Page 1 of What We Keep
Chapter One
Elsa Whitney
The wind whipped through the trees, and I breathed in the crisp air, carrying hints of evergreen and the ocean. I needed this. The rustle of the wind and the trees was just enough to mask the sound of the— “Oh, my God!” I squeaked.
A goat was running straight for me. “What is happening?” A startled laugh slipped out as I looked on in amazement when two more goats appeared, followed by two more.
The ragtag herd of goats trotted toward me. Something about them was oddly endearing, minus the fact that I was alone, or at least I thought I was, in the wilderness of Alaska.
Okay, maybe not entirely wilderness. I was about twenty miles from the outskirts of a town. Suburbia, I suppose, by Alaskan standards.
Seeing as the goats were aiming straight for me, I didn’t know if they were friend or foe. Of all the things I worried about in my life, being trampled by five goats had literally never been on that list. I was a gold-level medal worrier. Life had handed worry to me on a platter when I was a little girl, and no matter how hard I tried to convince my brain otherwise, I knew there were plenty of reasons to worry.
“Just not about goats,” I whispered to myself.
I glanced around. Once upon a time, a house had been here. All that was left were the crumbled hints of an old foundation and a few charred beams left behind from the wildfire that had blazed through here a while back. I had nowhere to hide from the goats except maybe behind a tree or my car, which was a good quarter of a mile away. The once-upon-a-time driveway that led here was too deeply rutted, so I’d stopped halfway down.
Deciding to brave the goats, I turned to face them, and they stopped nearby. One of them, bolder than the others, approached me curiously. “Please be friendly,” I pleaded.
I’d stared down a few moose in my life in this area, but no moose were around at the moment. All things considered, that might be for the best.
“Hey!” a voice called. The voice appeared to be coming from the direction the goats had come from.
“Maybe you guys belong to someone,” I said, looking at the goats.
One of them stretched its nose out toward me. A quick glance confirmed she was a female. She nudged my hand before glancing back toward the voice calling.
“Pinky!” Just then, a little boy appeared. Maybe I wasn’t great at guessing children’s ages, but I’d put him between eight and ten. He was on the tall side with a bright purple mohawk, glowing like a beacon against the blue sky.
The goat, who had just sniffed me, watched the little boy curiously as he approached, while another goat spun around and trotted in a rapid circle around me. I lifted a hand to wave at the boy just as the trotting goat headbutted me. I let out a startled sound, turning reflexively and promptly falling. The boy’s voice reached me, calling for the goats as I heard feet pounding hard and fast on the ground.
The goats stared at me from above a moment later, and the little boy reached us. “I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay,” I said. It was okay, although my butt hurt.
I looked over at the goat who had knocked me down. This one was almost silver in color, with fluffy hair. My breath puffed in the cool air.
“I guess I wasn’t expecting goats,” I announced as I looked at the little boy. His blue eyes were serious, a stark contrast to his hair.
“I’m really sorry. They escaped,” he explained.
“From where?” I couldn’t help but ask as I clambered to my feet.
“Who are you?” the boy asked, ignoring my question.
Before I could answer, another voice called, “Tommy!”
The boy, presumably Tommy, glanced over his shoulder. “Over here, Dad!”
I lifted a hand to shade my eyes. A man approached with long, easy strides, and a sense of familiarity pinged. I thought I recognized him. After all, I had grown up here.
“That’s my dad,” the boy said before belatedly answering my question. “There’s a large animal rescue next door. And, well… we have goats now.”
Questions tumbled through my thoughts. I didn’t know why I was surprised that there was an animal rescue and goats. I hadn’t been here in almost fifteen years, to be precise. But when you grew up in Alaska, you tended to feel like the place would stay yours. While I knew there’d be changes, my memory had frozen this place in time. Although that memory included a house long since gone from a wildfire.
“Who are you?” he repeated just as his father reached us.
When the man stepped out of the sun’s glare, a bolt of lightning might as well have struck me. He towered over me. I sarcastically considered that he took the phrase tall, dark, and handsome way too seriously. He had almost black hair and blue eyes. His striking features were handsome. A bold nose with a little crooked spot in it. Cheekbones so cut I could sharpen a knife on them. Those cheekbones were paired with a cleanly edged jaw and a square chin. His brows were dark slashes. His eyes swept over me just as he repeated the boy’s question. “Who are you?”
