Page 67 of Suddenly Desired
“Something is really wrong,” her mum answered. “Something must have spooked them. They’re in the vegetables. If I don’t get them back in the barn then everything will be eaten.”
Ellie blinked incredulously, and turned to share a look with Blake.
“The goats have escaped,” she said.
Blake’s lips twitched, his amusement clear, though he was trying hard to hide it.
“Well, we’d better go get them,” he replied, deadpan. “Where are they?”
“Through here.”
Isla led them into the barn and out of a door on the other side. The farm’s impressive vegetable beds lay ahead, bigger than Ellie remembered because her mum had dug up another couple of potato patches since last time she’d been home. It was an ocean of leafy greens, sweet peas and potatoes, cabbages and lettuces, courgettes and pumpkins, strawberries and gooseberries, and just about everything else you could imagine. Currently five goats were tearing their way through the garden like children in a sweet shop, bleating with delight.
“Hurry!” cried her mum.
“I’m coming!” Ellie said, running through the gate. Blake was right next to her, slipping in the freshly watered earth.
“Is there a trick to this?” he asked, hesitating as he approached the group of wayward goats.
“Just grab them by the horns,” Ellie called back to him. “And try not to get butted. They are stronger than they look.”
Blake nodded slowly. “Noted,” he said, the word dripping with scepticism. He scanned the unruly group, eyes narrowing at a large, stubborn-looking white goat chomping on a patch of lettuce with alarming determination.
“I’ll go for the white one,” he announced.
“Bob,” Ellie said, barely hiding her amusement.
“Bob?” Blake turned to her with a questioning look.
“Bob,” she repeated.
“Hmm.”
“He reminded mum of her uncle,” she said. “He’s pretty angry. You sure you want Bob?”
Blake studied the goat, tilting his head as if assessing his opponent. Bob lifted his head and stared back, chewing slowly, his horns gleaming in the sunlight.
“How bad can he be?” Blake asked, his tone more confident than his expression.
Ellie burst out laughing, shaking her head. “Bad,” she said. “Really bad. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Blake set off, careful not to step on any of the plants. Ellie ran the other way, clucking gently as she approached the little grey goat known as Dolly. She was fairly docile and let Ellie steer her away, happily chewing on some rhubarb stalks. Ellie led her into the barn where her mum was waiting, and together they wrangled the goat into her pen. She bleated mournfully and Ellie laughed. “Sorry, Dolly.”
She ran back outside. Blake looked almost like he was wrestling with Bob, one hand on one of the goat’s horns, the other on his neck. But Bob wasn’t having any of it, and with a sudden lurch he broke free. Blake yelped, slipping in the dirt and falling on his face.
Ellie couldn’t help it — she burst out laughing. And when Blake stood up with mud smeared over his T-shirt and face, she laughed twice as hard. She had to slap her hands to her knees to stop herself falling over.
“I told you he was angry,” she called to him when she could speak again.
“I didn’t even know goats got angry,” he replied. He rubbed his hands down his T-shirt, making it even more filthy, then set off again, his arms outstretched as he chased down the goat.
Ellie left him to it, her sides aching. Betty was just up ahead and she led her back into the barn. Petunia was just as easy, and even Sir Ronald didn’t put up too much of a fight.
By the time she walked out of the barn again, Blake was struggling down the path between the beetroot plants, Bob’shorns grasped firmly in his hands. The goat was resisting, and Blake’s arms bulged impressively as he fought to keep control. He was covered in mud, his hair rucked up, his skin slick with sweat. But he was grinning like an idiot, and when he saw her looking at him, he laughed. “Why didn’t you tell me this would be so hard?”
“Pretty sure I did?” she reminded him. She took one horn from him, both of them gently coaxing the old goat through the door and back into the pen. Her mum closed the gate and locked it, clapping her hands together.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “Thank you both so much. They would have torn through my crops in a heartbeat. And it’s not like they don’t have enough delicious grass to get through in their pens, and I give them all my kitchen scraps too. Ungrateful buggers.”
