Page 13 of Goalie and the Girl Next Door (Love in Maple Falls #5)

MARCY

E ver since I heard the words Drench for Defense and Bachelor Auction , I can’t stop picturing Clément doing something ridiculous in slow motion—water glistening off his smug face, some pop ballad playing in the background while women scream like he’s the second coming of Mr. Darcy with a gym membership.

It’s annoying. And intrusive. And absolutely none of my business.

There’s nothing going on between us. Sure, we’ve spent a lot more time together as he’s come to the ranch to help Scotty any time he isn’t practicing.

Even at the expense of constructing his own house.

And sure, he’s proven time and time again that his heart is in the right place, and heaven knows every time he looks at me, I feel like I’m the only woman on the planet. But that’s just a French thing, right?

I am not the jealous type. I’m rational. I’m mature. I keep things in their appropriate emotional containers, tightly sealed and alphabetized .

And it’s not like he and I have ever even gone on a date. I remain the never-had-a-date wonder, and he’s a free agent.

So why does the idea of him getting auctioned off like some kind of charismatic cattle make me want to build a protective wall out of passive-aggressive Post-its?

I tell myself it’s my prudish side. But the truth is, it’s not. It’s him. It’s what he does to me.

And now that I’ve blurted out with thinly veiled jealousy how I feel about him getting drenched and sold… well, I know I’m in for it.

“I knew you were thinking about me all wet,” he says with a grin that should be illegal. “This is becoming a pattern.”

“I was not thinking about you wet,” I shoot back.

His eyebrows lift. “So you were thinking about me dry?”

“I wasn’t thinking about you, period.”

“Your tone of voice and unconcealed concern say otherwise.” He chuckles, low and smug and warm enough to make my ears burn while his eyes crinkle. “Admit it, you like me.”

“I like five-year budget forecasts. By comparison, you’re just fine.”

“You do like me.”

“I like order. You are chaos wrapped in muscle.”

“Muscle, huh?” He gestures to his bicep, which he flexes. “You mean this?”

I smack his chest before I can stop myself—solid, annoyingly solid, like a brick wall that smells faintly like cedar and probably some French cologne he swears he doesn’t wear.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You like that, too.” Edgar bleats, and Clément pauses mid-tease. “Wait… ”

“You’ve now become attuned to the tone of Edgar’s bleats? I think you’ve spent too much time here, Clément.”

He suddenly rests his hands on my shoulders, his gaze far off and worried. “Wait. Listen.” Edgar continues bleating, faster now. I’m guessing his granola treat is just out of reach. “Something’s wrong.”

Clément takes off toward the small barn, the one where the smaller animals are kept. I hesitate and then sprint after him, my boots kicking up dust as we cross the paddock.

The bleating grows louder. Panicked. Urgent.

Clément throws open the barn door and everything stills for a split second—and then I see her.

Lily. Crumpled on the floor near the old feed storage cabinet. One of the sliding doors has come off its track and tipped forward. It didn’t fall all the way, thank God, but it wedged her in—trapped from the waist down, unconscious, her fingers slack around a plastic scoop.

“Lily!” I rush to her, heart in my throat.

Clément’s already there, crouched beside the cabinet. “She’s breathing,” he says, voice low and unwavering. “But we have to get this off her. Now.”

Without waiting, he wedges his shoulder under the edge of the cabinet, bracing his feet. Muscles tense, he groans as he lifts—inch by inch—until there’s enough space to slide her out. I guide her legs free and ease her gently to the ground.

“I’ve got her,” I murmur, brushing her hair back to check for injuries. Her pulse is strong, and I feel her breathing deepen.

Clément lets the cabinet drop with a metallic thud and drops to one knee beside us, chest heaving. He’s already scanning her like it’s second nature.

“I’ve seen guys hit their heads on the ice and not wake up right away,” he says, his hand hovering near her temple without touching. “We keep her flat, don’t move her neck. We don’t know if it’s just a bump or if it’s more serious.”

I nod, already stripping off my jacket to roll and wedge beneath her knees. “We need to keep her warm. I’ll call the ambulance.”

“She might come to,” he adds, voice calm but tight. “If she does, we keep her still, talk to her, don’t let her sit up too fast.”

Lily’s fingers twitch. A soft, garbled sound escapes her lips.

“Lil?” I say gently, leaning closer. “You’re safe. We’re right here.”

Her eyelids flutter. Then she blinks, confused and dazed, but awake.

Clément exhales beside me. “Good girl.”

I rush to the door of the small barn while Clément cradles her. “Angel! Scotty! Get over here!”

“You’re going to be okay,” Clément is whispering as Lily blinks awake.

Angel’s voice cuts through the air as she bursts through the barn doors, apron still dusted with flour. “My girl!” She kneels beside me just as Lily turns her head.

