Hope Heals

by Tymber Dalton

  Her heart racing and body trembling with adrenaline, she slowly started down the ladder.

  A little more than halfway down, the goat came to life again and began thrashing in her arms.

  “Shit! No!” Her foot slipped. Sarah screamed as she and the goat went sailing backward off the ladder.

  Fortunately, they were only about five feet off the ground. But thirty-odd pounds of goat landing on her as she landed on her back knocked the wind out of her.

  The goat, cushioned by landing on her, stood up, shook itself, and made a beeline for the spilled coffee can of feed, its tail twitching in delight at the snack.

  “You’re welcome, asshole,” she muttered.

  It lifted its tail and a stream of goat pellets dropped to the ground. Fortunately, she was safely out of range.

  She flipped it off. “Terrific.”

  As Sarah lay there staring up at the sky and trying to get her breath back while assessing if she had any broken bones, her cell phone rang in her back pocket.

  Carefully, she rolled to her side enough she could gingerly fish it out of her pocket. It didn’t seem to be any worse for wear after the fall.

  Thank god for OtterBox. “Hello?”

  Her dad. “Hey, Sar. We’re almost done with our errands. Anything I need to bring home?”

  “Yeah. A backboard and a cervical collar.”

  He hesitated. “What?”

  “One of your damn goats tried to kill me.”

  “What?”

  She related the story, expecting to hear praise for her bravery and attempting to rescue his damn pet.

  Instead, she got laughter.

  “Your concern for my welfare is extremely touching, Dad.”

  He laughed even harder.

  “What is so funny?”

  She could barely understand him. “She…she didn’t have sunstroke… She’s a…fainting goat.”

  She closed her eyes as she rolled onto her back again, wincing. “A what?”

  “A…fainting goat. It faints. It’s what they do. They get stressed, they faint. It’s normal.”

  “So you’re telling me I almost orphaned my son over a neurotic goat?”

  She hoped he wet his pants in the middle of Home Depot if he kept laughing like that. “No, you have to get them off the roof. They’re too stupid to get back down by themselves. You did the right thing.”

  “Glad my almost-demise is so amusing.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s just…” He broke off into more laughter.

  She hung up on him.

  Closing her eyes, she wondered if she could just lie there for a while, or if she was on an ant hill or anything.

  That would be my luck. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

  “Sarah? Are you all right?”

  She let out a startled cry at the sound of Pete’s voice. He stood over her and wore a look of concern on his face.

  I can’t exactly lie about it. “Um, no. I am not all right.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “Yeah.” She waved her hand in the direction of the ninja assassin goat, which was still working on the can of feed. “Could you put that thing up, for starters, please?”

  “Okay, sure.”

  She closed her eyes again and wondered if her humiliation could get any worse. She heard Pete walk over to the goat and start talking to it.

  “Hey, Braveheart. Did you cause trouble again?”

  Braveheart?

  The goat bleated. She heard Pete pick up the coffee can, followed by the subtle click of the leash being snapped to the goat’s collar, and then the sound of them walking away toward the pen.

  He returned shortly. “Okay. So do you want to tell me what happened?”

  “Take a wild guess. And are you shitting me? Dad named the damn thing Braveheart?” She opened her eyes again.

  He stood near her head, looking down at her with a grin she would normally describe as sinfully sexy, if it weren’t for the fact that she lay flat on her back and now had goat tracks emblazoned across her sternum.

  “Yeah.” He snorted. “Your dad, if you haven’t noticed, has a really twisted sense of humor. Sam did warn you about them getting on the roof.”

  “You know, what Sam didn’t do was warn me they were ninja assassin goats. A woman needs to be warned if a goat is going to try to take her out of this world.”

  Pete squatted next to her. “Yeah, they can be tricky assholes sometimes. That one usually doesn’t get on the roof, though. How’d she get out of the pen?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care. It’s a plot, I’m sure. The stupid pigs are probably in on the goats’ world domination scheme.”

  He laughed again and plucked at a blade of grass. “Did you want to just lie there in the sun for a while, or do you think you’re really hurt?”

  “I’m hurt. I just don’t know how badly.” Well, her pride was DOA, that was for certain. She didn’t think anything was broken, but she suspected moving would be problematic come the next morning.

  “Want me to call an ambulance, or just help you up?”

  She considered it. Her utter humiliation at the hands of Braveheart was already complete. She was obviously not smarter than her father’s livestock, as Pete had witnessed twice now.

  All she needed at this point was to be outwitted by the pigs or the chickens, and her hat-trick of humiliation would be complete. “I guess I could use the help getting up and we’ll go from there.”

  He started by gently helping her sit up. “Let’s do this slow,” he suggested.

  “Slow is good,” she agreed. She stretched her neck, wincing when it popped, but otherwise she seemed okay.

  After he’d finally gotten her to her feet she gingerly tested everything. Her body appeared to be working for the most part, but he kept a strong arm slung around her waist as a precaution.

  She wasn’t about to argue with him. Just because he was her boss and she’d sworn off romance didn’t mean she couldn’t take advantage of a little comfort.

