Tails of Love

by Lori Foster

  Mike stormed Norah’s Arc.

  He found the zookeeper in Houdini’s pen, hosing off the buck’s hooves. Norah was on her knees, her wild auburn curls caught in a ponytail. His gaze swept the smooth curve of her shoulders, then lingered on her slim waist and sweet round bottom. Twenty-four hours, and the memory of her kiss seduced him. His jeans grew uncomfortably snug. He shifted his stance. Twice.

  The pygmy goat’s bleat drew his thoughts off Norah and back to the sidewalk. There were no tourists in sight, so he swung open the gate and entered the pen. “Washing away the evidence?” He growled.

  She looked up, her expression as guilty as Houdini’s.

  “Your goat owes me forty feet of ’crete,” he told her. “He’s damn lucky the cement was still wet, otherwise the industrial park would have a permanent statue of a goat at its entrance.”

  Nora set the hose aside and pushed to her feet. “Houdini heard the cement truck arrive. Sounds interest him,” she defended her goat. “The loud whirl of the mixer left him curious.”

  “There was a lot of heavy machinery in the parking lot this morning,” he returned, a hard edge to his voice. “Not everyone’s on the lookout for your pygmy goat.”

  He caught Norah’s shiver, knew her heart would break if anything happened to Houdini. “Why weren’t you watching him? How’d he escape?” he demanded.

  “I have staff checking on Houdini throughout the day. He slipped past the last person on duty.” Her sigh was heavy. “I was with the potbelly pigs, recycling water for Pudding and Pie’s mud hole, when one of the workers notified me that he’d disappeared. By the time I got to Houdini’s pen and found where he’d dug under the fence, he’d returned. His hooves were caked in fresh cement. I grabbed the hose and washed him down.”

  While Houdini’d had a grand old time, Mike Kraft was visibly ticked. The man was all dark eyes, tightened jaw, and gunning for goat.

  Norah’s heart had quickened when he’d entered the pen.

  Their attraction held strong.

  She didn’t, however, have the words to pacify him.

  “Houdini’s cost my company time and money,” Mike stated. “This can’t continue.”

  “I’ll reimburse you,” she quickly offered.

  “You’ll go broke paying off Houdini’s debt.”

  She licked her lips. “We’re sorry.”

  “How sorry?” His gaze held on her mouth. He looked mad as hell, in an aroused, might-kiss-her sort of way.

  Her throat worked.

  And her tummy went tight.

  She locked her knees to keep standing.

  He leaned in, as if drawn to her.

  His breath brushed one corner of her mouth.

  Anticipation sparked, hot as the afternoon sun.

  Her eyelids lowered.

  Her lips parted.

  And Mike pulled back.

  A curse broke as he gained control. Jamming his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he cut her one last look. “Keep your goat penned.”

  Norah watched him walk away, all straight spine, stiff legs, and significant erection. He had a great body. Big, strong, impressive. Too bad he was so anti-goat.

  Moments later, a young girl came to stand by the fence. She held out her hand, offering Houdini a small oatmeal and molasses baked biscuit, sold for a quarter at the Food Arc.

  A delighted bleat and Houdini trotted to the fence. With the greatest care, the little buck took the all-natural treat.

  The girl’s father took a dozen pictures of his daughter feeding Houdini. The buck nuzzled the girl’s hand, his coarse hair tickling her palm and making her laugh. Norah’s chest swelled. Albeit a scamp, Houdini could be sweet.

  Too bad Mike Kraft believed him delinquent.

  Houdini was twenty pounds of trouble.

  The goat needed a full-time keeper.

  Two days had passed, and the buck was at it again, causing Mike Kraft yet another headache and delay in construction.

  The paper trail told Mike all he needed to know. Houdini had once again escaped his pen and made mischief. A set of architectural plans had gone missing.

  It had all gone down within fifteen minutes. Mike had left his temporary office to speak with his foreman. He’d left the drawings with all his notations spread across his desk. The door had been wedged for ventilation.

  On his return, the door stood fully ajar. Six architectural sheets had disappeared. The tiled floor was littered with tiny bits of paper, all chewed up and spit out.

