Page 132 of Forever To Me

I slap the sign onto the bulletin board at the bar and step back to admire my work.

GOATS FOR SALE–CHEAP.

Healthy. Mostly friendly. Some have anger issues.

Buy one, get a second one free (you won’t regret it, but I will).

See Walker before he loses his mind.

I rub my eyes and yawn so hard my jaw cracks. It’s been three days since Dot decided to drop a surprise litter, and between dealing with newborn goats, my actual ranch work, and Mack trying to sneak one into the house because “it looked cold,” I haven’t slept more than a handful of hours.

Cash whistles behind me. “Heard you’re a goat farmer now.”

I turn to face him, squinting. “Heard you’re a bar manager now.”

He smirks. “Yeah, but I picked that career on purpose. Can't say the same for you from what I've heard.”

I groan and drop onto the nearest barstool, yawning again. “Look, man, I just need a few suckers—uh, fine upstanding citizens—to take some of these goats off my hands before Mack gets even more attached and then they’re part of the family.”

Cash leans against the bar, arms crossed, grinning like an idiot. “How many we talkin’?”

“Twenty-four. Actually, twenty-six now.”

His grin disappears. “Jesus, Walker. You running a damn petting zoo?”

“Not by choice,” I mutter. “One minute, I had a few goats. Next thing I know, they’re multiplying.”

Cash chuckles and shakes his head. “You puttin’ ‘em on a payment plan? Or is this a take-a-goat, don’t-look-back kinda deal?”

“Cash, I will straight-up put a goat in your truck right now for free.”

“Tempting, but no.” He holds up his hands and laughs.

I wave a tired hand at the bar regulars. “Fine. Someone here wants a goat. I know it.”

I turn toward the first man I see Bobby Ray, who’s halfway through his second beer. “Hey, Bobby. You ever wanted a goat?”

Bobby Ray scratches his beard. “Hmm. Do they eat weeds?”

“Absolutely,” I lie. I think they do, but I'm not entirely sure. I mean, they ate all my flowers. But no way am I telling him that.

He nods, considering. “Do they eat cans?”

I blink. “What?”

“Like in cartoons. Have you ever seen that? A goat just gnawin’ on a tin can?”

I sigh. “Bobby, if you take two goats, I will personally test-feed them a damn soup can and report back.”

He nods slowly. “Alright. Put me down for two.”

Two down. Twenty-four to go. I'm back at square one.

I turn to Jolene, who’s shaking her head before I even say anything. “No,” she says firmly.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask.”

She narrows her eyes. “You were gonna ask if I want a goat.”

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