“Then, you’ll have fun.” He turned onto the Beard acreage, flush with spring-green grass and ancient oaks, and drove up the gravel road to the barn. He parked between Dr. Brocklebank and the wall of the barn, in the shade, protected from sight. Coming around, Adam offered Elle his arm. “Slowly,” he cautioned.

“No kidding. I can barely move.” She got out and leaned on him heavily.

Dr. Brocklebank stuck his head out of the barn. “Come in. Mama just delivered a healthy kid.” He looked at them together, gave Elle a swift visual examination and said, “Oh, this is going to be good.” He disappeared inside.

Dr. Brocklebank had brown hair, hazel eyes, a rotund upper body and stout, stubby legs. He was sensible, never spoke unless he had something to communicate, ate with the concentration of someone who seldom had time to finish a meal and liked animals better than people. The only advice he had ever given Adam was to get a dog who would teach him to socialize, and he had been unconcerned when Adam ignored him.

The barn smelled of animals and manure. Sun leaked through the spaces in the board walls and lit the swirls of straw and dust. The penned pregnant goats bleated, the penned baby goats romped, the male goats were nowhere to be seen, and Dr. Brocklebank knelt in a pen drying a shaky, damp black-and-brown kid with a towel while the mother urged her baby to feed. “Baby was early, and she’s not sure if she can do what she needs to for it to survive.”

Adam could almost see Elle’s worries evaporate. She was instantly intent on the exhausted mama, the tentative baby. She leaned into the pen and said to the kid, “Life is pretty great when you get to know it. Give it a try.”

God, Elle was cute.

In a damned swift hurry, Adam straightened his spine.

Not cute as in he liked her, wanted her, but cute like a wet goat kid.

Dr. Brocklebank finished wiping Baby and urged her toward her mother.

The kid nuzzled, found a teat and did what baby goats do.

“Makes you want to sing ‘Circle of Life,’ doesn’t it?” the vet said to Adam.

“Sure.”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“No.”

“When you were a child, did nobody ever show you a Disney movie?”

“No.”

“Your parents didn’t believe in Disney?”

“My parents didn’t believe in modern civilization.”

“That explains a lot.” The veterinarian offered his hand to Elle. “Young lady, I’m Dr. Fred Brocklebank. What happened to you?”

“Young man, you can’t be much older than me.” She wasn’t snappish, exactly, but she wasn’t going to be patronized.

Adam grinned, relaxed and propped his shoulder against a post.

Dr. Brocklebank laughed. “I look young. Most times, I feel old.”