The Best Friend Zone

Food’s food, even when it sits more heavily than usual in my stomach.

When we roll up to the dairy farm, it’s eerily pleasant. Sunshine galore, the cows grazing in the distance, and a few workers milling around the far-off barns. Makes it feel like an idyllic trip with my girl in the countryside.

Easy to forget the shitty reminder of what I’m really dealing with.

No sooner are we out of the truck than I’m awed by the size of the Neuman place yet again. The critters are making steady progress, but they’ve got a heap of chewing left to go before the wild acreage is anything close to clear.

Though the goats have wiped out a lot of brush, there are still several large overgrown thickets that make it impossible to see them all at once.

Tory and I separate to make a head count, her taking Owl.

While I’m walking toward a clump of bushes, I take out my phone and wake the screen. I hadn’t checked it last night or real closely this morning, seeing how we were happily occupied.

Now I see the alert from the app rigged up to the cameras.

Shit.

I curse myself for slacking off when I see a notice that the camera named Granny’s went dead and stopped recording at five thirty this morning.

Those things are built to withstand World War Three, at least when it’s not winter. Nothing short of a person with tools snipping the right wire could’ve disabled them at Granny’s empty place.

It could be a glitch with the app, or maybe one of the remodeling crew accidentally shut ’em off, though I know the probability of that is next to nil.

Jaw clenched, I tap my Contacts, find Drake’s name, and hit Call.

He answers on the first ring.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” I ask, aware of the time.

“Nah, just getting ready to take Bella for the baby’s checkup. What’s happening?”

I tell him about Granny’s cameras and the red truck heading down the old service road to the lake that runs past the edge of their massive property.

“Thing is, I don’t know how the fuck that tech could just crash abruptly,” I say. “You said it’s state of the art stuff. The kind of gear you’d need to take a bomb to or else clip the right wire…”

“Yeah. Realistically, the only way they can be totally disarmed without the built-in alarm chirping is if someone took the batteries out,” he says. “Stop over here when you’re done with the goats and we’ll check out Big Fish Lake. The only vacant place down that road right now is the old Maddock farm.”

I agree, tuck my phone away, and hustle over to Tory, counting goats along the way.

Something’s off, and it’s not just the bad juju with the cameras going down.

We’re missing a goat.

I recount just to be sure when I only total seventeen before asking, “How many in your head count?”

“Seventeen, but Owl’s in that overgrown area, sniffing around like crazy. I’m hoping he’ll flush out the last one.” She winces, shaking her head. “It’s Hellboy who’s missing.”

“Of course,” I grumble, slapping my thighs lightly.

If there was ever an animal made for trouble, it’s him.

Can’t ignore the worry lining her face, though. Or the ill feeling tossing around my gut.

I lay a hand around her shoulders, rubbing her for comfort. “Owl will suss him out. He could find a chicken bone in a sulfur pit.”

“I hope you’re right,” she whispers back. “I swear, if something happens to that poor stupid goat, I’ll—”

She’s cutoff mid-sentence the instant Owl starts barking.

Not his usual goat gathering bark, either.

Tory starts forward, but I grab her arm, gently urging her back.

“Wait here,” I tell her. “Let me have a look. It’s a mess out there, and we don’t know if—”

“Oh, no,” she replies, bolting toward the dog. “He’s my goat. Keep up, Quinn!”

Damn her cute, stubborn butt.

My feet hit the ground, and it’s not hard to pull ahead of her, leaving her in the dust.

I’d give anything to hear her laughing, if this was just another one of our dumb games, but I know that ain’t it.

Today, I’ll give anything I can to shield this woman who’s got me falling so hard, I’ll never stand up again if I lose her.

17

You Goat Me Dreamin’ (Tory)

Three things I’ve learned about goats by now: they’re curious creatures, they’re cute to a fault even when they decide to be bleating pains in the butt, and they love trouble with a capital T.

But the way the rope is tangled around Hellboy’s curved horns sends an ice-cold shiver up my spine.

An old rope wouldn’t concern me. This one is new.

Maybe Hellboy doesn’t have an innocent bone in his body, but the pitiful little whine he makes as soon as he sees me says this wasn’t his fault.

No way in hell.