One Hundred Humbugs (Aspen Cove #25)

Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

The wind howled around Becket’s tent, pulling him from sleep. He blinked in the dim light, momentarily disoriented. The air inside the tent was frigid, his breath visible in small puffs. The sleeping bag that had seemed so cozy when he’d fallen asleep now offered little protection against the biting cold.

“Well, this is new,” he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his hands together. His fingers were stiff, and he flexed them, wincing at the pins and needles sensation.

Unzipping the tent flap, Becket was met with a wall of white. Snow was falling heavily, obscuring everything beyond a few feet. The wind whipped the flakes into a frenzy, creating swirling patterns in the air. It was beautiful, in a terrifying sort of way.

“Ah, hell,” Becket groaned, zipping the tent back up. This was more than just a light dusting. This was a full-blown winter storm, the kind that could strand people for days if they weren’t prepared. And he was most definitely not prepared.

Concern for his goats immediately overrode his own discomfort. Becket hurriedly pulled on his boots and coat, fumbling with the tent’s zipper before stepping out into the maelstrom. He braced himself, taking a deep breath of icy air as the wind threatened to knock him off his feet.

Trudging towards the makeshift pen, Becket could hear the distressed bleating rising above the howling wind, tugging at his heart. Snow had piled up against the sides, and he cursed himself for not checking the weather. “I’m coming, guys!” he called out, though his voice was lost to the storm.

The snow crunched beneath his boots, already several inches deep, when a brown and white head popped up over a snowdrift—Houdini, of course. The escape artist had climbed the snow pile and perched precariously atop the pen, looking for all the world like the king of a small, cold mountain.

“Don’t you dare,” Becket warned, quickening his pace. He could already see the playful glint in the goat’s eye, the one that always preceded trouble.

But it was too late. With a triumphant bleat that sounded almost like a laugh, Houdini leapt from his snowy perch ... and immediately sank up to his neck in the deep snow beyond the pen. The look of surprise on the goat’s face was almost comical.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Becket laughed at the goat’s startled expression. “Not quite the great escape you had in mind, huh buddy?” Even in a crisis, Houdini managed to lighten the mood.

Scooping up Houdini, Becket made his way to the pen’s entrance. The goat’s wet fur soaked through his gloves, making his already cold hands even colder. Inside the pen, the rest of the herd was huddled together, looking cold and weary. Daisy, heavy with her pregnancy, looked downright uncomfortable.

“Alright, gang,” Becket said, assessing the situation. His mind raced, trying to come up with a solution. “This isn’t going to work. We need to find you someplace warmer.” He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a small shower of snowflakes.

He glanced toward Ruby’s house. The porch light was on, casting a warm glow through the swirling snow. Becket was tempted to knock on her door, to ask for shelter. The thought of being inside, warm and dry, was incredibly appealing. But he dismissed the idea. He couldn’t impose on her like that, not after all the trouble Houdini had caused. Besides, he was used to handling things.

“Looks like we’re on our own, guys,” he told the goats, trying to sound more confident than he was. “Let’s see what we can rig up.”

Over the next hour, Becket battled the elements as he attempted to construct a more substantial shelter for his herd. He used tarps from his truck, spare pieces of wood he found scattered around the yard, and no small amount of creativity. The wind bit at his exposed skin, and his hands grew numb despite his gloves. But he pressed on, driven by the need to protect his animals.

But the wind kept tearing down his efforts, and the snow was accumulating faster than he could clear it. Every time he thought he was making progress, a gust would come along and undo all his hard work. It was like trying to build a house of cards in a wind tunnel.

Exhausted and half-frozen, Becket had to admit defeat. His clothes were soaked through, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. He couldn’t leave the goats out here, not in this weather. They needed real shelter, and fast. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed help.

With a heavy heart, Becket made his way to Ruby’s door. He hesitated before knocking, acutely aware of his snow-covered appearance and the early hour. What if she turned him away? What if she was angry at being woken up? He pushed the thoughts aside. He had to try, for the goats’ sake.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened. Ruby stood there in flannel pajamas and an oversized sweater, her hair a mess and her eyes still heavy with sleep. But as soon as she saw Becket, those eyes widened with concern.

“Becket? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Becket opened his mouth to explain, but a strong gust of wind chose that moment to blow him off balance. Ruby reached out, grabbing his arm to steady him. Her touch, even through his wet coat, was warm.

“Get in here,” she said, pulling him inside and shutting the door against the storm. “You’re freezing!”

As Becket stepped inside, the heat of the house hit him, and his frozen fingers began to tingle painfully. “Thanks,” he managed through chattering teeth. “It’s the goats. They can’t stay out there in this storm. I tried to build them a shelter, but...”

Understanding dawned on Ruby’s face. “Say no more. We’ll figure something out.”

