Page 40 of Over the Line

When she attempted to take a step, the creature surged forward again. “Back off, you little menace.”

It did, but only long enough to ram her again.

At a loss, she reached out and touched its head.

Chewie—if she remembered the name correctly—bleated once more, but this time at a higher pitch.

Looking around, hoping for someone to rescue her, she scratched behind its ear.

The goat turned its head, giving her better access. Then it made a ridiculous noise, like a laugh. Who knew it could do that?

“Aren’t you supposed to be in a pen or something, rather than wandering around?” The miniature animal shoved its head at her again, evidently because she’d stopped petting it. Could things be any more bizarre?

Still a little intimidated, she maneuvered until she could climb back into the vehicle. The tiny little thing tried to follow her.

With one foot, she attempted to keep it out.

But her sandal came loose, and the thief absconded with it. “Damn it! Bring that back!”

He—or she—dropped it. Then it laughed, picked up her shoe, and high-tailed it out of there. “Get back here, Chewie!”

She exhaled in exasperation when the petty criminal picked up steam.

Ranching, cream or no cream in her coffee, wasn’t for her.

Hurriedly, she grabbed a pair of lightweight hiking pants from her bag, worked her way into them then pulled on some socks and boots.

After tossing the remaining shoe forlornly in the bag, she went after the midget. The thing was nowhere to be found. “Damn it.”

Trying to pretend the footwear hadn’t cost a week’s wages, she set out at a brisk pace toward the river.

The walk helped burn off the frustration. Some of her friends used yoga or breathing to calm themselves. Physical exertion was the only thing that brought her solace. Scaling a mountain was significantly more helpful to her than a day at the spa.

The irritation returned when she remembered she’d left the coffee cup on top of the car.

Rather than going back for it, she allowed the sound of water to lure her.

As she stood at the edge, the river rushing over rocks, an eagle soared overhead, riding thermals, and soaring with hardly a flap.

The wide-open country offered peace to her soul.

Until a familiar and unwelcome bleat split the air.

The goat emerged from between two pine trees. And it didn’t have her shoe. “You really are a pest.” She sat on a large rock, and Chewie joined her. “I was enjoying this until you showed up,” Sydney told her.

Innocently, it blinked.

“Fine. You can stay. But I want my shoe back.”

It shook its head. Surely the timing was an odd coincidence.

She stayed where she was before finally giving in and stroking the beast’s spiny back. The short fur—or was it hair?—was softer than she’d thought it would be. The black and white creature had a few small brown markings and was surprisingly adorable, despite its bad manners. “Don’t get any ideas,” she said. “I mean it. Stop looking at me like that.”

Ears standing straight up, Chewie bumped her hand.

“You forgot this.”

At the sound of Master Michael’s voice, she jumped.