“You’d hate him if you met him,” he insisted. The idea of it made Ryan mad enough that he picked up a stone and hurled it into the adjoining pasture.
“This is crazy. This makes no sense,” he muttered to himself, pacing in front of the trees. “I can’t just move here for a woman I met less than seventy-two hours ago. I don’t owe a town full of strangers anything. People will survive without wreaths, and trees, and state funding… Well, maybe not that last one. But Sam’s smart. She can take care of herself. And everyone else will figure things out.”
The sheep ignored his argument and turned his attention to grazing.
“I don’t owe anyone anything,” Ryan said emphatically.
And yet he couldn’t quite stop his plan from rearranging itself. Couldn’t stop plotting out the steps as his mind turned the problem over, examining it from all angles.
“Shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
His plan felt wrong. Worse, the only thing that felt right was the one that made absolutely no sense. It was Blue Moon’s fault. This trippy town had finally got its psychedelic hooks in him and macraméd him into a cocoon of crazy.
“Come on, Stan,” he said. “We have some phone calls to make.”
The sheep pranced ahead of him on the way back to the house while Ryan pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Hey, Mom. I know it’s not Tuesday, but…”
27
It was after seven by the time an exhausted Sammy found a parking spot two blocks from One Love Park. Her muscles sang, her head ached, and her heart… well, it felt a bit dented. She’d been tempted to go straight home and dive headfirst into a shower. But missing out on the Winter Solstice and Multicultural Holiday Celebration wasn’t an option. She’d never missed a year. And despite her weary body and belly full of murdered hope butterflies, the lights and laughter coming from the park were too much to resist.
Besides, she wasn’t ready to face the ghost of naked Ryan in her bedroom… and living room… also the dining room.
She’d grab a bite to eat, a hot chocolate for old time’s sake, avoid Mistletoe Corner, and head home when she was too tired to remember how much she liked Ryan Sosa.
Solid plan.
It had been a long, tough day. The farm had been a series of dilapidated outbuildings, each one in worse disrepair than the one before. The owner was a frail seventy-year-old suffering from a mental illness.
Love hadn’t been the issue. But resources and cleanliness had.
Thanks to the efforts of dozens of people—some professionals, some volunteers—forty-two animals were in safe homes that night.
A local farmer with two daughters in 4H had taken the four painfully thin Jersey cows. An organic lavender farm stepped up to take the goats and chickens. Two dog groomers showed up with their mobile grooming van and volunteered for several hours. Once checked and groomed, the dogs and cats—so many of them—had been divvied up between three foster rescue networks.
Best of all, thanks to the Blue Moon gossip group and a sympathetic TV news reporter, adoption applications were already pouring in.
The helpers, the people who showed up and stepped up, were what gave Sammy hope for the world. Especially on her darkest days. But today, she couldn’t help but think how much closer she’d be to making a bigger impact if she’d prioritized those grant applications.
It was a painful lesson learned.
If Ryan Shufflebottom had helped guide her toward veterinary medicine, Ryan Sosa had dragged her to a mirror and made her take a hard look at her priorities. She would do better and have Wrong Ryan to thank for it.
“Happy Solstice, Dr. Ames,” Mrs. Quan trilled from the other side of the street. She had a wreath looped over her arm like a gigantic purse. It jingled with every step. Apparently, the festival committee had found a more reliable wreath maker.
“Hi, Mrs. Quan,” she called back with a weary wave. She turned the corner and let Blue Moon in the middle of a good time draw her back to the present. The drumming circle was working their way through holiday classics. The scents of roasted peanuts and wood smoke mingled together while thousands of Christmas lights glowed above and around the festivities.
“Sammy!” Layla, in her deputy’s uniform, waved her down.
Sammy crossed the street. “Hey,” she said, hunching her shoulders against the cold. They hadn’t talked since the lecture at Peace of Pizza and she didn’t have it in her to jump into an argument.
“So listen,” Layla began, falling into step with her. “I feel like I owe you an apology.”
Someone walked by eating a slab of lasagna out of a biodegradable container. Sammy’s stomach grumbled. She’d missed lunch and dinner and had been forced to break into her protein bar stash between animal exams.
“Apology for what?” Sammy asked.
“For the tough love routine yesterday,” Layla said, shoving her hands into the pockets of her Blue Moon Sheriff’s Department coat.
Sammy waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. It was overdue.”
“I also wanted to say that Ryan seems like a pretty decent guy,” her friend said, keeping an eye on a toddler trying to gnaw his way through the child safety tether attaching him to his father’s parka.
Sammy wondered how long it would take before she could hear his name and not feel painfully disappointed. Or think of him without her vagina rising for a standing ovation. It had only been about twelve hours since he’d last wowed her. She’d give it some time.
“Yeah. He was pretty great,” she said lamely.
“Was?” Layla asked. There was something inappropriately smug about her smile.
“His old job called him this morning and wanted him back. He’s probably deplaning right about now,” she guessed.
Layla stopped in her tracks and peered into her face. “Well, holy shit. You slept with him didn’t you? You slept with the guy and you didn’t tell us. Not cool, Ames.”
“There wasn’t much time between the having of the sex, me getting an emergency call, and him leaving town,” Sammy said dryly.
“That sucks. I’m sorry. Do you want me to run him through the system to see if he has old arrest records? That always makes you feel better,” Layla offered.
She shook her head. Nothing short of a miracle would make her feel better.
Layla pointed to the Pierce Acres petting zoo. “Remember the great sheep escape?”
“Oh, I remember,” Sammy said. And for a moment, she could picture John Pierce grinning at her from across the path, could taste the Butterfinger hot chocolate on her tongue, could feel the excitement of a new crush.
“What are the odds of two sheep and two Ryans on two solstices?” Layla mused.
“The odds are zero. I’m the first official Beautification Committee failed match,” Sammy explained. “They got the wrong Ryan.”
“The wrong Ryan?”
She filled in her friend on the particulars while they got in the fried tofu line for old time’s sake.
“But did they actually get the wrong Ryan?” Layla asked.
“He wasn’t the one who kissed me fifteen years ago.”
“Yeah, but you liked this Ryan enough to sleep with him. And now that he’s gone, you’re mooning like a lovesick teenager.”