  To fuel the fire, the buds on a bouquet of flowers he’d bought Norah as a peace offering following their last argument had been chomped off. Petals from the small sunflowers and deep blue iris lay strewn on the floor. Only the green stems remained in the crystal vase. Nibbling had untied the azure gauze bow.

  A coarse caramel-colored hairball closed the case on Houdini. How could such a small goat make such a big mess?

  Norah Archer had promised to keep Houdini penned. She hadn’t kept her word. The pygmy goat had escaped a third time.

  Mike followed the paper trail, across the parking lot and along the brick sidewalk of the petting zoo. He came upon Houdini and Norah at the exact moment the zookeeper discovered the buck’s thievery. Her eyes were wide and one hand covered her heart. She appeared horrified Houdini had shredded page after page of diagrams.

  The goat’s ability to drag six rolled sheets of plans to his pen mystified Mike. The pages were big and bulky. He’d been one determined little buck, but perseverance was not to be admired in this case. Houdini had scrapped Mike’s notations.

  Mike was damn mad.

  “What have you done?” He heard the catch in Norah’s voice as she approached the goat. She dropped to her knees and stared at the mess. “Mike’s going to—”

  “Hang him by his horns?” he finished for her. He passed through the gate, came to stand before Houdini.

  The buck didn’t fear him. If anything, he chewed faster before spitting a paper wad.

  Mike went down on one knee and salvaged a half sheet yet to be devoured. The remaining bits of the plan were the size of peas.

  “Houdini loves paper,” Nora rushed to say. “He’s fascinated by the crinkling sound. He doesn’t actually eat the paper. He rolls it around in his mouth and chews.”

  “Then spits.” Mike ducked a spit ball.

  “Here’s a piece you can save.” She smoothed out a damp corner edge. Her hand shook as she passed it to him.

  He studied the drawing. “Goat spit smeared the lines.”

  She hesitated, asked, “Do you have another set of plans?”

  “This set contained my notes and designated changes.”

  Norah Archer leaned back on her heels, leveled her gaze on him. “How did Houdini get your plans? Weren’t they in your office? Wasn’t the door locked?” Houdini had yet to pick locks.

  “I’d left the door cracked so air could circulate,” he explained. “Your goat hit and ran like a master thief.”

  “An open door is an invitation for Houdini to visit,” she told him. “He’s very social.”

  “Your goat came uninvited and destroyed a costly set of drawings.”

  Nora pursed her lips. “Of all the papers in your office, Houdini stole these particular plans?”

  Mike nodded. “He had his choice of magazines, today’s newspaper, the phone book or the plans.”

  She scooped up the remainder of the paper, pushed to her feet, and defended her goat. “Guess Houdini finds Cambridge Square as distasteful as I do.”

  Mike rose up before her, tall and agitated. “Three strikes, Norah.” He tapped off his words on three fingers. “Houdini’s climbed on my Corvette, ruined my sidewalk, and chewed and spit out my architectural plans. His escapades are getting old.”

  Her chest rose and fell, her heart heavy. “We’ll do better,” she promised.

  His expression indicated he didn’t believe her for a second. High above, the sky clouded. A breeze slid between them, the air cool agai
nst the heat of his temper. Loose strands from her ponytail fanned her cheek, catching at one corner of her mouth.

  It was Mike who tucked her hair back. The full press of his thumb against her lips held her silent as the callused pads of his fingers swept her cheek and secured the strands behind her ear.

  His hand splayed along her jawline as the tip of his thumb made a slow pass across her mouth, teasing her lips apart. He stroked the inside of her moist lower lip, his touch slow and intimate. And a total turn-on.

  Withdrawing his thumb, he dipped his head until their noses touched. “Tie a bell around Houdini’s neck or install an electric fence. Just keep him off my construction site, understood?”

  “Got it.” Her voice was too husky to be her own.

  A glance at Houdini, and Mike left the pen.

  Norah blew out a breath. Her goat was a scamp. They didn’t, however, need another strike against them.

  She wouldn’t let Houdini out of her sight.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Houdini’s disappeared.” Norah Archer’s shoulders slumped as she faced Mike Kraft in the side parking lot. She looked shaken and scared, her eyes all red and puffy. She clutched several Kleenex tissues in her hand.

