“That’smybaby goat.”
Her mouth drops open. She looks down at the bundle in her arms like she’s been caught with a sack of jewels. Right on cue, Stevie lets out a loud bleat.
“Oh. Oh, thank God.” She laughs, a shaky sound. “I knew she had to be a pet. You must be the farmer.” A frown wrinkles her brow as she looks me over.
“What do you mean?” I take a couple of steps closer.
The woman’s lips twist and despite myself I notice the fullness of her lower lip. “Well, I don’t know many farmers, or any if I’m being truthful, but you don’t really look like a farmer, or at least what I assume a farmer must look like.” She looks me up and down. “Youarewearing plaid, however…”
I hold my hand up to stop the stream of consciousness coming out of her mouth and she falls silent. It takes me a second, but I realize I liked the sound of her babbling, like a stream trickling fast and melodious during the spring melt. It takes me another second to remember why I stopped her.
“No, I meant what did you mean by ‘you must be the farmer’? Were you looking for me?”
She shakes her head. “I was—well, I was with someone, and I fell, and he went to find something to help me get back to the car. But when he came back this little goat followed him. He said it was probably wild or from a farm he spotted.”
My eyes narrow. There’s no deception in her voice, but God knows I’ve not always been the best a detecting it.
It’s why I prefer my goats to most people. Why I went from living my life constantly surrounded by people, to here, where I can go weeks without seeing a single soul if I choose.
“Anyway, I can’t imagine a farm up here, but I wasn’t sure a wild goat could have this much personality.”
Stevie bleats again, as if she knows thatpersonalitycould likely be easily replaced byattitude. She tips her head up and licks the chin of the woman holding her.
“Where’s yourfriendnow?” I ask.
The woman bites her lip. “He left.”
My head snaps back. “I’m sorry?” I look up at the sky, the sleet and snow are only going to get worse.
“Um,” she tips her chin towards her ankle. “I can’t really walk on my ankle, and I refused to leave this baby for a grizzly bear to snack on. He’d have a hard enough time carrying me, let alone me and him.” She snuggles the goat.
The darkness is growing in my chest again. “There are no grizzly bears in the San Juan mountains.”
“Oh, well that’s a relief.”
I take another step closer, crouching to examine her ankle. It’s swollen for sure but the stiff way she’s holding it tells me it’s not broken. “There are no grizzlies, but there sure as shit are mountain lions, lynx and black bear. And while a black bear isn’t usually aggressive, they’re still bears and if you have food in that pack they’ll find it.”
“Oh.” Her voice is small now.
“Is he coming back?” I don’t particularly want company, but I can’t imagine why she’s sitting here in the cold with an injury. I can’t very well pick Stevie up and leave this woman by herself, even for a minute.
Her head bows while she checks her watch. “It’s been about an hour, so I don’t think so. He was angry that I wouldn’t leave the goat.” The wind nearly swallows her quiet words.
Even Stevie seems to sense her predicament, her soft ears going back as she butts her head against the woman. An hour? What kind of monster leaves someone out in the woods during a storm, let alone someone who is injured?
The type of person who would cut a hole in my fence, that’s who.
I try not to go looking for trouble. That’s the whole point of my sanctuary, but it seems like today, trouble has found me.
I stand back up, hoping the anger doesn’t show on my face. “The goat’s name is Stevie. My fence was cut, and I came looking for her.”
Her features sharpen with indignation. “Someone cut your fence? Did any other animals escape?” Her big, blue eyes meet mine. “Who would do that?”
“Someone that thinks they can take what isn’t theirs.”
She frowns. “I didn’t take her. I wouldn’t let her wander back alone. The storm…” she trails off, shivering and I wonder exactly how long she’s been sitting here.
“I know.” The word comes out gentler than I mean it to. Those small boots didn’t make the tracks I saw around my place. I sigh and shrug out of my jacket, draping it over her without hesitation. “You did right.”