Page 16 of The Goat Next Door

“Right, because you just happen to patrol my driveway out of the goodness of your heart,” she huffs, struggling with the cord. “And for the record, you are the hot neighbor. It’s a literal fact. There’s no one else within a two-mile radius except the old guy with the snake stick. You win by default. You’re welcome.”

“I don’t want the title,” I say, stepping into her space and swatting her hands away from the cord before she ties herself into a permanent knot. “I want you to stop destroying a historic property. What the hell were you even doing with a ceiling fan?”

“I was trying to optimize the air circulation before the goats came inside!” she shoots back. “The internet said a cross-breeze is crucial for livestock integration. I just gave the chain a little pull. A gentle, perfectly reasonable tug.”

“You pulled the entire junction box straight out of the ceiling, Ember.” I shake my head. “You’re playing around with live, uninsulated electricity, rotten joists, and heavy tools you don’t understand. This isn’t a game.”

“I know it’s not a game!” she snaps, her voice cracking just a tiny bit as she glares up at me from the floor. “I’m trying, okay? I walked a mile and a half from the general store carrying eighty pounds of supplies because I didn’t want to look like an idiot driving that giant truck into town, and then the town people treated me like a radioactive alien, and then the caulk exploded on my overalls, and now the ceiling is raining appliances. I’m handling it the best I can!”

I look down at her, the biting lecture I had prepared dying right in my throat.

Her face is flushed underneath the white dust, and the manic, aggressive optimism she’s been faking all day is finally showing its cracks. She’s exhausted, she’s covered in chemical sealant, and she’s miles out of her depth.

I drag a hand over my face, feeling the grit of the dust on my skin.

I’m going to regret this.

I’m going to regret it so hard it’s going to hurt.

But the way she’s looking at me—the manic, ‘I’ve got this’ act finally dropping to show how truly terrified she is—it hits me right in the chest.

“Look,” I mutter, my voice sounding more tired than angry. “Stop touching things. Stop playing with tools you don’t understand. If you sit still and stay out of trouble, I’ll come by after my shift tomorrow and handle the structural stuff. Deal?”

A slow little smile tugs at her mouth. She’s got no business smiling like that when she looks like a powdered donut, but she does.

“Is that a binding contract, Chief? Do we need to seal it with a kiss, or is a handshake more your speed?”

“Don’t make me regret this,” I bite out, turning on my heel.

I don’t wait for her to answer. I need to get out of there before I do something stupid, like laugh.

“I have to go check on something in my truck. Just stay right there. Don’t move.”

I march back out to the yard, the afternoon sun burning the back of my neck.

Sophie is sitting perfectly still in the front seat, her nose pressed against the window. She looks up at me with wide, intense green eyes as I open the door.

“Is the pink lady okay, Daddy? It sounded like a monster was in there.”

“The lady is fine, Soph,” I say, keeping my voice soft. I reach into the glove box, pull out her coloring book and a fresh pack of crayons, and hand them to her.

“She just had a little accident with a ceiling fan.”

Sophie gasps. “Did the ceiling attack her?”

“Something like that,” I smile. “I need to make sure the wires aren’t going to start a fire, okay? I need you to be my brave girl and hang out in here for a few more minutes.”

“Can I have a juice box?”

“You bet.” I reach into the small cooler behind the seat, hand her an apple juice, and kiss the top of her head. “Keep the doors locked. I’ll be right back.”

When I walk back into the house, Emmy has managed to stand up, brushing the white drywall dust off her knees, though she only succeeds in smearing it around the denim of her overalls.

“I’m leaving,” I say, standing in the doorway. “Eat some dinner and go to sleep. Don’t touch the electricity. I mean it.”

“Understood,” she says, giving me a mock salute. “See you tomorrow, hot neighbor.”

“Brooks,” I say, pointing a finger at her. “My name is Brooks.”