One Night with a Nutcracker (Reindeer Falls)

I force myself to stand up a little straighter. I’ve been lurking while he and Jake walk around, biting my lip as I try to figure out my next move with Jake. It’s a real no-win scenario. Do I argue for why my farm is good for the community? Do I talk about my profit margins to prove I know what I’m talking about? Do I try the squatter’s rights argument again?

I’m still deciding when the surveyor starts up again, this time focusing on one of the window screens that’s been poorly patched in several places.

“You’ve got enough land here to bulldoze the barn and build whatever you want. There are some height restrictions, even this far out of town. One thing’s for sure,” he adds, “anything will be better than this.” He laughs at his own joke, once again glancing at me. I can’t help but feel like he’s not just talking about the barn, and it pisses me right the hell off.

And sure, the barn needs some work. I’ve done what I can and fixing it up was always part of the plan. I hoped that, once I got the Goatvana Wellness Center going, I’d have enough cash to really make this place special. After all, look at how great it looks with just the little bit of TLC that Jake’s been giving it. It’s not perfect, but there’s promise here.

Not everyone can see or appreciate potential, though. That’s what my mom always told me growing up. She said that some people make snap judgments on people, places, and things, but those are always the people whose lights shine a little dimmer. And I refuse to be a dull Christmas bulb. I will see the best in everything, no matter what.

“Yep, just knock ’er down,” Tom says, kicking one of the beams. I’m pleased to say it doesn’t wobble. I’m displeased to say nothing falls on Tom’s head.

“It does need some work,” Jake admits, but at least he has the decency to look uncomfortable. He looks over at me, dark eyes sweeping over my frame. I wonder if he’s remembering last night, how our bodies worked together, unlike our attitudes. Maybe all of this is making him feel guilty. Maybe there is a heart in that nutcracker after all.

But even if he has a heart, I still have to hate him. If it weren’t for him, Tom the surveyor wouldn’t be here in my barn. I’d be working on another batch of soap while the goats frolicked, and though I’d be far less sexually satisfied, I’d also be at peace. Everything would be fine.

“Just imagine the course you’ll be able to put in,” Tom says. “Once this whole thing’s knocked down. Love your vision, Jake.”

Jake looks uncomfortable again, dark eyes darting again to me. I’m sure he wants me to leave, but we don’t always get what we want, so let him be uncomfortable. He deserves it. To prove my point, I grab one of the buckets and head over to Farmer John. Might as well multi-task and get a grooming session in. Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to splash some of the dirty water on Tom’s suit.

Farmer John usually screams like a hyena when I try to groom her, but today, she must know that she needs to be on her best behavior. She even flicks her ears back and gives me her most adorable goat smile as I grab a bucket of clean water and begin rinsing her off. She doesn’t even make a peep once I get to the blow-drying stage. And thank God for the blow-dryer, because I can hear Tom starting up with his damn critiques.

Unfortunately, it’s the moment that I finish blow-drying Farmer John that he chooses to walk directly in front of me.

“The real problem is it would take forever to get the smell of these disgusting animals out of here,” he says.

Um, what the hell? It’s a farm, and this jackass has already made his bulldozing fantasies very clear. He doesn’t need to be rude on top of it.

To make his point, he turns to where a tiny little black goat named Martha is following at his heels, and kicks the ground, aiming a spray of dirt right at her.

It scares her enough that she lets out a sad goat cry and falls backwards.

And let me tell you, I see red. People think that hippies never get mad, but I’m here to tell you that’s not true. I would go to hell and back for my goats, and I’m about ready to tear this asshole a new one. I abandon Farmer John and stride forward, about to give this prick a piece of my mind.

“Excuse me—”

But before I can even get the words out, Jake swoops in front of me, grabs Martha and helps her to stand on all four hooves. He bends down, checking her front as he says soothing words to her and pets her ears. I’m flabbergasted at the sight of it, watching as Martha bleats pathetically as Jake runs his hand over her back.