Page 8

Willa

I lay in bed, completely, blissfully wrecked. My body hummed, my heart thundered, and every part of me still tingled from Nate Hayes.

Navy SEAL, goat wrangler, who looked hotter than sin… and now, apparently, mine?

I blinked at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath and maybe a little bit of my dignity. Who wraps their legs around a man and climbs him like a tree in broad daylight, in the middle of a goat stampede? Me. That would be me.

And I had no regrets.

I smiled as I sat up, listening to the muffled sound of Nate yelling something outside. A loud thud followed, then a string of curse words that I was pretty sure weren’t Navy-approved. That goat was not going down easy.

I wrapped a throw blanket around myself and padded barefoot to the window, just in time to see Nate holding the headbutting goat under one arm like a furry battering ram while the other goats scattered in all directions.

He looked furious. And hot. So stupidly hot I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

“You good out there?” I called through the open window.

He turned, hair a mess, shirtless, jeans low on his hips. “Oh, I’m great . Just got headbutted in the thigh. I may never walk the same again.”

“That’s the one he goes for. He’s got a type.”

Nate narrowed his eyes at me, then grinned. “He better watch it. I’ve seen war zones with less chaos than your front yard.”

I leaned on the window frame, feeling the breeze on my skin, still flushed and warm. “You knew I came with goats. It’s right there in the brochure.”

“Yeah, well, I was too distracted by the curves and the sass to read the fine print.”

My stomach did that swoopy thing again. I should’ve known it wasn’t just a kiss at the farmers market. Not with the way he looked at me. Not with the way he held me like he wasn’t ever going to let go.

But now he was leaving.

Italy. Kids. Escort mission. Probably flying into danger with that quiet, calm confidence he always wore like a second skin.

I hated that part. I hated how much I liked him already.

By the time Nate got the goats wrangled and came back inside, I had pulled on a long T-shirt and made some sweet tea. He looked like he’d just survived a bar fight—his hair was sticking up, a rip had appeared in his jeans, and Pancake was sulking in the corner with a bucket of feed.

“You okay?” I asked, handing him the glass.

“Define okay.”

“You have all your limbs. That’s a win on this farm.”

He took a long drink and leaned back against the counter. His eyes locked with mine, and the heat between us returned like a summer thunderstorm—fast, heavy, and impossible to ignore.

“I’ll be gone a few days,” he said, voice low. “But when I get back... I’m taking you out. No goats. No interruptions. Just you, me, and maybe a real bed the first time next time.”

I nodded, my heart thumping against my ribs. “I’ll be here. Soap to make, goats to wrangle, inappropriate fantasies to relive.”

He grinned and pulled me into a kiss that was somehow soft and dirty at the same time. The kind of kiss that left promises behind.

When he finally left, the place felt quieter. Too quiet.

I turned to walk and looked at the evil goat. “You’ve got terrible timing, you know that?”

He let out a little meh and wandered off like he owned the place.

I smiled, leaning against the doorframe, already counting down the days.