Page 41 of Cowboys Can't Kiss

And in a twist of self-discovery tonight… I was never alone. Sitting here with my pizza and texting Jackson made me realize how much time I now spend by myself, and I don’t like it.

Then I quit escorting when I fell for Chase’s lies because I needed the distance from the one thing that made me happiest. He tainted it. I hated cowboys and rodeo because it was an easy target. Where should I place the hate of having the best thing in my life taken from me if not on the very platform Chase based his lies on?

It certainly made sense to me then.

Walking my pizza to the fridge, I slide it inside and see the bag of baby carrots still sitting that Jackson brought me. Fresh wetness pricks behind my eyes. Over a stupid bag of carrots!

“I’m such a fucking mess.”

But how do I fix this?

The remaining wine in the bottle seems like the best answer. After drinking a half bottle of wine and feeling somewhat mellow, I collapse into bed.

Holding that fucking bag of carrots.

“So, you want me to help with a goat wedding?”

There’s a first for everything, I suppose.

“Yes! See, Gerber was a rescue, and we already had Daisy.”

“It’s a perfect match!” the woman cries with a clap, and I do my best to smile.

The couple laughs together, and I mean, goats are cute, but a wedding?

“I’ll be honest. I have zero knowledge about goats, and I’d be going into this blind.”

“That’s okay. Delilah from the nail salon said you were amazing at arranging the bachelor party for her nephew. That’s the one who wanted strippers, and you had them all dressed as rodeo men like that Down Under show.” She fans herself and my eyes dart to the man, who still grins like a fool. “Then they all left lipstick marks on his cheek and took pictures for the fiancée. She loved it.”

Delilah’s nephew was openly bisexual and married a straight woman who was the loveliest person I’d ever met. She knew he had a thing for cowboys, and it was her idea for him to have this huge erotic party, and I have to admit I was jealous of that one. I saw the strippers, and they needed firemen nearby. They were that hot.

A goat wedding is not the type of referral I’d expect to get from a bachelor party, but goat matrimony money is still money.

“Tell me what your vision is, then.”

The couple launches into their idea of a barnyard ceremony in the pumpkin patch this fall. The goats love pumpkins, so they want to let them loose to eat or smash them after they say I do… or whatever a goat would say.

I scribble notes as they speak and, as odd as it is, ideas come to mind, and I write them down as they do.

“And we need you to find us goat tuxedos. We had pyjamas lined up, but they look terrible.”

“Ah, okay, and do you have measurements?”

The woman opens her purse and slides a worn recipe card over.

“Gerber needs the tux and Daisy needs a dress that will stay on.”

“Or a pantsuit,” the husband supplies. “We don’t need gender conformities unless we have to.”

“Of course not. I just want to be upfront that my fees are the same as if this was a human event before we go any further.”

“Of course it is. They’re our babies and just like humans, so we treat them like that.”

“Okay. I’ll email you a contract and spend some time putting a cost list together. We can review and go from there.”

“Thank you so much, Riley! I’m looking forward to it.”

After the couple leaves, I fill in my standard contract with the details I already know. Then I look into seamstresses who can sew animal clothing and what do you know? I have one on my contact list, which was better than I expected.

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