  He squinted against the late afternoon sun. He’d called it quits for the day and was about to climb in his Corvette. Instead he closed the car door. “Your goat’s gone missing?”

  She nodded, her voice watery. “I’ve kept a sharp eye on Houdini all week. He was with me in the miniature horses’ pen while I was rubbing cream on Angel’s and Astro’s hooves to enhance hardness. It took me six minutes. When I looked up, Houdini was gone. I’ve searched for him for hours.”

  A cold trail for a lost goat would be tough to track. “You need my help?” Mike asked.

  “If you have time.”

  He’d make time for this woman who looked as if she’d lost her child, not a petting zoo goat. “Do we walk or drive?”

  “We’ll walk,” she told him. “I’ll put Hermes in her harness. Houdini adores her. He’ll hear her bleat and come to us. I’ll bring Houdini’s Red Flyer. He likes to ride.”

  Mike rolled his eyes. A goat and his wagon. Unbelievable.

  Dusk purpled the sky. It would soon be dark. “I’ll grab a couple of flashlights from my office,” he said. “We’d better get started.”

  They separated, met again at the main gate. “Which way?” he asked.

  “North,” she said, glancing at her watch. “It’s feeding time and Houdini will be hungry. There’s an empty field close by. Goats are Weed-wackers.”

  They walked at a clipped pace, Hermes on a leash between them. Mike pulled the Red Flyer. Time and again Norah called Houdini’s name, until her voice grew hoarse.

  Passersby cut them strange looks, which they both ignored. There was a pygmy goat on the loose. Houdini needed to be in his pen by bedtime.

  Norah’s heart stopped when they arrived at the field and there was no sign of her goat. Vegetation grew wild; there were knee-high flowers, weeds, and an overturned palm tree.

  Mike left the wagon on the sidewalk and tromped across the acre. He swung his flashlight through the darkening shadows as he covered every inch of land. Lines of concern soon scored his features. “No sign of hooves. No pulled up weeds,” he said grimly.

  Panic hit, and her stomach squeezed.

  Her knees went weak. She sat down in the wagon.

  Absolute stillness settled around them, thick and defeating. Mike came to stand beside her. He curved one hand over her shoulder, gently squeezed. “Don’t give up. Let’s keep looking. We’ll find your goat.”

  Norah nearly jumped out of her skin when Hermes bleated, shrill as a whistle. Her little nose sniffed the air. Soon her ears twitched and her tail wagged. She began tugging on her leash.

  “Hermes has picked up Houdini’s scent.” Norah was on her feet and moving fast.

  Darkness hit fully, and the timer-set streetlights illuminated the sidewalk and street corners. Norah kept pace with Hermes; Mike followed with the wagon.

  Another block and Hermes stopped at a public park. She pawed the ground. Then head-butted Norah’s leg. Norah bent and scratched the little doe’s ears. “Where’s Houdini?”

  Again Hermes bleated.

  A return bleat broke the night air. A frustrated, forlorn bleat that sent Norah running toward the sound.

  Mike was on her heels. He held both flashlights and shed brightness across the darkened park. “There’s your goat.” He pointed toward a playground where several old tires sat upright at varying depths off the grass. The tires provided jumping challenges for children. Apparently Houdini had tried to play, too, only to get his horns stuck in several connecting metal links on a low chain that secured the tires to the ground.

  His next bleat asked forgiveness. Houdini sounded sorry he’d run away. Sorrier still he’d caused Norah so much worry.

  Norah fell to her knees. Her hands shook as she tried to pry his small horns free. Blood trickled from a gash in his head, a result of his struggle to free himself. He was in need of doctoring.

  Anxious for his freedom, Houdini stomped his hooves and jerked wildly. His bleat was now belligerent.

  Norah struggled against Houdini. She needed him still.

  Mike hunkered down beside her. “You hold the flashlights and I’ll free him.”

  Norah watched as his big hands turned gentle. Even after Houdini sidekicked him, Mike soothed with soft words and a stroke down the buck’s back.

  Hermes chose that moment to nuzzle noses with Houdini through the metal rings, which calmed the goat long enough for Mike to disengage his horns.

