Alaskan Dreams
Автор
Beth Carpenter
Прочтений
17,3K
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HarlequinCHAPTER ONE
THE INVENTOR OF the showerhead deserved a Nobel Prize. At least that was Lauren’s opinion, as the muscle-melting, soul-cleansing water ran over her stiff shoulders and down her back, washing away the physical and emotional grime she’d collected. After six days on the road, sleeping in an ancient truck camper each night, a hot shower with adequate water pressure was bliss. Even if it was in a cracked concrete shower stall in the middle of a crowded campground.
Was that sound a bleat? Lauren leaned out from under the showerhead to listen. People and goats could sound remarkably alike, but these shouts and squeals clearly came from the human kids playing kickball outside. Besides, she’d double-checked the latch on the stock trailer before she came to the bathhouse. She squeezed out a dab of shampoo.
From the tree outside the bathhouse window, a chickadee serenaded her with a series of two-tone whistles. Lauren worked lather through her long hair. She wanted to look her best when she met Bonnie in person tomorrow. After all, tomorrow was the first day of her new life. The life she’d always wanted.
A sudden shriek pierced the happy sounds, followed by excited calling and nervous laughter. Lauren stopped moving and listened, trying to convince herself she’d imagined the goatlike quality of that last bellow. After all, her three goats were busy munching alfalfa. She’d already cleaned their soiled straw, taken them for a walk and let them browse on the edge of the forest. There was no reason they would have left their dinner to tramp through the campground, even if the gate wasn’t latched, which it absolutely was.
A bleat and a fit of giggles convinced her. Lauren turned off the water, wrapped a towel around herself and peeked out the bathhouse door. Sure enough, a trio of black-and-white goats gamboled across the field like fuzzy pied pipers, leading the cluster of children on a merry chase. One dad called for the kids to stop and approached the goats. They let him get within two yards before kicking up their heels and scrambling out of reach.
Lauren pulled jeans over her still-damp legs, a sweatshirt over her head and thrust her feet into flip-flops. After a quick assessment of the area, she circled the field to try to head off the goats before they reached the edge of the woods.
They say you should never look a gift horse in the mouth, but maybe Lauren should have been a little more suspicious of a gift goat. She’d gone to buy the two Alpine dairy goats based on a local listing on the Goat People forum. Muffin and Biscotti were a little expensive, but they came from a well-respected line of dairy goats, so Lauren agreed to the price. When the owner had heard Lauren planned to start a new herd in Alaska, she’d offered to throw in Spritz for free. “She’s a little older, but an excellent milker and she has some good years left in her.” At the time, Lauren had been touched at the sweet gesture, but now she was beginning to wonder if generosity was the farmer’s true motivation.
The first time she’d looked out the window of her camper to see the goats swiping the grapes she’d left on the picnic table, she thought she must have neglected to latch the gate. The second time, when Spritz showed up in the middle of a walk with Biscotti and Muffin, Lauren knew she’d latched it, but she hadn’t bothered to fasten the safety hasp, and hadn’t realized Spritz knew how to pull out a pin. Today, before she’d gone to the bathhouse, Lauren had latched the gate, sealed it with a cotter pin, and fastened the hasp that should have been impossible for anyone without opposable thumbs to operate. And yet here they were.
Once she’d positioned herself between the goats and the woods, Lauren approached them, slowly. Spritz spotted her and ambled in her direction. “That’s a good girl,” Lauren crooned. “Just come a little closer.”
Spritz took another step toward her, a gleam in her eye. Lauren eased out a hand. The halter was almost within Lauren’s reach but Spritz jerked back at the last second. Lauren dove toward her, caught her flip-flop on a rock, and landed face down on the grass. Spritz and the other goats pranced around her, their bleats sounding suspiciously like laughter.
“Miss, are those your goats?”
Lauren looked up to see the camp host staring down at her. He took off his trucker’s cap, ran a hand through thinning gray hair and replaced the cap. Behind him, a crowd of children and several adults watched her. “Yes, they are,” she admitted.
“Well, they can’t run loose. We have a strict leash policy. You’ll need to put them away.”
Did the man not see that was exactly what she was trying to do? “I’m sorry my goats disturbed you.” Lauren climbed to her feet and dusted grass from her clothes, pretending she didn’t notice Spritz edging closer from the corner of her eye.
“Rules are rules. If I overlook your goats, everyone will think their pets should run loose.”
“And the campground would erupt into anarchy,” Lauren said with a straight face. A couple of the campers hid smiles. Lauren edged closer to Spritz.
“I’m glad you understand.” The camp host turned and walked away, but the rest of the group stayed and watched expectantly. Lauren should really ask for a discount on her camping fee for providing free entertainment.
She took one more step and lunged toward Spritz. Her fingers brushed the goat’s halter but Spritz ducked under her arm and ran several steps away. The children laughed.
