Page 10 of One Hundred Humbugs

Ruby led Marge through the house, wincing at every ‘hmm’ and ‘I see’ that escaped the realtor’s lips. By the time they’d made it through all the rooms—or at least, all the rooms they could access without the aid of a search and rescue team—Ruby was thoroughly demoralized.

Marge turned to her, her expression showing both sympathy and determination. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Before we can even think about listing this place, we’ve got some work to do. A lot of work.”

Ruby’s heart sank. “How much work are we talking about?”

“Well, for starters, we need to declutter. Significantly.” Marge’s gaze swept over the crowded room. “You might think about getting a dumpster.”

Ruby groaned. Her mother had suggested the same thing. “Great. Anything else?”

“The yard needs taming. It’s a jungle out there.” Marge rummaged in her purse and pulled out a business card. She scribbled a number on the back. “This guy, Becket Shepherd, he can take care of the yard. Might even do it for free.”

Ruby took the card, frowning. “For free? Why would anyone do that?”

Marge shrugged. “He’s got an ... unconventional approach. Give him a call. Trust me, you’ll need all the help you can get.”

As Marge headed back to her car, she turned to Ruby with a sympathetic smile. “Don’t look so overwhelmed. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and Peter Larkin’s house won’t be sold in one either. We’ll get there.”

Ruby watched Marge drive away, the business card feeling heavy in her hand. She looked at the number scrawled on the back. Becket Shepherd. She wondered what someone with a name like that might look like. Was he old and grizzled, or young and ruggedly handsome? And what kind of person did yard work for free?

As she headed back into the house, Ruby couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in way over her head. But what choice did she have? If she wanted to sell this place—and she did, she reminded herself—she had a lot of work ahead of her.

“Well, Uncle Peter,” she muttered, eyeing a precariously balanced stack of old magazines, “I hope you’re enjoying the show. Because this is going to be one hell of a cleanup job.”

With a sigh, Ruby picked up her phone again. Time to call about that dumpster. And maybe give this Becket Shepherd a try. After all, if he was willing to work for free, who was she to argue?

As she dialed, Ruby wondered what other surprises Aspen Cove had in store for her. Something told her that taming Uncle Peter’s jungle of a yard was just the beginning.

CHAPTER SIX

Something warm and decidedly goat-like was nudging Becket’s face. He groaned, trying to burrow deeper into his sleeping bag, but the insistent prodding continued. The crisp morning air nipped at his nose, reminding him that he was indeed sleeping outside in a field.

“Alright, alright, I’m up,” he mumbled, cracking open one eye to find himself nose-to-nose with Houdini, his craftiest billy goat. The goat’s breath smelled of fresh greenery and trouble. “Wait a minute...”

Becket bolted upright, his sleeping bag sliding off his chest. Houdini shouldn’t be here. Houdini should be in the makeshift pen with the rest of the herd, safely contained on the Wilson property.

“Aw, hell,” he muttered, scrambling to his feet. He’d spent the night sleeping under the stars, wanting to keep an eye on his goats in their new temporary home. Fat lot of good that did.

As he stood up, stretching out the kinks from a night on the hard ground, Becket’s jaw dropped. The ramshackle enclosure he’d cobbled together yesterday evening fromportable fencing and spare bits of rope was in shambles. Daisy, his pregnant nanny goat, lay in the center, the only one who hadn’t joined the great escape. She fixed Becket with a look that seemed to say, “Don’t blame me. I told them it was a bad idea.”

“Well, at least one of you has some sense,” Becket sighed, giving Daisy an appreciative pat. “Though I bet you would’ve gone too if you could have figured out a way to fit through the opening or jump the gate.”

Daisy just chewed lazily, her expression now saying, “Someone’s gotta be the responsible one.”

Panic rising, Becket spun around, searching for his escaped herd. It didn’t take long to spot them. They were scattered across the Wilson property, happily chewing on anything and everything.

The yard, which yesterday had been a wild tangle of overgrown weeds and bushes, now looked like it had been attacked by an overzealous landscaping crew armed with weed whackers and a vendetta against all things green.

“How in the world...?” Becket muttered, surveying the change. He’d thought the overgrown yard would keep his herd busy for days. Clearly, he’d underestimated their appetites. Or their ability to work as a team when properly motivated by the prospect of an all-you-can-eat buffet.

As he walked the perimeter, rounding up his now satisfied and plumper goats, Becket looked closer at the mangled remains of his makeshift fence. He could easily picture how it went down: Houdini, living up to his name, finding a weak spot and leading the great goat jailbreak.

“You sure earned your name this time, didn’t you?” Becket sighed, eyeing the goat in question, who was now attempting to eat what looked like an ancient lawn gnome.

The goats hadn’t caused a disaster yet, but if Becketdidn’t get them back in the trailer soon, they’d be munching on the neighbor’s rose bushes. He rubbed the back of his neck, scanning the yard for any escapees. With a deep breath, he stepped forward and put on his best “I’m in charge” voice.

“Alright, you four-legged freeloaders, party’s over. Back to the trailer.”

They just stared at him, chewing like he was the ridiculous one.

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