Page 10 of Mother Clucker

“Um, hello? I was wondering if someone could help me.” The familiar voice, even if the pleasant tone was new, had me whipping around.

Her eyes widened when she recognized me. All I could do was smile when I saw her. It was Little Miss Gas Station, in the flesh and not looking as self-assured as she’d been during our first encounter this morning.

“You,” she said, looking a bit confused.

“Me.” I grinned. “What do you need help with, darlin’? That little toy car of yours leave you stranded on the side of the road? Need my big gas guzzler to tow you?”

She must not have seen my truck since I’d parked it over at Anna’s office and we’d walked next door to the shelter. But the fact she was completely focused on me and not the goat on a pink sparkly leash spoke volumes.

My being here had unsettled her. Sick bastard that I was, I liked that idea.

Keep a woman on her toes and she’d never get bored. Though if she were my woman, I’d be tempted to keep her more often on her back.

“I can help. What do you need?” Anna asked, taking a step forward.

The woman managed to tear her gaze off me and answer Anna. “I’ve got a, um, chicken in my car. I’m not quite sure what to do with him.”

Anna’s brows rose. “Oh, well. I guess we could take him.” She glanced behind her. “Though I’m pretty sure we’re full up at the moment. Maybe I can get in touch with Emily. She’s our assistant manager. This is honestly a new one for me. I’m really not sure what we’d do with him.” Anna let out a short laugh.

So goats—normal. Chickens—not. Got it.

Yup. Everything here was pretty much the opposite of where I came from. If I just kept that in mind while I was here, I should be fine.

“Is he in a cage?” Anna asked.

“No. I caught him. He was running around on the beach. I figured sand and ocean water weren’t good for him. I managed to get him back to the condo, which isn’t even mine. And I was going to search the internet to see what to do with him. What to feed him and stuff. And figure out where to take him. Then he started crowing. And you have to understand, these condos sell for like a million dollars and there’s probably a homeowners’ association or something and like I said it’s not mine and I can’t get the homeowner kicked out of her home while she’s away on vacation and I’m watching her place because I put a rooster in her bathtub. And oh my gosh do you know how much roosters poop? The bathroom is a mess and he was only in there for like half an hour. Goodness knows what my car looks like. And no, he’s not in a cage. He’s flopping around in there. I almost ran off the road when he jumped onto the dashboard.”

She finally had to stop to take a breath. Meanwhile, I couldn’t control my laugh. The story, and its delivery in her manic city girl babble, was just too funny.

“You had him in the front with you? Loose?” I asked.

“Well, I couldn’t figure out how to put the seat belt on him so yes, he was loose.”

I controlled the renewed bubble of laughter that image caused and said, “I would’ve put him in the trunk. Or in a pillow case.”

“A pillow case?” She drew back like I’d suggested she cut off his head first.

“The dark confinement calms them down,” I explained so she didn’t think I was a monster. “Come on. I’ll get him outta the car for you.”

She glanced at Anna, as if looking for a signal she could trust me. Then she glanced at Charlie.

What she thought I was going to do to her or her bird in broad daylight on a main road in front of witnesses I didn’t know. City girls were a suspicious lot.

“Don’t look at me,” Charlie said. “I draw the line at goats. Cocks are out of my realm of expertise. At least that variety of cock.” He winked at his wife.

She shot her husband a warning glare full of censure then turned back to the woman. “To grossly understate things for simplicity sake, David is a chicken farmer back in Texas,” Anna explained. “He’s probably the best one here to handle this situation.”

“True.” I nodded, not doubting I was the only person there who had any experience at all with chickens. Well, except maybe Charlie the Kiwi. He was a wild card.

My granddad’s place had started out as a chicken farm, before Pops had started the feed business, which had grown to be one of the top ten in this country—before our fall from grace took us down a notch . . . or three.

But I was here to fix that. And if rescuing a damsel and her rooster was what it took to raise Anna’s estimation of my character, then so be it.

“I promise, darlin’. I’m well versed in handling rowdy roosters.”

Her eyes popped wide again. It was almost too easy to shock this one.

“That’s what I named him. Rowdy,” she said.

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