Page 18 of Nate Hayes

When it was over, I lay beside her, one arm slung over her waist, pulling her close while we caught our breath. Her chest rose and fell against mine, her fingers lazily tracing my jaw.

“Well,” she said, voice soft and sultry, “you still think you can take a goat butting and survive?”

I laughed. “I’d rather fight ten goats than go one more week without seeing you.”

She rolled to her side, propping her head up on her elbow. “Then maybe don’t wait so long next time.”

“Deal,” I said, brushing a kiss to her shoulder. “But I actually came by to tell you I’m heading to Italy tomorrow. Escort mission. I’ll be gone a few days.”

Her smile faded a little, but she nodded. “Okay. Be safe.”

“I will. And I’ll call you every night. If I don’t, it means something went wrong—like I got arrested for smuggling Parmesan cheese or something.”

She laughed, then leaned in and kissed me gently, sweetly this time. “Bring me back something cheesy.”

“Like a tourist magnet that says, ‘My hot Navy SEAL boyfriend went to Italy and all I got was this lousy goat T-shirt?’”

She smacked my chest. “That’s exactly what I want.”

We remained like that for a while, wrapped up in each other. No words, just the kind of silence that conveys everything. I didn’t want to leave. Hell, I hadn’t even wanted to fall this hard, this fast. But there she was. Willa Mae Jensen, goat queen, soap maker, my unexpected everything.

Eventually, I dragged myself up and started pulling on my jeans. “Now, if I don’t go outside and wrangle that demon goat, he’s gonna tear this place apart.”

“You’re the one who said no goat was gonna knock you down.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “Pray for me.”

“Go get ‘em, cowboy,” she called after me with a grin as I stepped outside to face the real danger.

The goat.

8

Willa

Ilay 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’mgreat. 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.”

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