Page 68 of Shattered Melodies

“Peanut, no!” I cried, lunging for the egg. In my haste, I tripped over a water dish, sending me sprawling face-first into a pile of… well, let’s just say it wasn’t roses.

As I lay there, covered in feathers and less savory substances, I heard Hank’s deep belly laugh. “Welcome to farm life, Liam!”

I pushed myself up, spitting out a feather and trying to maintain what was left of my dignity. That’s when I locked eyes with Martha. She cocked her head, as if to say, “You don’t belong here, pretty boy.”

Something in me snapped. I’d faced down record executives, rabid fans, and paparazzi. I wasn’t about to let a chicken get the best of me.

With renewed determination, I dove back into the fray. I dodged beaks, sidestepped angry hens, and even managed to snatch an egg right out from under Martha’s watchful gaze.

“Ha!” I crowed triumphantly, holding the egg aloft like a trophy. “Take that, you overgrown feather duster!”

Martha, apparently not one to take an insult lying down, let out an indignant squawk and charged. I yelped, scrambling backwards and nearly upending the basket of hard-won eggs.

Peanut, sensing my distress, swooped in like a tiny, furry superhero. She planted herself between me and Martha, barking fiercely. The standoff lasted for a tense moment before Martha, seemingly deciding this battle wasn’t worth it, turned and strutted away with as much dignity as a chicken could muster.

By the time we finished, I was sweaty, disheveled, and covered in more chicken-related substances than I cared to think about. But the basket was full of eggs, and I felt a strange sense of accomplishment.

“Not bad for your first time,” Hank said, clapping me on the back. “You might make a farmer yet.”

I snorted, brushing a feather from my hair. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I think I’ll stick to music for now.”

But as we walked back to the house, Peanut trotting happily at my heels, I couldn’t help but feel a small spark of pride. It wasn’t a sold-out arena or a platinum record, but in its own way, surviving Martha and her feathered minions felt like a victory.

And who knows? Maybe there was more to this farm life than I’d thought. At the very least, I had a feeling it would make for one hell of a song.

“That cat of yours is a troublemaker,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “But I like her style.”

I grinned, scooping Peanut up and pressing a kiss to her fuzzy head. “Yeah, she’s a handful. But she keeps things interesting, that’s for sure.”

After the egg collecting, Hank showed me how to feed the chickens and clean out their coop. It was dirty, smelly work, but there was something satisfying about it. Something real and tangible and grounding.

As we moved on to the other animals - the horses, the cows, the pigs - I found myself falling into a rhythm. The physical labor, the repetitive tasks, the sense of purpose it was like a balm to my weary soul.

And through it all, Hank was a steady presence at my side. Guiding me, teaching me, offering words of encouragement and gentle correction when I needed it.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity, of learning and laughing and working side by side with Hank and Dean. By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, I was bone-tired but satisfied, my muscles aching in the best possible way.

“Alright, boys,” Hank said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I think it’s about time we called it a day. What do you say we head inside, rustle up some grub?”

Dean grinned, his green eyes sparkling. “I thought you’d never ask. I’m starving.”

I chuckled, falling into step beside them as we made our way back to the main house. “Count me in. I could eat a horse.”

Hank raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Careful what you wish for, city boy. Around here, that’s not just a figure of speech.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Duly noted.”

As we settled around the large, weathered table, the aroma of home-cooked food filled the air. Hank set down a steaming platter of roasted chicken, while Dean proudly presented a bowl of mashed potatoes that looked creamy enough to be a cloud.

“Hope you’re hungry,” Hank grinned, passing the chicken my way. “Dean here thinks we’re feeding an army.”

Dean, a burly man with kind eyes, chuckled. “Better too much than too little, I always say.”

As I loaded my plate, I noticed a younger man I hadn’t met yet, eyeing me curiously. He had a mop of curly hair and a friendly face that reminded me of a puppy.

“Oh, right,” Hank said, catching my gaze. “Liam, this here’s Leo. He’s our resident tech wizard and part-time ranch hand.”

Leo’s face lit up. “Tech wizard might be overselling it a bit,” he laughed, reaching across the table to shake my hand. “I just make sure our Wi-Fi doesn’t crap out when we’re trying to stream the rodeo. It’s great to meet you, Liam.”

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