Page 3 of Saving Her Heart
But Gertie has spotted the automatic doors leading to the pool area. With a delighted bleat, she hops off the desk and trots toward freedom, leaving a trail of chrysanthemum petals in her wake.
I follow, bare feet slapping against the marble floor, my professional composure completely shattered. Through the glass doors, I can see the pool area filled with residents doing morning water aerobics. They haven't noticed the approaching chaos yet.
This is about to get so much worse.
The automatic doors swoosh open, and Gertie charges through with me right behind her. The water aerobics class turns in unison, twenty pairs of eyes widening as a goat gallops past the pool toward the perfectly manicured gardens.
"Is that a goat?" someone calls out.
"It's a therapy animal!" I shout back, though at this point, I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince.
Gertie has found the prized rose bushes, the ones the gardening committee has been cultivating for the annual Hibiscus Harbor Garden Show. She's sampling them with the dedication of a sommelier at a wine tasting.
"Not the roses!" Mrs. Patterson from the gardening committee wails from the pool. "Those are heritage breeds!"
I creep closer, trying to look non-threatening. "Nice Gertie. Good goat. How about we go back inside and?—"
The sound of sirens cuts through the morning air. Multiple sirens. Valerie hasn't just called the police; from the sound of it, she's called everyone with a badge in Hibiscus Harbor.
Gertie's ears perk up at the sound. She abandons the roses and begins walking toward me with what looks like genuine curiosity. For a moment, I think I might actually be able to grab the goat.
Then Gertie spots something more interesting—the breakfast buffet being set up for the residents' morning social on the pool deck. With renewed energy, she bounds toward the tables laden with fruit, pastries, and what's about to become goat food.
"Stop that goat!" Valerie's voice screeches from somewhere behind us. She's apparently recovered from her fall and made it outside, though she's limping dramatically.
The sirens grow louder. Through the entrance gate, I can see the first police car pulling up, followed by what looks like animal control and—I groan—a code enforcement vehicle.
This is it. My perfect record is about to be destroyed by a therapy goat that isn't even a legitimate therapy animal. Valerie will have me fired by lunch. My reputation will be ruined. And somewhere in this mess, poor confused Mrs. Parsons is probably still looking for Harold.
Gertie has reached the buffet and is making quick work of a fruit tray when the first officer walks through the gate. My stomach drops even further, which I hadn't thought was possible.
I know that walk. That particular way of scanning a scene with professional assessment while somehow looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Even from across the pool deck, I can see the exact moment Jax Masterson recognizes me—the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the pause in his stride.
Of course it would be him responding to this call. The universe has that kind of sense of humor.
He looks good. I hate that he looks good. The uniform fits him perfectly, and he's filled out since I last saw him at Hudson and Kate's wedding months ago. We've successfully avoided each other at every community event since, and now here he is, about to witness my complete professional meltdown.
Behind him, I recognize Officer Declan Hayes and someone from animal control. The code enforcement officer is still getting out of his vehicle, clipboard already in hand.
Jax's eyes meet mine across the chaos—Gertie destroying the buffet, Valerie screeching about lawsuits, residents filming everything, Mrs. Parsons now standing by the pool gate looking lost—and I see something flicker across his face. Amusement? No, that would be too much to hope for.
He walks toward me with that measured pace that means he's about to be insufferably by-the-book about everything. My perfect morning, my perfect record, and my perfectly maintained distance from Jax Masterson are all about to collidein a spectacular failure that probably violates at least a dozen city ordinances.
Gertie looks up from the devastated buffet, a banana peel hanging from her mouth, and gives a satisfied "maaah."
"Ma'am," Jax says as he approaches, his voice professionally neutral in that way that makes me want to throw something at him, "I'm going to need you to explain why there's a goat in the pool area."
Ma'am. After everything we were to each other eons ago, I'm ma'am now.
"It's a therapy animal," I say, lifting my chin and trying to salvage some dignity despite being barefoot, disheveled, and covered in goat-chase sweat.
His eyebrow raises slightly—that insufferable eyebrow raise I remember from high school when he caught me trying to sneak into the movies without paying.
"A therapy goat," he repeats flatly.
"According to Mrs. Parsons, yes."
"The same Mrs. Parsons who reported her deceased husband for noise violations last week?"
