Page 19 of Wrangled Love

“Pretty sure you didn’t have a goat yesterday,” I say to her. “Was he an impulse buy, and if so, is there a return policy?”

She chuckles. “I’m afraid not. My friend Birdie owns an animal sanctuary and found this little guy abandoned by the railroad tracks this afternoon.” She stands up, brushing off her pants. “She’s busy with a litter of kittens and a lamb that requires frequent feedings, so she asked me to foster him.”

I grunt, folding my arms across my chest. “Does this friend often ask you to take in strays?”

“Only when she’s got her hands full.”

“Do you ever tell her no?”

“Not usually.” Briar shrugs. “I guess that means I’m a pushover, right? After all, I did agree to let you stay too, didn’t I?” She leans over to nudge me playfully.

“To be fair, I don’t chew on shoes or headbutt furniture.”

Briar bites her lip, trying—and failing—to hide her laugh. “Was that a joke? I thought stoicism came with a no-humor policy.”

“Even brooding types have layers.” I look away, hiding the smirk tugging at my lips. “Like onions. Or emotionally repressed ogres.”

The only movie Caleb has shown the slightest interest in isShrek. It played on a loop for days, and all I got out of it was a head full of quotes and a kid who still wouldn’t say a word.

Briar narrows her eyes in mock suspicion. “Careful. That wasdangerously close to a dad joke. Next thing you know, you’ll be wearing white sneakers and khaki shorts.”

I roll my eyes, pretending to be offended. “Hey, white sneakers are timeless.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Just promise no cargo shorts, please.”

“Fine, but I can’t guarantee I won’t wear socks with sandals,” I tease.

The more I talk with Briar, the more I enjoy her company. She has a way of making even a mundane conversation interesting. Although part of it could be due to the fact that most of my adult conversations up until now have been centered around client meetings, stocks, and profit margins.

The goat has finished its bottle and is now resting its head on Caleb’s lap, nibbling on his shirt.

“Since our friend will be sticking around for a while, we should give him a name. What do you think, Caleb?” Briar asks.

He nods as he pets the goat’s head.

Briar flashes him a grin. “Great minds think alike.”

She’s unbothered by his silence and has found her own ways to connect with him. Watching them interact makes me feel more like an outsider than a dad. I’m doing my best to be patient, but it’s hard when Caleb doesn’t show me the same warmth and affection he’s shown Briar, or even Julie during their brief interactions today.

“What do you think of Reginald?” Briar suggests.

Caleb scrunches his nose, shaking his head.

“No stuffy names. Got it.” She taps her chin, her brow furrowed slightly. “How about something playful like Buster?”

He hesitates for a beat, mulling it over before shrugging.

Briar lets out a teasing sigh. “Not easily impressed, are you? How about Jensen? It’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Caleb glances at me, his lips lifting in amusement at her suggestion.

The goat, still settled in his lap, bumps his arm as soon as he stops petting it, clearly wanting more attention.

“The only catch is that it might faint whenever it hears its name. Or imagine calling for the goat, and your dad comes running instead,” Briar says.

Caleb giggles, his laughter bubbling up again at the absurdity.

I can’t be upset at Briar for teasing me when it comes with the bonus of hearing my son laugh twice in the span of a few minutes.

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