Page 67 of The Mistletoe Kisser

“What? I don’t speak sheep.”

“Baaaa!” Stan jogged toward the gate, then back again to Ryan.

“Do you want out?” he asked.

The sheep trotted back to the gate.

“I don’t know, man. What if you run away? It’s fucking cold, and I don’t feel like chasing your ass around again.”

“Baaaa!”

Stan sounded sad and desperate. Lonely even. Ryan could empathize. “Fine. But if you run away, it’s on you. Got it?” Stan’s tail wagged. Knowing he was probably making a big, rookie farmer mistake, Ryan unlatched the gate and opened it. Stan barreled through, but instead of continuing his sprint to freedom, the sheep rubbed his head on Ryan’s bruised thigh.

“Are you wiping your nose on me or is this some kind of barnyard hug?” he asked.

“Baaa!” Stan’s tail wiggled in delight, and he pranced toward the back door of the farmhouse.

“Hey. Wait up,” he called.

He didn’t know what the etiquette was for hosting farm animals inside the house. But he also didn’t feel like freezing his ass off outside anymore. Deciding that the sheep and the house were someone else’s long-term problems, Ryan opened the door.

Stan happily wandered into the kitchen.

Maybe the sheep just didn’t want to be alone? Ryan couldn’t blame him.

Alone is exactly what he would be as soon as he boarded that plane for home. Back to his dove-gray condo with a few tasteful paintings, a small collection of books that he never seemed to get around to reading, and a bed that he slept in alone.

Without a job to dedicate his life to, just what in the hell did he have?

He couldn’t blame the partners. The only thing worse than the idea that he was complicit in the fraud was the truth: that he’d been too stupid to see it. Heshouldhave seen it. The evasiveness, the runaround. He hadn’t dug deep enough. He’d been too busy building portfolios to build relationships with clients.

“Want some casserole?” he asked the sheep.

“Baaaa!”The sheep nudged the empty plate on the living room floor and looked at him expectantly.

Ryan glanced up from the binder in his lap and shook his head. “I don’t know, man. I don’t think you need to have any more vegetable korma.”

Pouting, Stan wandered over to the blanket Ryan had put in front of the electric fireplace and flopped down.

Ryan glanced back down at the binder. So far, the only document inside was the notice from the bank on the incense-scented letterhead. Several re-reads of the letter hadn’t produced any new information. He held it up to the light for one last scan. He studied it carefully, reading each word for the bingo. At the top, partially obscured by the bank’s peace sign logo, he spotted something interesting.

“Aha!”

Finally, a break. It was a barely legible loan number.Thishe could work with. He cracked his knuckles, prayed his access hadn’t been revoked, and logged into his firm’s network.

Blue Moon CommunityFacebook Gossip Group

Blue Moon Sheriff’s Department: Nikolai Vulkov and wife Emma caught making out behind Fitness Freak Gym by Deputy Layla Gunnarson. Their $20 fine will go into the Indecent Exposure Fund, which purchases and distributes new winter clothing for those in need.

19

“Hang on. He turned you down for no-strings sex because he didn’t have enough time to analyze the decision?” Layla’s eyes narrowed over her slice of spinach tofu pizza.

Peace of Pizza was in its mid-lunch rush. But Sammy, Layla, and Eden had managed to snag a table near the open kitchen where Bobby, the popular dreadlocked pizza maven, was belting out Billie Holiday and expertly rotating pies in and out of the oven.

“Basically,” Sammy answered, spearing a piece of tomato out of her salad. “And that he was concerned he had too much on his mind to perform well.”

“No man isthatpractical,” Eden insisted, sawing through her stromboli with gusto.