  “Let me help you inside,” he offered.

  “Thanks.”

  He got her inside and down onto the couch. She could already tell she was going to hurt like hell in the morning.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go get checked out?” he asked.

  “I can’t afford it for something as simple as a goat mugging,” she tried to joke.

  At least he smiled. “I wouldn’t tell your dad about this if I were you.”

  “Too late. He called and I answered.”

  “Ah.” He pressed his lips together and tried not to smile.

  She gave him bonus points for that. “It’s okay. You can laugh. I’m sure once I’m out of pain I’ll laugh, too.”

  “You want anything for the pain?”

  “There’s stuff in the last cabinet.” She pointed toward the kitchen.

  He went and found it. He brought her back a glass of water and a bottle of Aleve. When he shook one into her palm, she wiggled her fingers at him. “Give me two. I’m going to need it.”

  He dumped another tablet out into her hand and she swallowed them with the water. “Thanks.”

  He took the glass back from her. “Do you want me to stay here with you until your dad gets back?”

  Something about the concern in his voice torpedoed the dam she’d built around her emotions. Her tears surprised her. “A stupid fucking goat almost killed me for chrissake!” She closed her eyes and sobbed. “A damn goat!”

  It wasn’t just the goat. It was everything. Losing Michael, finding out the truth, nearly losing Jason—everything.

  And now, to add insult to injury, a fainting goat had nearly killed her.

  She felt him sit next to her. He gently draped his arm around her shoulders and held her close.

  “It’s okay,” he softly said. “Let it out. You’ve been through a lot.”

  She sobbed, overwhelmed. Here she thought she’d done so well the past week, thought she had a h
andle on her emotions, thought she was done with the tears and it felt like the scab had just been ripped off once again.

  “And now,” she said, “you must think I’m a total idiot.”

  * * * *

  “No, Sarah,” Pete gently said. “I don’t think you’re an idiot. That’s the last thing I’d ever think about you.”

  He wanted to hold her even closer, wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her hair. Wanted to tell her it would be okay again, one day.

  When Walt had got him on the phone three weeks earlier, sounding distraught and barely making sense, to ask them to watch the livestock, of course he’d agreed. It wasn’t until Walt’s return from New York, when in that very living room with glasses of bourbon in hand, that he’d haggardly told them what happened.

  Everything.

  Pete had felt outraged on her behalf then, and he’d barely known her except from school.

  Now that he had gotten to know her a little better, he felt enraged. That she and Jason had been put through so much ate at him.

  Yes, he realized part of it was probably the “damsel in distress” factor, despite Sarah’s ability to stand on her own two feet.

  He didn’t care.

  What moron throws away a life with a woman like this? When they have a great kid like Jason?

  He’d always wanted to be married and have kids. He thought by now he would. Well, he had been married, but thankfully didn’t have kids with her.

  And then there was Sam. He knew his cousin felt the same way about her, protective and wanting to help, just from the little bit of time they’d spent talking with her.

  They’d even joked when they’d originally moved in together that maybe they should try to find one woman who’d put up with them both and then they wouldn’t ever have to move.

  She would be the perfect woman for us.

  He froze as the perfection of that thought sank through the center of his soul.

  He knew it was way too soon to even think about approaching her in a romantic way. But he also knew he wouldn’t hesitate to protect her and Jason both, to do anything he could for them.

  And as soon as he could, he would speak to Sam. To see if they could, in fact, turn that fleeting thought into a happy ending for all of them.

  If she’d have them.

  * * * *

  Pete was still sitting on the couch with her when her dad returned home, alone, thirty minutes later.

  “Where’s Jason?” she asked.

  “I dropped him at Dana’s shop. She’s going to give him and the demons haircuts. She said she’d run him home in a couple of hours. Are you all right?”

  She sat up, wincing as she reluctantly gave up the warm, firm shoulder she’d been leaning against. “No, I’m not okay. Your damn goat nearly killed me.”

  Her dad grinned. “You don’t look dead.”

  “No thanks to Braveheart.”

  He outright laughed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. But it is funny.”

  She sneered at him.

  Pete chuckled. “I wouldn’t aggravate her too much, Walt. She’s not amused. I had to help her get up and into the house after I put Braveheart back in the pen.”

  “How’d she get out in the first place?” he asked.

  “They’re plotting against us,” she groused. “Livestock world domination. Animal Farm: Florida Edition. Orwell would be so pleased.”

  Both men laughed. Pete stood. “She’s had two Aleve. She’ll probably need a heating pad and a hot shower.”

  “Thanks for helping me, Pete,” she said, still embarrassed that it was her hot boss who’d found her.

  “You’re welcome. Next time, call one of us if your dad’s not home. We’ll help you.”

  She nodded.

  Once they were alone, her dad grinned. “Aren’t you glad to be back in Florida, sweetheart?”