  Freed, Houdini tossed his head and bleated his lungs out. The pygmy goat was as loud as any wolf baying at the moon. Norah opened her arms and Houdini came to her. She hugged the goat so hard she nearly choked him. Hermes wanted her fair share of affection. The doe butted her way between Norah and Houdini.

  They were a family, Mike realized. As crazy at it seemed. Norah loved her animals, even the escape artist who sent her into the night to find him.

  Mike swept one flashlight over the playground equipment. “Houdini came here to play?”

  Norah nodded. “Pygmy goats are as inquisitive and active as children. Houdini can jump through tires, walk the low teeter-totter, climb the wide steps onto the platform of the wooden fort.”

  She pushed to her feet. “It’s time to go home. Ride, Houdini?” She patted the bed of the red wagon.

  The goat hopped in.

  Mike led the group, pulling the Red Flyer.

  Norah and Hermes trailed behind.

  They returned to the petting zoo, tired and ready to call it a night. Once in his pen, Houdini jumped from the wagon and trotted to the barn. Out of her harness, Hermes soon followed.

  Norah exhaled, tired and relieved. She would doctor Houdini shortly. At the moment, she was indebted and grateful to this man for finding her goat. She wasn’t certain she could have gone it alone.

  She cleared her throat. “I owe you—big.”

  His smile was slow and very male. “Big works for me. I’ll collect tomorrow.” He brushed a soft kiss against her brow, then departed, leaving Norah as high on anticipation as she was on Mike Kraft.

  Morning rose to overcast skies.

  And the sounds of sawing, hammering, and drilling.

  Once dressed, Norah stepped from her resident office, called to one of her staff. “What’s going on?” She raised her voice over the noise.

  “Construction in the goat pen,” her employee shouted back. “Mike Kraft and a dozen workers showed up at dawn.”

  On a Sunday? With Houdini safe, she’d slept like the dead. She hadn’t heard them arrive.

  All around her the air resounded with deep male voices and a whole lot of banging. Norah jogged down the path to her goat pen. She dodged a small forklift, then circled a trailer from Mc-Cumber Lumber. She moved to the fence, and stopped short.

  What Norah saw, she wou
ld never forget.

  Her throat thickened and her heart warmed as she watched Mike Kraft in action.

  Throughout the pen, construction workers built a playground. Cemented in the ground, huge electrical spools stood up like tabletops, great for climbing. A twenty-foot commercial water pipe allowed Houdini and Hermes an opportunity for hide-and-seek. The goats could trot the full inside length and surprise each other at the opposite end. Their bleats would echo inside the pipe.

  A low narrow beam would show off Houdini’s gymnastics skills. Set in the far corner of the pen, a wide staircase curved around the base of an ancient Banyan tree, climbing to a tree fort. The structure was intriguing. Houdini would be highly entertained. He’d never be bored again.

  Amid the commotion, the little buck stood beside the contractor. Houdini’s horn had been wrapped in gauze. Mike gently scratched the buck’s ears.

  Wide-eyed and twitching, Houdini was alert to Mike’s every order and movement. Hermes peered from the barn, taking shelter against the shouting and whirring buzz saws.

  Through it all, Norah focused on Mike in his gray T-shirt and jeans. He wore a black baseball cap backwards, dark sunglasses, and a tool belt on his hip.

  With his back to her, she took in the tempting bunch of his muscles along his shoulders, the flex of his biceps, his amazingly tight butt as he hunkered down and helped anchor the last of the three tractor tires.

  Houdini bleated, looked to Mike as if asking permission to play. “It’s all yours, buddy,” Mike said, as he and the other workers stepped back.

  Houdini ran wild. Bleating, trotting, prancing, the little goat tried every piece of playground equipment once, then started over again. Hermes joined him, all sniffing and twitching, and slower in her exuberance.

  It didn’t take long for both goats to play tag.

  Houdini won the game by climbing the boulder mountain and bleating his superiority. Hermes pawned the base, waiting for him to come down and go a second round.

  To the west, clouds thickened and the sky bore a purple haze. Humidity weighed heavily, the air in need of a cleansing rain.