The goatbaaa’dwith zero remorse.
“That’s mine!” She yanked the mangled hat free, inspecting the crescent-shaped bite marks on the brim. “I brought this to work outside—not feed your fiber cravings!”
The goat responded by pooping on the wooden floor.
“Seriously?” she groaned. “We just met, and you’re already making deposits?”
It blinked at her, utterly unbothered. A bell jingled gently from the red collar around its neck. Did everyone in Mountshannon wake up to a goat in their house?
“Who put that on you?” she muttered, inspecting it. “Was it my grandmother? Do you live here now? Are we roommates?”
The goat attempted another bite of the hat.
“Absolutely not.” She tucked it behind her back. “Let’s find you something edible that isn’t part of my wardrobe.”
Luring him like a four-legged toddler, she held the hat out as bait and led him out of the bedroom and down the narrow hallway. Her stomach growled—a loud, hollow protest. She hadn’t eaten since the previous morning, and her head was starting to float.
The kitchen appeared the same as when she’d collapsed the night before—quaint, dusty, and older than sin. But this time, a cake sat on the table. A pale sponge dusted with sugar and, next to it, a folded note.
She narrowed her eyes at the goat. “So anyone can just waltz into this house now?”
The goat attempted to climb the table.
“Back off, Baa-bie,” she said, gently pushing him away. “That’smycake.”
She unfolded the note.
Aisling,
I’m thrilled you’re here. I let myself in and found you fast asleep—hope you don’t mind. Brought you a little cake for breakfast. I’ll be by for tea this afternoon. I’d love to hear about Maeve, and about you.
I miss your mother terribly. And Noreen…Talk soon.
Bríd Ní Riain
Aisling blinked.
People just let themselves in around here?
Was this a normal Irish thing or Mountshannon-specific madness?
The goat bleated again. She grabbed the hat and opened the back door.
“Go. Outside. Eat a bush or something.”
The goat sprinted for the hat. She tossed it like a Frisbee and slammed the door once he was over the threshold, latching it firmly.
She leaned against it and exhaled.
“That’s something you don’t see in New York.”
After a moment of gathering herself and dignity, she rummaged through the cupboards, found a chipped kettle, and managed a pot of coffee that tasted surprisingly decent. She cut a slice of cake and chewed in silence.
Today, she had a house to inventory. Grocery shopping could wait. Right now, she needed to know exactly how bad things were.
She returned to the bedroom, pulled out her notebook, and began a list:
Deep clean.
