Page 18 of Unmanageable

“Brick,” I say carefully, “he’s a grown man.”

Brick looks genuinely wounded.

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t need supervision.”

On the floor next to me, Cash finally groans, rolling over onto his back.

He blinks up at the ceiling, his eyes focusing, before he turns his head and looks right at me. A slow, thoroughly wicked smirk cuts through the stubble on his face.

He looks like he’s having the best morning of his life, which is deeply insulting.

“Morning, Sharky.”

He reaches out, his large, warm hand wrapping around my forearm. He pulls my wrapped wrist directly into his line of sight, his fingers calloused and steady against my skin. He stares at the clear plastic, then looks up at me, his smirk widening into a full, devastating grin.

“Damn. I didn’t know you were that obsessed with me. You went out and got branded? Did you get my portrait? Is it a realistic sketch, or did you go for the caricature?”

My face burns hot instantly. “I did not get branded, O’Connell! We don’t even know what it is yet! It’s probably a mistake. It’s definitely a mistake.”

“Sure, Sharky,” he chuckles. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. But if my name is on your skin, I’m going to need a photo of it. For my scrapbook.”

“Shut up!” I snap, and I punch him square in the shoulder.

It’s like hitting a slab of concrete.

“Seriously, where is he?” Brick asks again, pacing the rug. “I feel paternal about him, I can’t believe we lost Noah. He’s not street-smart.”

Before any of us can comment on it, the kitchen door swings open, and Kovács walks in.

“We have a problem. The side gate is wide open, and there are little hoof prints all over the patio. And a lot of poop. Like, a concerning amount.”

Ivy sits straight up, her eyes wide. “Hoof prints? What did you guys do last night?”

Callahan rubs his face with both hands, looking guilty. “Nico found a guy on Craigslist. We bought a goat. His name is Barnaby.”

“You bought a what?” Ivy says, her voice eerily calm.

Callahan winces. “A goat.”

“For what?”

“Morale.”

“You bought livestock for morale?”

“It seemed reasonable at the time!” Callahan defends himself, holding his hands up. “But then Noah started explaining the physics of the jukebox, and we got distracted, and… I think we lost him in the shuffle and then maybe Noah went to find him.”

“Search party,” I command, pushing myself up from the floor, ignoring the way my head throbs. “Dean, come on. We need to go find the human calculator before he gets eaten by Barnaby.”

“I’m coming,” Dean mutters, dragging himself out of the chair, the glittery pink cowboy hat still firmly secured to his head like a crown of thorns.

We all spill out into the blinding, high-noon sun.

Dean mutters something about a probability grid and veers sharply to the left, marching with grim determination toward the side garden to search for Noah and the missing livestock in complete solitude.

I roll my eyes and turn to head toward the back tool shed instead, but before I can take two steps, Cash falls effortlessly into stride right beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.

Walking hurts.