Tobago Temptation
"Goat racing is serious business in Tobago, and champion trainer Patrice takes visiting vet Simon seriously too—showing him that island traditions include hospitality of the most intimate kind."
Simon had never heard of goat racing. Now he was watching Patrice's goats win by a mile.
She was thick and triumphant, celebrating with a body shake that sent shockwaves through the crowd.
"Yuh the vet they sent?" she asked, sizing him up. "Mi goats need checking after the race."
"I'm your man."
"Yuh might be. We'll see."
The goats were fine. Champions. Patrice watched him work with knowing eyes.
"Yuh good with animals."
"I love my work."
"What about yuh play?" She moved closer. "Yuh good at that too?"
"I'd need someone to play with."
"That can be arranged."
Her cottage overlooked the racetrack. The goats bleated in the distance as she pulled him inside.
"In Tobago, we celebrate victory properly," she said.
"How properly?"
"Very." She dropped her victory sash. "Very properly."
Properly meant thoroughly. That thick body was a champion in its own right, racing toward pleasure with the same determination she trained into her goats.
"Yes! Simon! Faster!"
He raced to match her. Both won.
"Don't stop! The finish line not here yet!"
They crossed many finish lines that night. And the next. And the week after.
"Stay for the season," she said.
"The goat season?"
"And other seasons." Her lips found his. "Mi think yuh a winner too."
Simon's veterinary practice now operates from Tobago.
Goat racing champion Patrice Baptiste-Moore dominates the island.
Her husband cheers from the medical tent.
Every race a victory.
Every night a celebration.
Tobago temptation.
Impossible to resist.