“I promise you, you are the trespasser,” he says. “And I’ve got the paperwork to prove it.”
Paperwork? Hmm. I’ve been blissfully going about my goaty business here for a couple years now with zero problems. But I suppose if one is being technical, I might not have made any official arrangements. How was I supposed to know someone owned this land? It’s been vacant forever.
He must be lying. There’s no way this is his property. I’ve never seen him in Reindeer Falls, which means he must be a tourist.
Unless…
Oh, no.
Could it be?
“What’s your name?” I say, still hoping I sound confident. “I think I’m owed that, seeing as how you’ve damaged my barn.”
I can tell the “my” pisses him off. There’s a twitch in his sharp jaw.
“Jake,” he says, voice cold as an icicle. “Jake Sheppard.”
Well, this is just lovely. Because now I get it. Jake must be in town for the same reason the rest of the boys are here, to collect their inheritances from their uncle. But to my knowledge, Uncle Joe never owned any land.
Or did he?
“So, pack it up, please,” Jake finishes.
It’s his tone that pisses me right off. Does he really think it’s that easy? Does he routinely go around kicking people out of their homes? As though I can just pack up my whole farm at the snap of his fingers because he said so?
Well, Jake Sheppard chose the wrong girl to try to evict. Because this is my farm, goddammit, and my goats, and I won’t go without a fight.
I square my hands on my hips and glare at him. “Maybe you don’t know this, Mr. Sheppard, but I have squatter’s rights.”
He rolls his eyes. “That’s not a thing, ma’am.”
Ma’am? Did he really try to ‘ma’am’ me? Like I’m an old crone or some crazy lady?
“It’s Sutton Stewart, sir,” I snap back. “And I’ll have you know that squatter’s rights are very much a thing.”
“Not in your case,” he says. “I think I would know, considering I’m a lawyer.”
Of course he is. As if the suit and the Porsche weren’t enough to tip me off that he’s an asshole, he had to also be a lawyer.
“Listen, hippie, I know you don’t have a lease,” he says. “So let’s make this easy on all of us and—”
I scoff at him. “You know how hard it is to make a profit and pay rent? I sell goat soap on Etsy!”
He slow-blinks at me, as if waiting for me to be serious. After a long pause in which it occurs to him that I am being serious he says, “I fail to see how that is my problem.”
Dick.
He doesn’t even say it like a question. Like, ‘I fail to see how that’s my problem?’ Nope. It’s definitely a period.
“This whole town loves me and the Reindeer Falls Goat Farm,” I tell him, arms crossed. “And if you think they’ll stand by while you evict a poor, innocent, hardworking single mother, you’ve got another think coming.”
He stares some more. Taps his bottom lip with his finger. Glances around the barn and the assembled audience of goats. “Wild guess, but by single mother, you mean the goats, right?”
I shrug, but I don’t soften my glare. He’s still got a little bit of hay clinging to his long, slightly curly brown hair. He looks like a total fool with that hay, so he can mean-boy-posture all he wants. I’ve got the upper hand.
“Yeah,” he says, drawing the word out a bit sarcastically. “Well, I think they’ll come around once I turn this place into a golf course.”
That, however, stops me in my tracks. “A golf course? Then how will I ever live out my dreams of a Beekman Boys life?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know what that is. And I don’t know what you want from me.”
“I’d like you to pack it up!” I tell him, stomping my boot in the hay. “Take your fancy car and leave. I’m trying to run a business here.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not my problem. You’ll need to park your trailer somewhere else.”
I seethe. I cannot believe he just referred to my home as a trailer. I mean, sure, technically it might be a trailer, but Ariel is much more than that. She’s a vintage icon, perfectly renovated to retain her charm.
Still, I can tell I won’t get anywhere with that argument. Jake’s clearly got his head fully up his ass, and I have only one card left to play. I make one last-ditch appeal based on the cutest animals on the planet. I hold out my hand, gesturing to Farmer John, who’s currently nuzzling my leg. “But the goats!”
He avoids looking at Farmer John. “We’ll rehome the goats.”
I bark out a laugh. “Who the fuck is adopting goats?” Besides me, that is. Where the hell does he think all these goats came from? A goat breeder? They’re already recycled goats, for fuck’s sake.