Lauren surveyed the other goats. Lauren could probably coax Muffin close enough to grab her halter but Spritz was the leader. While she was putting Muffin away in the trailer, Spritz might lead Biscotti on a tour of the county. Did they have counties in Yukon? Lauren shook her head. Focus.
“Maybe we could make a circle around the goats,” one of the moms suggested.
“Yeah, let’s try that,” a teenager seconded.
Lauren was game. At her direction the group formed a large circle and gradually stepped toward the center until they were close enough together to join hands, trapping the three goats in the middle. Lauren had the children on either side of her close the circle while she stepped inside with the goats.
Spritz eyed her from across the circle. Lauren could almost see the wheels turning in her head, as she calculated the weakest point to make her escape. “Does anyone happen to have any fruit?” Lauren asked. “Spritz loves apples.”
“I have some raisins,” a boy offered, digging a handful from a none-too-clean pocket.
The goats probably wouldn’t mind a little lint. “Thank you.” Lauren spread raisins on her open left hand. “Look, Spritz. Raisins.”
Spritz gave a disdainful glance, but Biscotti showed interest. The younger goat took a few steps toward Lauren and reached for her hand, which prompted Spritz to push her aside and claim the rest of the raisins herself. She lipped the treat from Lauren’s hand and allowed Lauren to grasp her halter as though that had been her plan all along.
“I’ve got her now. Thanks so much, everyone.” Lauren smiled at the boy with the raisins. “Especially you.”
“Can I pet her?” The boy asked.
“Sure.” Spritz stood calmly and allowed the children to stroke her face and neck while Lauren held her halter. The other goats followed her example and allowed the children to approach and pet them. After a few minutes, Lauren thanked everyone again and led Spritz toward her camp spot, the other two goats following docilely behind.
Lauren found the cotter pin—the one she’d used to latch the gate—lying in the dirt, the half-circle safety hasp pulled up and away from the pin. How did Spritz undo it with her mouth?
The goats returned to their trailer without any fuss. Lauren reached up to brush a wet strand of hair out of her face, only to discover sandy suds on her hand. Oh yeah, she’d been in the middle of shampooing her hair when this all started.
This time, Lauren latched the gate and locked it shut with her bicycle lock before she went to rinse the dirt and shampoo out of her hair. When she returned, the goats were still in the trailer, but several children had surrounded it and were pushing raisins between the slats. Lauren had read that raisins weren’t good for dogs, but she’d never heard anything like that for goats. She’d have to ask the people on the forum. Anyway, it looked like the kids had only a couple of small boxes between them, so it should be okay. Besides, the goats were happy and the children were happy, so why break up a good thing?
Happiness. That’s all Lauren was looking for, really. A place to settle down and be happy. A place in the country, with space and green and sky, making a living raising animals. It was her lifelong dream. And it was being made possible by a woman she’d never met.
Lauren checked her itinerary. She was fifty miles ahead of where she’d projected to be, which meant she should arrive at Bonnie’s house tomorrow evening. Last time they’d talked was a week ago before she’d started driving. She took out her phone to update Bonnie on her progress, but she hesitated, hearing that little voice of doubt in her mind. The one that said this was too good to be true, that nobody really wanted a stranger living in her house and running goats on her farm for only a small share of the profits. Sure, they felt like friends on the Goat People forum, and they’d talked on the phone a few times since Bonnie made her offer, but they were still strangers. What if she called and Bonnie explained it was all a misunderstanding, that she’d never intended for Lauren to drive to Alaska with a trailer full of goats?
No. Lauren took a breath and blew out the doubt. Bonnie had been perfectly clear. She was getting older and wanted someone in the house with her. She’d never sounded the least bit confused or undecided. The little voice was just one of Lauren’s insecurities, leftover from her childhood spent as the third wheel her mother dragged from romance to romance. This was different. Bonnie wanted her there.
Lauren dialed. “Hi, Bonnie. It’s Lauren. I’m at Beaver Creek, so if all goes well at the border, I should be there tomorrow by the end of the day.”
“Wonderful!” Bonnie’s enthusiastic response drove away all Lauren’s concerns. “So tomorrow we finally get to meet in person, God willin’ and the creeks don’t rise.”
“What creeks? Are you expecting flooding?”
Bonnie laughed. “It’s just an expression, something my father used to say. It means if nothing unexpected happens to prevent it.”
“Oh.” Lauren grinned. “Then I’ll hope the creeks stay where they are because I’m really looking forward to meeting you tomorrow.”
“I can hardly wait.”
