Page 30 of Wrangled Love

Charlie: You want to save the chicken or not?

Charlie: Meet at my place at nine. Wear black.

An hour later, we’re in Charlie’s bright red SUV on our way to Mr. Grady’s farm, all decked out in head-to-toe black. Anyone passing by might assume we’re filming a low-budget spy movie with no money left for a wardrobe budget.

“This thing isn’t exactly incognito,” Birdie complains from the back seat.

“My orange Jeep would’ve stood out just as much,” I say, tossing a handful of popcorn into my mouth.

Charlie came armed with snacks, as if we were on an FBI stakeout.

“We could’ve taken your car, butsomeonerefused to drive,” Charlie grumbles, glancing back at Birdie.

“It’s not my fault a family of rabbits decided to make their home under my car,” she protests, crossing her arms. “The mama just gave birth last week, and they won’t be able to leave until the babies are old enough to hop and venture out on their own.”

“What’s your plan for getting around until then?” I ask.

“I have Earl on speed dial. He’s got a punch card system, and I’m halfway to a free ride,” she says proudly, as if it’s a badge of honor, ignoring Earl’s track record of turning flowerbeds into mulch.

“The man is a goldmine for gossip and animal rescue tips,” Charlie admits.

I’m just glad Birdie has a positive outlook on the situation, because my guess is that those bunnies are one litter away from forming a permanent colony under her car.

Charlie pulls off the road onto a narrow gravel turnout, parking the SUV behind a grove of trees to avoid drawing attention. Around here, someone’s bound to stop and check if we’re stranded, so we have to be cautious.

“Let’s take a quick picture to send to Wren,” she says, leaning over and holding out her phone with one hand. “Everyone say, ‘Free the chicken!’” She snaps the photo with her grinning from the driver’s seat while Birdie and I squish into the frame, mid-laugh. The flash goes off, briefly casting a sharp glow on our faces.

Charlie leans back in her seat and fires off a text, my phone chiming seconds later. I glance down to see that she’s sent the picture to the group chat with a message.

Charlie: Wish us luck, Wren. We miss you!

Once she’s finished, we all climb out of the vehicle and make our way through the trees.

When we reach Mr. Grady’s farm, we keep low to the ground, darting behind farm equipment and haystacks. Thank god he’s behind the times and doesn’t have cameras on his property—though, I wonder if that’ll change after tonight.

Birdie and Charlie whip their heads toward me when my phone chimes, the screen lighting up.

“What the hell, Briar,” Charlie hisses. “Do you want us to get caught?”

“Sorry,” I whisper, putting my phone on silent. “Wren was responding to the photo you sent.”

“She’ll have to wait for a reply until after we finish this mission,” Charlie says, her voice low.

We stick to the perimeter of the property before passing through a cluster of cottonwoods leading to Mr. Grady’s house.

When we reach the maze of fencing and sheds that make up the chickens’ enclosures, I spot a small pen off to the side, holding a lone chicken with patches of missing feathers. Birdie doesn’t waste a second, bending down to unlock the latch, trying to coax the bird into the crate we brought to transport it. She’s halfway in when a loud squawk suddenly echoes from the other side of the coop. The chicken panics and scurries back inside its pen.

We might not be able to see the other hens, but it’s obvious they sense something isn’t right when they all begin to cluck furiously. One particularly loud rooster lets out a battle cry, and the entire flock erupts into chaos, shaking the fence.

“Uh-oh,” Birdie whispers.

I wince, my eyes darting toward the house, hoping we’re too far away to be noticed. Spoiler: We’re not.

Seconds later, the porch light flickers on, and Mr. Grady stomps out in his long johns and boots.

“What in tarnation is going on?” he hollers.

“Shit,” Charlie mutters. “We have to get out of here before we get caught.”

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