Page 6 of Mother Clucker

The location had impressed me enough after I’d searched the map view on my cell. But then I walked into the condo . . . and into paradise.

Holy cow! I’d actually squealed when I saw it. One, it was the most beautiful place I’d ever stepped foot in, and two, the home owner had left me eight hundred dollars—cash—on the kitchen counter for my troubles.

You’re welcome, indeed. I actually was grateful to my boss for hooking me up with this sweet gig.

Not grateful enough to share the gift basket they’d left for me next to the cash though.

It was full of rich people stuff. Heck yeah, I could learn to like caviar. I already liked champagne and chocolate. I’d be moving on to that champagne next, after another cup or two of the mind-blowing coffee.

I swear I might have had a small coffeegasm right there next to the teak patio set on the deck.

Having wealth sure was nice.

Heck, I’d be happy just having a job that paid decent money because my job in the marketing and public relations department at New Millennia Media certainly did not. Although by the looks of this place, the execs at Millennia were making bank.

I was about to go back inside and take further advantage of my fleeting brush up against executive level luxury while I could, when a flash of color in my peripheral vision caught my attention.

Putting my empty cup down on the table, I leaned on the railing, squinting into the bright morning.

Was that—a chicken?

I might not have dogs, cats, birds or even fish, but I knew a chicken when I saw one.

Or actually, more like a rooster if that showy plume of a tail was anything to go on as he skirted around some fencing and hightailed it toward the beach.

I didn’t know much about chickens but I was pretty sure the shore wasn’t their usual habitat.

What was that crazy bird doing? What was it going to do for food and for hydration down there? There was nothing but sand and salt water where it was headed. Maybe some snacks to forage on too, dropped by sloppy beachgoers, but that was it.

I turned and strode in through the open sliding glass doors since the morning was a perfect seventy-two degrees and I didn’t need or want to turn on the air conditioning.

I also hadn’t wanted to put on real clothes today. Since it was my day off and my first day in the condo I figured I’d hang out on the gorgeous deck and read the book I’d been wanting to start.

But to go rooster chasing I’d make the sacrifice and change out of the leggings and tank top and actually put on a bra, shirt and shorts to go out in public.

Worse case scenario, all I’d get out of this was a nice walk on the beach. Best case, I’d catch a shot of the rooster for my Instapost account. Super best case, I’d be a hero and save the bird from whatever fate might befall it out there alone.

Not that I knew how to catch a chicken, or what I was going to do with a rooster should I actually manage to catch it, but I’d worry about that later.

Throwing on loose cotton shorts with a pocket for my cell, and a racer back bra, tank top and sunglasses, I felt very much like a Hermosa Beach native.

After twisting my hair into a strawberry blonde knob on top of my head so it didn’t get in the way of any possible rooster wrestling, I was off.

I didn’t even need a key. The modern condo had a keyless entry.

Oh, yeah, I’d be totally living the life this month. It was going to suck going back to my tiny apartment after this.

“Good morning,” I said to the woman walking a dog who had nodded hello to me as I rounded the building and followed the path of the rooster.

Look, I was a native already.

I returned the smile and the wave from the gardener working on the flowerbed at one of the buildings on my route.

“You didn’t happen to see a rooster run by here, did you?” I paused and asked.

He lifted his bushy eyebrows and shook his head. “Nope.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

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