Page 8 of Guard Bear (Return To Fate Mountain #5)

Chapter

Seven

Joy jolted from sleep, her body rigid before her mind caught up. The darkness pressed against her tiny house windows. She lay still, listening. The silence was absolute. No cricket song, no owl calls, just suffocating quiet.

Joy grabbed her jeans and boots, quickly pulling them on. Outside, the night air hit her skin. Her mountain lion pushed closer to the surface, sharpening her vision, guiding her toward the goat barn.

Her stomach dropped.

The gate hung twisted off its hinges, metal groaning in the breeze like a wounded thing. The pen that should hold fifteen sleeping goats stood empty.

"No." The word escaped as a whisper.

A scent hit her first. Pine, gun oil, and underneath, impossibly, sugar cookies. Andre emerged from the shadows, already in motion, hand resting on his service weapon.

"I spotted the intruders. Twenty minutes ago."

Relief flooded through her fear, fury chasing close behind. "Were you watching my house?"

His jaw tightened. The silence answered everything. "Which way did the goats go?" Andre's flashlight swept the empty pen.

Joy sighed, refocusing on what mattered more right now. "Everywhere. They probably scattered from whatever spooked them." Fresh hoof prints led in three different directions. "There are fifteen total. Clementine's pregnant. Due any day."

“I’ll help you find them.”

"Okay…” Joy squared her shoulders, trying to process the chaos. “Stay close and move quietly. When I get them calmed down, I'll need your help herding them back."

Joy ducked into the feed room, grabbing a bucket and filling it with sweet grain. The familiar rattle would bring her girls running once they calmed down. Two halters hung on the hook. She grabbed both, slinging them over her shoulder with their lead ropes.

"Ready?" She kept her voice low.

Andre nodded, flashlight beam steady.

They followed the clearest set of tracks toward the blackberry thickets. Pitiful bleating guided them to three yearlings tangled in thorns, crying and struggling. The briars had done their work, holding the goats better than any fence.

"Hold the light." Joy set down the bucket and eased forward. "Hey babies. It's okay. Mama's here."

The goats knew her voice, her scent. Their cries shifted from panic to pleading. Joy worked carefully, untangling one leg at a time. Thorns tore at her hands, drawing blood she barely noticed.

"Can you grab Butterscotch? The brown one on the left."

Andre moved slowly, following her lead. The yearling tensed but didn't bolt when his large hands circled her middle.

"That's it. Just hold her while I free the others."

Ten minutes of careful work freed all three. Joy slipped a halter over the calmest one's head, fingers working the familiar buckles by feel. The other two yearlings huddled close to their companion, too scared to run.

"Come on, girls. Let's go home."

She rattled the grain bucket, leading the haltered goat while the other two followed. Andre walked behind, arms spread slightly to discourage any thoughts of escape. By the time they got the three secured in the holding pen by the barn, her legs already protested the rough terrain.

Fury made her muscles tight, made every step feel like wading through thick mud. She had to admit to herself that someone had done this. Someone had violated her space.

"Twelve more to go." She forced the words past the knot in her throat.

They headed back out, following new tracks toward the tree line.

Two more goats huddled in a drainage ditch, scared but unhurt.

Joy haltered one while the other pressed close to its companion.

The grain bucket rattled its promise, drawing them back toward safety.

Andre's breathing had grown heavier, sweat darkening his undershirt despite the cool air.

The third search led them deeper into the woods. Andre’s flashlight caught eyes reflecting green in the darkness. Marigold stood in a small clearing, too frightened to run but too scared to come when called.

"Hey, sweet girl." Joy rattled the bucket. "Want some grain?"

It took patience. Slow movements. Soft voice. Finally, Marigold crept forward, driven by hunger and familiarity. No halter needed. The goat buried her face in the grain bucket and then followed Joy step by step back to the barn.

Andre rolled his shoulders, working out the kinks. "That's six down."

They found two more hiding under the old apple trees. These ones came eagerly to the grain, practically climbing into the bucket. Joy let them eat from her hands, their soft lips tickling her palms.

A high, pained bleating stopped them on their fourth search. A kid goat lay on a rocky outcrop, her leg gashed open. The blood looked black in the flashlight beam. "Oh no." Joy's heart clenched. "She’s hurt.”

Andre didn't hesitate. He pulled off his uniform shirt, leaving him in just an undershirt, and knelt beside the injured animal. "Here, hold the light steady."

His hands moved with surprising gentleness for their size. The kid trembled but didn't fight as Andre wrapped the wound carefully.

"Shh, little one. You're safe now."

Something cracked inside Joy's chest. This big, overprotective bear of a man, cooing at a baby goat while blood soaked through his shirt. The tenderness in his touch, the care in every movement. Her mountain lion purred in approval.

Another trip. The injured kid's weight was nothing to Andre, but the distance told on them both. Joy's boots had rubbed blisters on her heels. Her hands stung from thorns. Nine goats safe. Six to go. But no Clementine.

"Maybe we should take a break," Andre suggested, leaning against the fence post.

"No. Clementine can't handle being out there much longer." The words came out sharp with fear. "She's too pregnant. The stress could make her lose the kids."

They searched in widening circles. Following tracks that led nowhere. Calling until Joy's voice went hoarse. The flashlight beams cutting through the dark. Her mountain lion wanted to shift, to use better senses, but the goats needed her human voice, her hands.

Finally, a soft bleating from down by the creek.

"There." Joy half-ran, half-stumbled down the slope.

