Page 83 of His Tenth Dance

He’d stopped insisting she come for Sabbath day meals, or to their rodeo parties and send-offs. She attended staff meetings every Thursday morning, and she did her job as requested.

As she neared the new goat enclosure that Tarr had just finished building for Bobbie Jo, she heard the pathetic bleating of several kids. Her ears perked up at the same time her pulse did.

“That’s not right,” she said, swinging Sagebrush in the direction of the enclosure.

The older goats had an enormous pasture that they also grazed in, and when Briar looked over to the fence, she found dozens of them pressed up against the barrier keeping them away from the babies that Bobbie Jo had separated.

They shifted and bleated too. Something was definitely wrong.

Briar slid from her horse as easily as taking another step and quickly lashed the reins over the top of the fence post, all while still moving toward the enclosure.

Another round of panicked bleating filled the air, and Briar’s eyes searched right, left, right, left, looking for the source of commotion and turmoil.

She opened the gate and entered the enclosure, careful to close the latch behind her. Just because they were only a half-hour from Denver didn’t mean there weren’t wild animals out here. There were. Thus, the reason for the enclosure to keep the kids safe from predators who’d like to eat them for lunch.

The kids came running down the side of the Goatel that Tarr had built—all of them in a herd, their high-pitched voices screaming into the sky.

They crowded into the corner only a few feet from Briar, and she came to a complete standstill when she saw the coyote crouched low to the ground, in hunting mode.

When she’d worked in the wilds of Calgary, she’d had to carry a whistle with her, not only to scare off predators but to alert others of problems. Briar had no whistle now, but she quickly put her fingers in her mouth and fired off the shrillest sound she could manage.

The coyote froze, but only its eyes moved to her. Its tall ears stayed forward, and it remained hunched low to the ground.

She held up both hands, trying to make herself seem bigger, and she yelped as loudly as she could, the way she’d been taught by some First Nations people in Canada.

“How’d you get in here?” she asked the coyote, as if it might answer. She took a step back, wondering if, when she opened the gate, it would simply run past her. The animal didn’t seem to have any blood around its mouth, but he’d frozen and wasn’t giving her any ground.

Briar whistled again, and this time, the coyote backed up one low step.

“I need help here!” she yelled as loud as she could, hoping someone would be leaving the stable or the barn and would come her way. She didn’t know what time it was or what Tuck had scheduled at the facility that day. She only knew it was her day off, and that she needed to work with Sagebrush to keep the horse healthy and exercised.

She’d done that. This afternoon, she’d planned to go to the grocery store, then pick up the bridesmaid’s dress she’d ordered and had to have altered.

The coyote growled—and then it laughed at her. Chilling, high-pitched yips that made Briar clap her hands over her ears.

The goats in the other pasture bleated and cried. The babies did too.

Briar needed to get out of the enclosure. She needed to take the babies with her. Or should she stay? Get them into the Goatel and then try to deal with the coyote?

Why are you trying to deal with a coyote at all?she asked herself. Wasn’therlife more important than a goat?

Indecision ran through her, along with her warring thoughts, until she felt confused and clouded. She backed up slowly, reached the gate, and opened it.

She stood behind it to protect herself from the coyote when she heard another growl—this time, on her right.

She watched in horror as a second wild animal pushed itself under the fence on the south side, where they had clearly dug a hole. Panic streamed through her. She whistled again. And again. “Help!” she yelled.

Then she remembered her phone. She gripped the gate with her left hand, her fingers tight around the wire, and reached into her back pocket with the other.

The horrible calls of the coyotes—yipping, laughing, chattering—filled the air as Briar typed in her passcode and saw that someone had texted her.

Tarr.

She didn’t bother to read the message. She tapped his name, then tapped the phone icon, looking up to find where the coyotes were.

One of them now stood five feet from her—clearly unafraid.

Briar yelled, “Help!” and kicked the gate, trying to scare the coyote and get it to back up. It did, but it didn’t go far.

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