A BUSY SIGNAL buzzed in Patrick’s ear. His grandmother refused to allow call waiting on her landline. “First come, first served, I always say.” At least if Gran was talking on the phone, that meant she was okay. Unless she’d fallen, knocked the phone off the hook, and was currently lying on the kitchen floor unable to summon help. Briefly he considered trying the cell phone he’d gotten her for Christmas, but even though his grandmother’s farm was within three miles of Palmer, the topography made cell coverage poor to nonexistent. Besides, she seldom turned it on unless she was going to town. He dialed again, but the line was still busy. She was probably just chatting with one of her yoga buddies. He’d get dinner and try again later.
Patrick wasn’t usually the type to conjure up imaginary emergencies, but Gran had him worried. He wasn’t quite sure why. True, his grandmother had fallen and badly sprained her ankle, but before he’d left for his two-week slope rotation, he’d personally hired an aid to stay with her until she was back on her feet. This particular aid had an annoying habit of speaking to Gran as though she were a contrary two-year-old, but she had good references and it was for only a couple of weeks. Still, something Gran said—or maybe something she didn’t say—on their last phone conversation left him suspicious that the aid wasn’t working out the way he’d hoped.
Not a great time to be tapped to work an extra two days past his usual rotation. He’d considered turning down the overtime, but the pay was good, and they wanted the project finished, so he’d agreed. But when he got back to Anchorage in three days, he was driving directly to the farm in Palmer. He and Gran were going to have a serious conversation about Gran moving to town. She could cut the conversation short over the phone, but she couldn’t run away from him in person. He chuckled to himself. Not on crutches, anyway.
Randy, a fellow electrician on Patrick’s team, stopped him in the hallway and waved a rolled blueprint. “Hey, Pat, got a minute? I have questions about that installation tomorrow.”
“Sure. I was on my way to the cafeteria, but—”
“No problem. We can talk while you eat. I wouldn’t mind another ice cream bar myself.”
Thirty minutes later, having answered Randy’s inquiries and consumed his meatloaf and mashed potatoes, Patrick dropped his empty tray into the return window and made his way to the tiny dorm room that was his Prudhoe Bay home. His roommate wasn’t there, probably still watching the game in the rec room, but would no doubt be returning soon. Working twelve-hour shifts meant early bedtimes. It was eight forty-five now. Gran wouldn’t be asleep yet. He dialed, and this time the phone rang through.
“Hello?”
“Gran, it’s Patrick.”
“Ah, Paddy my boy.” She was the only one in the world who could get away with calling him Paddy. “How are things up on the slope?”
“Good, although I’m staying another two days to finish the project, so I won’t be back until Monday. How is your ankle? Is your aid working out okay?”
“Everything’s fine. No worries at all.” Which didn’t directly answer his question.
“How’s her cooking? Is she feeding you well?”
“No complaints.” Again, not exactly an answer.
“May I speak to her?”
“Who?”
“The aid. Would you call her to the phone, please?”
Gran gave a dramatic sigh. “Patrick, I’m already in my pajamas, reading in bed. Do you really want me to get up and walk all the way down the hall on crutches just so that you can talk to—”
“Never mind. So, you’re still using the crutches?”
“For the time being. Doc said not to rush it.”
“I’m glad you’re following the doctor’s advice. Did you get that brochure I sent about the senior apartments in Palmer?”
“I don’t need a brochure to tell me about the Easy Living Apartments. I have friends there. I probably know more than the person who wrote the brochure.”
“That’s great. So, wouldn’t it be nice to live near your friends? I understand there’s a bridge club and craft demonstrations. Maybe we can visit when I’m back in town on Mon—”
“If I want to play bridge at the senior apartments, I’m always welcome. I don’t see any reason to leave my home here.”
“Oh, you don’t?”
“No.”
“Really? Because I think if you look down at the brace on your foot, you’ll find at least one good reason.”
“Patrick Sean O’Shea, are you sassing me?”
“No, ma’am.” Patrick decided to try another tactic. “I talked to Mom last week. She was asking about you.” If there was one person on earth who Bonnie O’Shea feared, it was her ultraefficient daughter-in-law. “She said if you need her, she could be on a plane tomorrow. All it would take is a call from me.”
“You wouldn’t,” Gran gasped.
“I will if I have to.”
“You’re bluffing. If she visits, she’ll organize your life just as ruthlessly as she organizes mine.”
“I’m willing to chance it. Are you?”
There was a short pause. “My goodness. Look at the time. You’d better get to sleep. I know you have an early morning.”
“Gran—”
“It will all be fine. We’ll talk more when you come home. Good night, Paddy. Sleep tight.” She hung up the phone before he could comment further.
Patrick shook his head as he plugged his phone into the charger. Obviously, she’d sent the aid away, and just as obviously she wasn’t going to let him do anything about it. Oh well, Gran had made it through eighty-two years of life; she’d most likely survive another three days. He wasn’t really going to summon his mother from Japan. Not yet anyway. But eventually, something was going to have to change. Gran shouldn’t be alone out there on the farm.
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