Page 58 of Salty Pickle

I turn around.

“I hope you believe me.”

“About what?”

“The baby. I know you need proof, but there was nobody else. Not for a long time before. Not after. It can only be you.”

“Okay, Lucy. I believe you.”

“Good.” Her eyes drift closed.

I run my hands through my hair as I walk my apartment, looking for critical things the goat could destroy and putting them away in closets.

When things are reasonably secure, I stand at the balcony to look at the goat. She seems to be asleep, standing stock still, her eyes closed. Water is sloshed out of the Dutch oven, and the carrots are gone.

I head back to the hall and do the same check at Lucy’s doorway. She’s curled around her belly, the yellow dress spread across the bed. Her feet are dirty again. That seems to be her status quo.

Time to arrange for the SUV’s return and my car to come back. Then clean up the garage and fetch her things.

She’s holding to her story about the baby. Maybe it’s true. It’s hard to believe I’ve gotten myself into a mess this huge.

Somehow, I’ve found myself in possession of three creatures who need me. A woman, a soon-to-be-baby, and a goat.

17

LUCY

Iwake Friday morning to voices.

Or maybe just one voice.

The clock reads eight a.m. I’ve slept through the afternoon and the night, and I’m not sure what bodily function is screaming the loudest—bladder, hunger, or thirst.

There’s a bathroom attached to this room, blue and white to match the decor. I don’t figure Court to be one to examine paint swatches, so I assume he used a decorator.

But then, I didn’t expect him to have romance novels either.

It’s a great relief to empty my bladder. As I wash up, I smooth down my wild hair. I need to check on Matilda before I do anything else, so I tiptoe down the hall toward the living room.

Court is in a full business suit, pacing around the sofa and coffee table. This room is masculine, with brown leather sofas and dark wood. The only color had been the shiny Bridgerton shelf, which had stuck out, but now is gone. He’s goat proofing his place.

I like him a little more than I did before.

He waves at me as he continues his conversation, something about sponsoring a festival in Colorado. That sounds fun. And we could visit. Would he go? I’ll have to ask.

I open one side of the French doors to the balcony, and Matilda trots up to me. I take a step out, then hop as I step on something small and hard. Goat pellets, the food kind. They’re spilling out of a cloth bag in the far corner.

Rookie mistake, leaving the bag in Matilda’s space. She can chew through most containers. “How much did you eat?”

Judging by the poop, more than she should have.

I try to pick up the bag to move it inside, but it’s way too heavy. Instant pains shoot up my belly.

There’s a broom in the corner that wasn’t there before, and the teeth marks on the handle tell me Matilda took an interest in that, too. Court is being so kind to take care of her, but he needs a serious primer on goat habits.

I use the broom to sweep up the poop, then realize he’s bought some sort of diaper system. I puzzle out what to do with it when he opens the door. “Just dump it in there and turn the top.” Then back on the phone. “Why don’t you send the proposal to my assistant Devin?”

I tilt the dustpan into the top of the strangely shaped bucket lined with plastic. Oh, the evil plastic. But I’ll do it this once since he asked. I turn the top in the direction of the arrows, and the plastic seals right up, leaving an open space for the next deposit.

---