Page 29 of Mother Clucker

He was happy here. Chances were he wouldn’t take off. I sure as hell wouldn’t if I were him. Not with all the hens he could jump and all the feed he could eat.

“All right. I can let him out for you. Unless you want to go inside the pen with him.”

The look that last suggestion got gave me my answer. There was no way city boy was going inside a chicken pen.

Although if the director currently bellowing at everyone told him to, I bet he would. That guy shouted and everyone scrambled.

It made for hours of amusement—as long as he wasn’t shouting at me.

So far he’d kept his distance. But then again, so had I. I’d signed the damn release in case I ended up on camera but I didn’t make it easy for them.

It had been a nice coffee break while it lasted, but now I put down my mug and pushed off the picnic table I’d been leaning against.

I tried to ignore the cameraman who was suddenly shadowing me as I headed toward the coop. I unlatched the screen door of the run and swung it wide. The hens didn’t waste any time scurrying out and half flying, half running toward the grass and weeds growing around the porch of the house.

Rowdy was a little slower to respond. He took a few steps toward the doorway and paused, cocking his head to glare up at me.

“Go on, buddy. You don’t need my permission.”

He didn’t look like he believed me. With a sigh, I reached down and grabbed him with both hands and tucked him beneath my arm.

Now I was a damn rooster wrangler.

Turning, I frowned at the camera I found much too near me, then glanced back at the kid. “Where do you want him?”

“Uh, I don’t know. What will he do if you let him go?”

“Don’t know. Let’s see.” I set him on the ground and he stood there, glaring up at me again. “Come on, Rowdy. Go get yourself some bugs. Or go see your girls over there.”

He sat on the toe of my boot. Then closed his eyes and looked like he was sleeping.

What the hell? Had he imprinted on me? Like I was his momma? He was an adult bird. That shouldn’t be. And Heather was his damn rescuer. She should be the one he was attached to.

Although I was the one who hooked him up with his hen harem. I guess I was his wingman and he wasn’t letting me get too far away.

The problem was, I had a bad feeling until they got their shots of Rowdy, they weren’t going to leave him—or me—alone.

I shook my head and bent to pick him up and carried him to where the hens were having a feast in the weeds. “Here you go. Do something camera-worthy, dude.”

And wouldn’t you know it, the damn bird did. He flopped his way up to the railing of the porch, and let out the most perfect crow I’d ever heard.

I let out a laugh. “Good boy.”

That should give the city folks a thrill. I glanced back and saw the cameraman focused in on Rowdy and a look of relief on the kid’s face.

“Got it?” I asked him.

“Yeah. That was great. What else can he do?” he asked.

Well, since he’d asked.

With a mischievous grin, I grabbed Rowdy and put him right behind one of the hens, who, with her head down and ass up as she pecked the ground, offered an irresistible temptation to Rowdy.

Just as I’d hoped, he took advantage of it.

“He does that,” I said. Then added, “Often.”

The kid’s eyes widened, but the cameraman was right on top of it, moving to get more angles of the poultry porno playing out in front of the camera.

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