Page 86 of A Sweet Chat for the Cowboy

“What? What kind of goat crisis?”

“One of his fences went down. A bunch of goats escaped. He’s panicking because he wants to get to the press conference, so he’s asking for my help to come wrangle the goats.”

Well this was a whole new level of adorable. “You’re a goat wrangler?”

“I am absolutely not a goat wrangler. I have very little interest in those peculiar creatures, but my brother loves them.” He sighed. “Would you like to go meet some goats?”

“Tucker Bridge, I can think of nothing I’d like better than to go meet your brother’s rescue goats.”

Tucker asked for their food to go and then he asked for the bill.

Chapter 43

Gunner’s goats werefar more fun when looking at them through Wynona’s eyes. Tucker wasn’t even helping to catch the goats anymore. He was simply standing there watching Wynona try to catch the goats. She was prancing around, giggling like a little kid at an amusement park. He’d never seen anything quite like it. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

She wasn’t alone. Gunner had recruited Colton to help him fix the fence, which was such a mess it was more like they were rebuilding it, and Colton’s wife was out there with Wynona, chasing the goats in circles.

Adeline was considerably more graceful about it than Wynona, which made her less entertaining to watch. But Wynona was better at it. Once Wynona got her fingers under a collar, that goat was as good as wrangled—even when it was a two-hundred pound wether. That goat had long, floppy ears, and he shook his head back and forth madly as Wynona tugged him toward the gate. One of those ears slapped her right in the cheek, making a loud clap and leaving a red mark. Tucker wondered if that giant fatso had been the one who’d obliterated the fence in the first place. His suspicions were confirmed when, once Wynona finally got him through the gate, Gunner stopped his fence repair to tug him the rest of the way to the barn.

A young goat came running right at him, and Wynona yelled, “Grab him!” so it would have beenreallyobvious if Tucker continued to stand still. He lunged for the stupid little thing, who blatted when he ran by. Tucker accepted this for the challenge that it was and turned to give chase. He was not going to lose to a baby goat, not in front of Wynona.

He never would have dove for the goat if it hadn’t been approaching the road. And even then, he wouldn’t have dove for the goat if there hadn’t been vehicles coming. But the goat was approaching the road, and there were cars coming, and Wynona was behind him. He knew she’d followed because she kept shouting encouraging platitudes like, “You can do it!” and “Be a hero, Tucker!” He’d almost been annoyed until she’d shouted, “Pretend he’s a toad!” Then he laughed, which slowed him down.

But now? Now he had to save the baby goat’s life. He dove and stretched out his arms, knowing the landing was going to hurt—it did, but he had a hand on the goat. The goat collapsed beneath his hand—but wait, no, it wasn’t collapsing. It was only lowering its back so that his hand would slide off. Tucker wrapped his fingers around its tiny shin, and it’s angry blat was drowned out by the sound of the car engine whooshing by.

Tucker had him. He went up on his knees and, without letting go of that stupid little leg, crawled toward the baby goat. Then, so relieved that the freakish looking thing was still alive, Tucker sat and pulled the goat to his chest. It felt incredibly small in his arms. How had it been so difficult to catch something this dainty?

“My hero!” Wynona cried and fell on the ground beside him. They were both out of breath. Wynona ran a hand over the kid’s head, between the two stubby points of his baby horns. “Thank you,” she said when she’d caught her breath. “I think we caught this guy’s mama before we caught him. He was probably so scared.”

Oh sure, feel sorry for the goat.

She looked up at Tucker and smiled. “It’s almost time for the press conference.”

“I know.”

“I don’t really want to go,” she said.

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