared at the sheriff moving away from me, at his very, very fine ass. “Where are we going?”

“To catch your livestock.”

Okay then.

4

ERIC

After helping Hartwell wrestle a goat, two alpacas, and a miniature donkey into a temporary enclosure behind the festival grounds, I did what I always did when something threatened to derail my focus.

I went home.

Or at least I tried.

The problem was that Hartwell kept coming with me.

In my head.

At least if she was physically sitting in the truck beside me, I’d know where she was and what kind of trouble she was creating. The version in my head was far less predictable.

The woman had somehow managed to turn a petting zoo delivery into a public safety concern. She had no idea what she was doing, not even a little. I’d seen first-time volunteers with more preparation. Hell, I’d seen middle-school fundraisers run with more organization.