That was a really weird thing to notice. And who drank coffee at eleven o’clock at night?
He probably had a concussion.
Great. That was just what he needed.
“Oh, sweetie,” she cooed.
And yep, he definitely felt a little better.
“I’ll be okay, but I could use a hand,” he said. Specifically, a woman’s soft hand rubbing his head and maybe her lips kissing his bump better.
Did he know her? She had long, dark hair and that was about all he could tell.
“Are you hurt or just scared?”
Zeke pushed himself up to sitting, wincing as his head swam and his leg ached as he shifted it. “A little hurt. Not scared at all.”
The woman looked up at him. “What?”
It was then that he realized she wasn’t talking to him.
And that she was holding a goat.
The little thing was cradled in her lap. It was also black.
He was ninety percent sure this was the reason that his bike was lying on its side in the ditch and he was bleeding from the head.
The woman was calling the goat “baby”.
“Wait, you’re worried about the goat?”
“You almost ran him over,” she said. “The poor thing’s probably terrified.”
“Do you see me lying here? Under a motorcycle? Bleeding?”
“Your own motorcycle. That you almost hit this goat with.”
Unbelievable.
Besides her long, dark hair which fell in waves to nearly the middle of her back, he could see she was small and slender. Her skin was pale, glowing just slightly in the moonlight and the dim light offered by the streetlamps across the road.
“Did you come over here to check on the goat?”
“Yes.”
“No concern for the human being at all?”
“I came over to make sure you were alive. But I immediately realized you were conscious and breathing.”
“How’s that?”
“You were moving around. And swearing. I saw you move the motorcycle off your leg. And I heard you talking to yourself. About Leo.”
Okay, so he was alive. There was a lot of space between that and totally fine though. “What if that’s the sign of a brain injury?”
“I certainly hope it’s not,” she said. “I talk to myself all the time.”
He noticed she was stroking her hand over the goat’s back as she held him and he seemed quite content in her lap.
Yeah, it was his experience with these goats—yes, he had experience with these goats because they belonged to his cousins’ petting zoo—that they loved attention in general and were smart enough to prefer female attention.
He frowned at the little animal. This one was Sneezy. Not because he actually sneezed a lot—or ever, as far as Zeke knew—but because some of the goats were named after the seven dwarves and, well, someone had to be Sneezy.
What the hell was Sneezy doing down here?
“Baaaa!”
He glanced over to the front of the motel across the street.
Ah. Well, that explained it. The other ten goats were clustered in front of the motel’s front office.
“Arf! Arf!”
Along with Benny—short for Beignet—Fletcher’s border collie.
Benny was just a pup and was learning about herding. Her instincts were spot on to…herd things. The details were a little bit much for her though. Like that she should herd them back to their barn.
Instead, she just herded them to whatever structure was closest when she found them.
It had turned into a game around town. Spearheaded by his grandmother, of course. She called it Goat Bingo and handed out cards at her bar.
It had started when Benny had herded the goats into the bar. Twice. The squares had various locations around town—the gas station, the church, the bridal shop, the gazebo, etc.—and when the goats ended up in one and you saw it, you could mark that square. If you got bingo and were the first to bring your card in to Ellie, you got a free drink and an order of fried pickles.
Charlie, his cousin and head of marketing for the petting zoo, had tried to get Ellie to do fried goat cheese balls, insisting that was funny and tied into a theme. Ellie had told her she wasn’t going for a theme and she didn’t have any goat cheese.
The conversation had gone on for ten minutes. Which was about eight longer than it took most people to realize they couldn’t win a debate with Ellie.
Zeke focused on the woman again. “So no petting for me then?”
“I called 9-1-1,” she said. “And like I said, you’re breathing and moving and I don’t see blood gushing from anywhere so you don’t need compression or a tourniquet or anything.”
He wasn’t so sure about fine, but he groaned. “You called 9-1-1?”
“That is the typical course of action when someone witnesses a motor vehicle accident.”
“Shouldn’t you have attempted some mouth-to-mouth or something first?”
He saw her dark brows rise. “Like I said, I heard you talking to yourself this entire time. Obviously your airway is working. And I don’t know that you don’t have any communicable diseases and that you’re not an ax murderer. So I thought keeping a little distance and being prepared to run might be a good idea.”
Fair enough.
But, shit. 9-1-1 meant his brother might be showing up. Then again….
“What did you tell them?”
“That I had witnessed a single motorcycle accident. And told them it was in front of the motel.”
He might get lucky. It might not be Zander, the cop, who responded to the call if they believed it was more of a medical call.
And yeah, okay, he wasn’t very hurt. A little banged up was all.
Zeke shoved to his feet. The goat startled slightly, but the woman tightened her arms around it and cooed to him softly that everything was going to be okay.
“He’s not hurt a bit, right?” Zeke knew he hadn’t hit the thing. He definitely would’ve felt that. Plus, he had great reflexes.
The woman shook her head. “He doesn’t seem to be. I should take him over where there’s more light and make sure.” She glanced over her shoulder as she got to her feet, still holding the baby animal. “He really just wants to be with his friends.”
Zeke nodded, then regretted it. His head was aching a bit.
“Griffin must be around here somewhere. If Sugar saw his truck, she would want out.”
“Sugar?”
He pointed across the street. “The white goat. She’s in love with our local veterinarian. Whenever she sees him, she wants out of the pen. Stan”—he pointed at the large goat who was off by himself, munching on some grass—“opens the gate for her. She’ll stand at the gate and cry until Stan gets sick of listening to her.”
The woman looked from him to the goat and back. “You’re serious?”
“Yeah. Anyway, whoever shows up to the 9-1-1 call will have to get them back to the barn. Good thing I’m fine,” he said dryly.
Just then a red pickup with a white cross and Autre Emergency Services in block letters on the side pulled around the corner.
Zeke let out a relieved breath. It was Michael, one of the firefighters and paramedics, not Zander.
Michael got out of his truck and approached. He was already grinning by the time he reached them. “Zeke.”