Scotty appears seconds later. He drops beside his daughter, his hand wrapping gently around hers.

“Daddy’s here,” he says, voice trembling as she fully opens her eyes. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Lily starts to cry—quiet, hiccuping sobs—and Scotty gathers her into his arms. His eyes are wet. “Thank you,” he says, looking at me.

“It wasn’t me,” I say softly. “Clément knew something was wrong. He got her out.”

We both turn to look at him .

“Actually,” Clément says, chest still rising and falling, “we should be thanking Edgar.”

We follow his gaze. The goat is standing nearby, silent now. Watchful. Not chewing. Not bleating. Not even blinking.

Clément walks over to him and kneels down. “You did good, mon grand .” His hands gently scratch behind Edgar’s ears, and the goat melts into Clément’s hand. Seems Edgar is more sensitive than I ever gave him credit for.

“You’re a good team,” Angel says, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Edgar, Marcy, and me,” Clément whispers as Angel turns back to Lily and Scotty.

Clément smiles as he continues scratching Edgar behind the ears.

“Let me say this while we’re in a moment of straight honesty.

I’m not doing those events. Not the auction, not the water stunt.

I can’t bring myself to do it, not like that. ”

My shoulders relax so fast I almost sway forward. I didn’t realize how tightly I was wound up.

“I’ll find another way to help,” he adds. “But I won’t sell myself like a novelty item.”

“Good,” I say. “Because I don’t think Edgar would approve.”

Outside, the sky’s turned gold with late afternoon light.

Angel runs to pull the car around. Scotty lifts Lily gently in his arms. He limps, but it’s like he forgot he’s got a bad back the second he saw his suffering daughter.

The rest of the ranch crew gathers, offering quiet words and hands on shoulders.

There’s a strange peace now that the worst has passed.

Clément puts his arm around me. “You’re shaking.”

I hadn’t noticed. I automatically relax against him and he squeezes my shoulder tighter.

We watch as Scotty, Angel, Lily, Lisette, and Andy drive off for the hospital, waving our goodbyes. And that’s when I feel Clément wince.

It’s subtle, just a slight jerk of his hand, but I feel it through his arm, the way his body goes momentarily rigid before he eases it again, like nothing happened.

“You okay?” I ask softly, not moving.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat, then adds lightly, “Pretty sure I pulled a muscle while lifting a literal cabinet off a teenager. I’m not twenty anymore.”

I watch him for a little longer. There’s something about the way his gaze unfocuses…. but he doesn’t offer more, and I don’t ask. If he wanted to tell me, he would.

Instead, I nod. “Well, you looked like a twenty-year-old Greek god doing it.”

That earns a small smile. “Don’t let Edgar hear that.”

I laugh, and it feels good.

He turns to look at me, and I can still see a twinge in his jaw. “How’s the town hall circus? Any new billionaire sabotage or passionate speeches from Ms. Thompkins?”

I exhale, glad for the change of subject.

“Let’s see—this week I’ve met with Ashlyn twice to help her prep, reviewed the land titles again, and helped coach the council through a possible loophole that we think might block the zoning appeal.

I also may have rewritten half of Ashlyn’s speech because she was about to accidentally quote a country song. ”

“That’s public service at its finest.”

“I aim to please,” I reply.

He tilts his head. “What about the mayor? I need my building permit, but that aside, he’s been strangely absent during all this.”

I pause. My instinct is to tell the truth—that he’s been unreachable since the start—but I hold back. “He’s managing from afar. Though I confess, with only two and a half months left to stop disaster, I’m rather wishing he showed his face.” That part is one-hundred percent true.

“You’re good at this,” he says. “You keep a cool head in a crisis. People trust you. The town’s lucky.”

I didn’t see that compliment coming. “That’s… nice. Thank you.”

“I’m serious,” he says. “People are worked up. Understandably. But you’re the only one I’ve seen who’s both calm and getting things done. Maybe you should run for mayor.”

The joke’s lighthearted, but it lands somewhere deep inside me. “Don’t tempt me.”

But the idea sticks somewhere in me. I’ve never had particular ambition, but I love this place, and I intend to stay.

Clément’s arm lingers around me for another breath, then he shifts slightly, his other hand brushing my elbow as he steps back. “I should go,” he says, voice low. “Before Edgar demands dinner and union benefits.”

I try to smile, but I’m watching him too closely now. There’s a tightness in his expression, a pale edge to his skin. He’s trying to hide it, but something isn’t right.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask again.

He squeezes my shoulder, gentle but brief. “ Absoluement ,” he says in an accent like silk. Then, as he turns to go, he glances over his shoulder. “You will be at the inaugural bash, right?”

Inaugural bash?

“Of course,” I reply, a little too brightly. I have no idea what it is, and I certainly had not planned on going. But one look from Clément, and I already know I’ll be there.