Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
I pulled a travel-sized bottle of hand sanitizer out of my pocket and grabbed Ryder’s hand, squirting some into his palm before taking some for myself. “That’s a good idea whenever you handle a reptile,” he said, “but why did you have it in your pocket?”
“Because I figured at some point I’d be touching some type of animal or another. I didn’t have snakes on my bingo card, though.”
He nodded, even though he probably thought I was ridiculous. “There are a few venomous species around here, just so you know,” he said, “so don’t do what I just did if you see another snake.”
“Oh believe me, there’s not a chance in hell of me doing that.”
He kissed my forehead and started to return to the paddock. “I still need to finish up with Barbie, so I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
I stayed right where I was. After a moment, he glanced over his shoulder and called, “What are you doing?”
“Watching you walk away. You look smoking hot in those jeans, cowboy.”
He chuckled at that. When he disappeared around the corner of the stable, I turned back toward the cheerful yellow farmhouse. My animal entourage had retreated a few feet when I yelled, but I was still a shiny new toy as far as they were concerned, so they all fell into step with me again.
This included the pair of faker goats, who were back on their feet and seemed perfectly fine. I shot one of them a look and said, “Drama queen. You scared me half to death when I thought I’d killed you.” Was it my imagination, or did it look smug?
The entire ensemble accompanied me onto the front porch, which presented me with a bit of a challenge. The dogs were allowed inside, but Jeff and the rest of the barnyard animals definitely weren’t. How was I going to make it through the door without the entire flock, or herd, or whatever coming in, too?
I attempted standing with my back to the door, opening it a crack, and trying to slip inside, but Jeff lunged forward, as if he had every intention of pushing his way in. I quickly pulled the door shut again and frowned at the donkey as I muttered, “You’re not making this easy, Jeff.”
For a few moments, I considered taking a seat and waiting for Ryder. The front porch was very inviting, with white wicker chairs, a few potted plants, and some sort of swinging couch thing at one end. I really wanted some coffee though, so I looked around for a solution.
Then I noticed one of the large front windows was open a few inches. It had a screen over it, but I was able to pop it out easily. I put it behind one of the chairs to keep it from getting damaged, and then I slid the window open further and started to climb inside.
That would have been easy enough, except that there was a little table with a lamp and some sports magazines on it, right inside the window. I carefully maneuvered around all of that, because I wasn’t sure if the table would support my weight. I was feeling pretty good about myself as I dropped onto the floor and did a forward roll, landing on my feet. That was a Cirque du Soleil-level move if ever there was one.
When I went to shut the window, I discovered one of the fluffy white chickens was sitting on the windowsill and staring at me. “I don’t know your name,” I said. “Kelly Cluckson? Stevie Chicks? Cluck Norris? I’m out of celebrity chicken puns, but whatever your name is, you have to stay outside.” I took a step toward the chicken, intending to shoo her out. In return, she shocked the hell out of me by what she did next.
Why had I always assumed chickens couldn’t fly?
I was totally unprepared when the chunky, white fowl suddenly became airborne and launched herself at my face. I shrieked for the second time that morning and duck-and-covered, and the bird flapped right over me. When I straightened up again, I found her sitting on the arm of the couch.
“No, no, no. You’re not supposed to be in here,” I told her, as I scrambled to my feet. “If you poop on the sofa, it’s going to be my fault.” There may or may not have been a hint of amusement in her stare.
Since she obviously wasn’t going to leave on her own, the only way to get her out of here was to pick her up and carry her. I circled around to get behind the chicken, because I wanted no part of that beak and those scary dinosaur feet.
While I was doing that, I noticed some kind of movement in my peripheral vision. I glanced at the open window and discovered the other fluffy white hen was sitting on the windowsill and craning her neck to look inside. I exclaimed, “Oh, come on!”