  “You never mentioned felonious assault by goat was in my future.” She carefully leaned forward with a pained grunt and slowly got to her feet while her dad helped. “And while we’re on the topic, is there anything else I need to know? Like do the pigs fly or something? Because I’m worried the next surprise is going to kill me.”

  “No, nothing like that. I don’t know how she got out. I’ll have to go figure it out.”

  “You do that. I’m going to go take that hot shower now.”

  She slowly made her way down the hall to the bathroom, where it took her far longer than usual to undress. After carefully getting into the shower, she stood under the spray as hot as she could stand it after changing the shower head to massage and turning so it hit her tender back.

  Yes, she would be damn sore tomorrow. In fact, she suspected a day spent on the couch and watching TV with Jason was in her future.

  And Pete had to be the one to find me, of course.

  She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the wall. They must think I’m a total idiot now.

  She realized what she’d thought. The cookout tomorrow night would be interesting, to say the least. Could she ever look either man in the eye again after this dumbassery?

  Well, not like I ever had a shot with either of them anyway. They’re both well out of my league.

  * * * *

  The next morning was Saturday. After breakfast, Sarah felt absolutely no guilt about carrying her pillows out to the living room and lying on the couch while Jason watched cartoons.

  Everything hurt. It had taken her three tries just to get out of bed that morning.

  Maybe I should have gone to the doctor.

  She didn’t think anything was broken, but what little she’d been able to turn her head to look in the mirror, she’d noticed bruises up and down her back from where she’d landed on the ground, as well as hoof-shaped bruises on her sternum and belly from when Braveheart jumped off her.

  Asshole goat. Braveheart, my ass. Her name will be dinner if she does that shit to me again.

  With more painkillers in her, and the heating pad turned up to high, Sarah closed her eyes and listened to the TV.

  Yes, looking back, it was amusing. She suspected the more the pain waned, the funnier she would find the incident.

  Then she remembered tonight was the cookout at Sam and Pete’s.

  Dammit. She’d ask her dad to drive her next door. The thought of walking all that way nearly made her cry right there.

  Despite her humiliation, she decided there was no way in hell she’d miss it. She wanted a chance to spend time with the two hunks. Hell, not like they hadn’t already seen her at her worst.

  I’m celibate, not dead. Besides, looking back with a truthful eye, each of the two men alone was better looking than Michael. Together, they could help her fuel some fantasies not unlike the books on her Kindle. In high school, she’d been naïve enough to fantasize about only one of them at the time.

  Now, she was an adult, with an adult imagination.

  She felt herself drifting off to sleep when her dad gently nudged her shoulder. “I’m running over to Betty’s for a little bit. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she mumbled.

  After a while, the TV became a distant buzz of noise in her brain. At one point, Jason nudged her.

  “Mommy?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Can I go outside and play?”

  She peeled open an eye. “Stay close to the house, stay away from the pool, and stay off the dock and away from the lake. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And stay out of the pasture, pen, and coop.”

  “Okay.”

  Hell, she’d played outside by herself in that very yard from a very young age. Younger than Jason. Roamed not just the whole property, but the rural, un-sidewalked neighborhood. Not like she had to worry about someone snatching him from in front of their house, or running out in front of traffic, like she had in New York.

  They had neither worries there at the rural Odessa house.

  She closed her eyes again. Dreams floated through, of Saturday mornings gro
wing up, playing outside with Dana and other kids from the neighborhood, going out on the lake, getting to run the big mower to help with the lawn.

  Then she started dreaming about Braveheart, the sound of her hooves on the roof. After a few minutes, something dragged on Sarah’s mind enough that she finally opened her eyes and stared at the TV.

  The sound of something on the roof continued.

  She closed her eyes with a groan. “You have got to be shitting me.”

  For a moment she debated going back to sleep and letting her dad deal with it when he returned. But then she realized he might be gone for a while, and she didn’t feel right about interrupting what she suspected was more than just a friendly visit between him and Betty. While he hadn’t broached the subject, she suspected he had some sort of a relationship more deep than mere friendship going on with Betty.

  I could send Jason over to knock on her door.

  That was an evil thought that grew the more she considered it. It would serve him right for laughing his ass off at her over the phone and then not having the decency to wet his pants in Home Depot.

  With a pained groan, she slowly managed to sit up, followed by standing.

  Everything hurt. She suspected it would hurt this badly for at least another day or two before it started feeling better again.

  She debated going out the front or back doors, opting for the front since it meant only one door to navigate, instead of the sliders followed by the back lanai door.

  When she got out to the front porch, she scanned the front yard for Jason. “Jase?” she called out.

  “Yes, Mommy?”

  She frowned. She heard him clearly, but didn’t see him. She stepped off the porch so she could see farther around either end of the house.

  Still no sign of him. “Jase? Where are you?”

  “I’m here, Mommy.”

  She turned and looked up, shielding her eyes against the sun, and then screamed.

  * * * *

  Sam and Pete were standing in the front yard, bickering over the rock waterfall feature once again. Sam was about ready to tell Pete what he thought he could do with his opinions when they heard a bloodcurdling scream coming from the Heckmans’ front yard.