Relief washed over Becket. He should have known Ruby would understand. In the short time he’d known her, she’d proven herself to be kind and resourceful. “I hate to impose,” he started, but Ruby cut him off with a wave of her hand.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We can’t leave them out there. Now, let’s think. Where can we put a bunch of goats?”

Becket’s eyes swept over the clutter—piles of books, odd knick-knacks, and the inexplicable garden gnomes. Definitely not goat territory, but his mind kept turning.

“Well,” Becket said with a half-smile, “any chance your uncle left you a barn tucked away somewhere?”

Ruby sighed dramatically. “Nope. Guess we’ll just have to bring them all inside.”

Becket raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

Ruby grinned. “It’s not the worst idea. But...” Her face lit up as inspiration struck. “The garage! It’s full of junk, but it’s got a roof and walls. We could clear enough space for the goats.”

Becket nodded, already moving towards the door. The prospect of action, of having a plan, energized him. “It’s worth a shot. Let’s do it.”

The next few hours were a blur of activity. Becket and Ruby braved the storm multiple times, ferrying goats from the pen to the garage. The wind howled around them, snow pelting their faces, but they pressed on. Inside, they cleared space, stacking boxes and shoving old furniture aside to create a makeshift goat hotel. To keep the biting cold at bay, they led each goat in through the side door that opened to the yard, leaving the big garage door firmly shut. The third door, leading into the kitchen, offered a welcome escape to warmth between trips.

By the time they got the last goat settled, both Becket and Ruby were exhausted, covered in snow, and laughing at the absurdity of it all. Becket couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this much, especially in the face of adversity.

“I can’t believe we just turned your garage into a goat barn,” Becket said, watching as Houdini immediately started investigating his new surroundings, nosing at boxes and trying to chew on an old tennis racket.

Ruby grinned, reaching out to scratch behind Daisy’s ears. The pregnant goat leaned into her touch, looking far more content than she had in the pen. “Wait until the HOA hears about this. Oh wait, we don’t have one of those out here, do we?”

Their laughter was interrupted by a loud rumble. Becket looked down at his stomach, embarrassed. “Sorry. Guess all this goat wrangling worked up an appetite.”

“Come on,” Ruby said, heading towards the house. “I think we’ve earned some breakfast. I make a mean scrambled egg.”

As they stepped back into the house, Becket marveled at how natural it felt—working side by side, tackling problems, laughing in the face of adversity. It was as if they’d known each other for years, not days. He watched Ruby walk ahead, admiring her determination, her spirit, and the way each step radiated confidence and purpose.

In the kitchen, Ruby busied herself with making breakfast while Becket sat at the table, warming his hands around a mug of coffee. The storm continued to rage outside, but in here, everything was calm and cozy. The contrast was striking, and for the first time in months, Becket experienced a sense of peace settling over him.

“You know,” Ruby said as she set a plate of steaming eggs in front of him, “I think Uncle Peter would have loved this. Turning his garage into a goat sanctuary? That’s right up his alley of weirdness.”

Becket dug into the eggs with gusto. They were delicious, perfectly seasoned and fluffy. “ From what you’ve told me about him, I think you’re right. He sounds like he was quite a character.”

“That he was,” Ruby agreed. “I wish I’d known him better.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds being the clink of forks against plates and the howling of the wind outside. Becket glanced at Ruby, admiring the way the morning light played across her features.

“Listen, Ruby,” Becket said, setting down his fork. “I can’t thank you enough for this. For helping with the goats, for breakfast, for everything.” A lump formed in his throat, overwhelmed by her kindness.

Ruby met his eyes, her expression soft. “That’s what friends do, right? Help each other out?”

Friends. The word warmed Becket more than the coffee ever could. “Right,” he agreed. “Friends.” But even as he said it, he wondered if that word fully encompassed what he was beginning to feel for Ruby.

As the day wore on and the storm showed no signs of letting up, they settled into an easy routine. They checked on the goats regularly, played board games unearthed from Uncle Peter’s collection, and talked for hours about everything and nothing.

Becket spoke more openly than he had in years, sharing stories about his life on the farm, his dreams for the future. Ruby listened attentively, asking thoughtful questions and sharing her own experiences. With each passing hour, the connection between them grew stronger.

By the time evening rolled around, he realized he hadn’t once thought about leaving. The idea of going back to his cold, lonely tent seemed almost absurd now. And when Ruby suggested he take the guest room for the night instead of braving the storm to return to his tent, he found himself agreeing without hesitation.

Becket relaxed as he lay in bed that night, listening to the wind outside and the occasional distant bleat from the garage. This wasn’t how he’d planned to weather the storm, but somehow, it seemed right.

His last thought before drifting off to sleep was that he’d found more than just shelter from the storm in Aspen Cove. Maybe he’d found a place he could call home. And perhaps, he’d found someone he wanted to share his life with.