The pregnant goat stood knee-deep in mud where the creek had overflowed its banks. She'd tried to cross and gotten stuck, her heavy body sinking deeper with each struggle. Mud coated her legs and belly.

"Oh, Clementine." Joy dropped to her knees at the mud's edge. "Stop fighting, baby. You're making it worse."

The goat's sides heaved with panic, eyes rolling white. Every movement drove her deeper.

"I've got her." Andre waded in without hesitation, mud sucking at his boots.

He worked his arms under the pregnant goat, muscles straining as he fought both her weight and the mud's grip. Clementine was one hundred and eighty pounds of frightened, pregnant Nubian goat. His grunt of effort was genuine as he lifted, the mud releasing her with a wet sucking sound.

"Easy, mama. Easy now."

Clementine thrashed once, then went still, shock making her passive. Andre staggered to solid ground and set her down gently. The goat stood on trembling legs, muddy but mobile.

Joy pulled a halter from where she'd slung it over her shoulder, approaching slowly. "Easy, mama. Let me get this on you." She slipped it over Clementine's muddy head, clipping the lead rope into place.

"I'll walk behind her, make sure she keeps moving," Andre said, breathing hard.

Joy rattled the grain bucket with one hand while holding the lead rope with the other. "Come on, Clementine. Let's get you home."

The pregnant goat took one tentative step, then another. Progress was slow, with frequent stops to rest, but she walked on her own power. Joy kept the lead rope just taut enough to guide without pulling. Andre stayed close, ready to support her if needed, occasionally steadying her when she swayed.

By the time they reached the barn, Joy's entire body thrummed with exhaustion and fury. They settled Clementine in a stall with fresh hay and water. Ten down. Five to go.

"I need a minute." Joy sagged against the stall door. Not because her body couldn't continue, but because her heart felt bruised. Clementine could have lost her kids. The kid’s leg needed stitches. She would do whatever it took to protect her goats.

Andre moved to the water spigot, splashing his face before drinking deeply. Water dripped from his chin as he straightened, gesturing for her to take a turn.

Joy drank straight from the spigot, the cold water shocking her system back to clarity. When she straightened, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Andre was watching her with an expression she couldn't read.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For being here. For helping."

They stood there, both breathing hard. Andre's uniform was soaked with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. Dawn was starting to lighten the eastern sky.

"We still have five goats out there," Joy said, pushing off the wall.

"Then we'd better keep going." He straightened, matching her determination.

The next search found three more huddled together near the equipment shed, smart enough to stay close to home but too scared to return to the broken pen.

Joy rattled the grain bucket, and they came running, nearly knocking her over in their eagerness.

No halters needed for these ones. They'd had enough adventure.

"Two left." Joy's voice was raw. "Where could they be?"

A plaintive cry answered from above.

"How did she even get up there?" Joy stared at Buttercup, who had somehow climbed onto the equipment shed roof using the hay bales stacked against the wall.

"Goats." Andre shook his head, but he was almost smiling. "I'll get her."

He tested the hay bales, then climbed carefully.

The goat watched him approach, torn between fear of heights and fear of the stranger.

But when he held out a handful of grain, hunger won.

He slipped the halter over Buttercup's head, securing the lead rope before guiding her down the hay bales step by step, one hand steadying her flank while the other held the rope taut.

"One more to go," Joy said as they penned Buttercup with the others. "Where's Snowball?"

They found her trapped in old fencing at the property line, bleating pitifully. Joy untangled the wire carefully while Andre held the flashlight. The goat was too exhausted to fight, following them back on trembling legs.

First light painted the mountains pink as they penned the last goat with the others. All fifteen accounted for, including the injured kid whose wound still seeped through Andre's makeshift bandage.

"I need to get her to Doc Morrison." Joy checked the kid's leg again. The bleeding had slowed but not stopped. "His emergency line should be open by now."

"Want me to follow you?" Andre asked. "In case you need help carrying her in?"

Joy considered. The kid would need to be kept still, and an extra pair of hands might help. "Actually, would you mind holding her while I drive? Keep her calm?"

"Of course." Andre helped her wrap the injured kid in old towels, creating a soft bundle to keep the wound protected.

Joy started her truck, and Andre climbed into the passenger seat, carefully cradling the injured kid against his chest. The small goat bleated weakly, and Andre's hand moved to stroke its head, his voice dropping to a soothing murmur.

As she navigated the ranch roads toward town, Joy's hands gripped the wheel. Her mind raced through everything that needed doing. Call the vet. Install security. Fix the gate. Check Clementine again. The list felt endless.

"The cameras," she said suddenly. "Can you install them today? This afternoon?"

Andre looked at her, his hand still gentle on the injured goat. "You need sleep first. Let me take care of those scratches on your hands."

She looked at her hands. "It’s nothing… I need to know this won't happen again." Her voice cracked. "I can't go through another night like this. I can't lose them."

"Okay." His voice was steady, reassuring. "I'll grab the equipment from the station and meet you back at the farm this afternoon.”

"You were right." The admission scraped her throat raw. "About the security. I was wrong to wait."

The words hung between them as she drove, the injured kid's soft bleating the only sound. Dawn gave way to full morning, the world waking up around them. Normal people were starting normal days, while she sat here with blood on her hands and her heart still racing from what could have been lost.

In her peripheral vision, she watched Andre's gentle hands steady the injured goat.

The same hands that had freed Clementine from the mud, that had worked beside her through the darkest hours of the night.

Her mountain lion purred, recognizing something in him that her human side wasn't ready to name.