Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Now, you girls be good and keep pumping those eggs out ’cause the only chickens I want to be cooking for dinner are the kind that come like God intended—wrapped in plastic and Styrofoam.”
I was so caught up in trying not to laugh, I missed the sound of my quarry abandoning his post. He opened the stall and carefully used his lime green tennis shoe to ease the eager chickens back into the space. I’d already seen that the stall had been converted into a chicken coop with plenty of nesting boxes for the hens to lay their eggs and a well-protected outdoor run that gave them space to roam but kept them confined to one area so they wouldn’t become some predator’s dinner.
“Watch those feathers, girls… remember what I told you about all the queens back in New York who’d kill for those babies?”
This time, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. The young man was so startled that he let out a gasp and promptly dropped the basket full of eggs he’d been holding in one hand. The distraction let one chicken squeeze through the still slightly open door.
“Lovey, wait!”
The small red chicken didn’t even try to make a run for it except when her would-be captor tried to usher her back into the stall. “You happy?” the man growled as he eased the stall door shut and then tried to carefully grab the chicken.
“At the moment or with life in general?” I asked.
“How the hell am I supposed to make scrambled eggs for the guys who stay in the bunkhouse when at least half my eggs are broken?” The young man abandoned the basket of eggs and continued to try to catch the wayward hen. I kept my humor to myself as he let out a little shriek every time he touched the chicken and she began flapping her wings.
“So help me God, Hot Cowboy, if she gets hurt or lost, you’re the one who’s going to be pushing an egg out of your ass.”
The chicken was within a couple feet of me, so I easily reached down and scooped her up. “Now that would be a unique trait to have, Fuck You,” I said with a grin. “I think an actual tight ass would have more luck.” I dropped my eyes in the direction of the pert ass that had been haunting me for days.
“Give her to me!” Fuck You demanded, his face nearly beet red. Chasing the chicken meant he was practically toe to toe with me. He immediately reached for the chicken but as expected, the swift movement startled her, which startled Fuck You in return.
“You’re hurting her!” the young man cried out in all seriousness.
“Shhhhh, you’re okay,” I cooed to the chicken, though she wasn’t the one I was concerned with. Her champion’s reaction was over the top, even for someone who hadn’t spent a lot of time with chickens.
The chicken immediately calmed. I was holding her against my chest and gently petting her like a cat.
“Give her to me,” Fuck You said more quietly. He actually seemed disappointed… sad, even.
“Okay, since I’m tired of referring to you as Fuck You, I’m going to call you The Champion of Chickens until you decide to grace me with your actual name. As for Lovey here, I’m not hurting her. She’s flapping her wings when you reach for her because you’re not moving slow enough. Even though chickens have better vision than you and me combined, they can also be sensitive creatures. People dismiss chickens as just some dumb bird that belongs in a cooking pot, but they’re actually quite intelligent. She’s probably picking up on your anxiety, and flapping her wings is just a reaction to that. If you’re afraid of something, she will pick up on that and get scared herself.”
The Champion of Chickens stood before me like an annoyed child who just wanted their toy back. Arms crossed and expression defiant, he made no attempt to respond to my mini lesson. I reminded myself that it was a good thing that he disliked me as much as he did because it would make it all that much easier to avoid him.
“Here,” I said as I carefully transferred the bird to the young man’s arms. He seemed nervous at first, like someone holding an infant for the first time, but the more the chicken quietly clucked in his arms, the more relaxed he became.
I should have been relieved by the interaction, but as I turned to return to my horse, the muscles along my abdomen felt stretched too tight. The guy was obviously the type who gave someone one chance to make a good first impression and he’d made his decision about me days ago. “By the way, even though I like the sound of Hot Cowboy, there could be some guys around here who are just as ignorant as those fuckers in town. So if it makes you feel better to call me by something other than my real name, use something like Asshole or Prick. If you get tired of that, it’s Flynn,” I shot over my shoulder as I returned to the stall I’d been working in.