Page 111 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
Focus, Mibby, Libby! Whatever!
Thunder rumbled, and the intense sound of the approaching storm added to Sebastian’s formidable air. Unflinching, the boy stared down Zen Dougie. “Do we understand each other, boyo?” the boy pressed.
Holy karma clash, they would soon be having a little chat about speaking kindly to others. The child was in her charge. She couldn’t have himboyo-ingevery guy who looked her way.
“We better be heading out. We should get back to our animals at the ranch,” Bob remarked, breaking theboyoversus Sebastian stalemate. “Everything you need for Beefcake and Plum is in the barn. We even tacked some tips and tricks on the wall. We’ll be in touch, and we’ll start the official burro race training in a few days.”
A few days?
“You’re leaving us with two donkeys and a few instructions? Two donkeys we need to keep in one piece. Well, two pieces.” She shook her head. “You know what I mean.”
“You’ll be fine. Just follow the instructions,” Maud replied, heading for the truck.
It was donkey time.
Libby released a shaky breath as her frenzied chi whiplashed through her body. She’d barely set foot in the town, and she’d already made out with her boss, invented a new school of yoga, been propositioned by a cowboy yogi, and watched a little boy strong-arm a grown man. And now she was supposed to care for two donkeys. She observed Plum and Beefcake munching on whatever grows on the ground in the mountains. And news flash: she had no idea what they were eating. Was it mountain grass or fart-inducing alfalfa?
“I’m not sure we’re ready for this,” she added, staring at the lead ropes trailing along the ground as the animals grazed.
When had they dropped their ropes?
No bother.
Plum and Beefcake weren’t going anywhere and seemed quite content chomping on whatever the heck they were eating.
“Follow your intuition. You and Erasmus got the burros out of the trailer. Now, you need to take the bonding walk,” Maud instructed. She pointed downhill toward a trail that snaked around the mountain. The path cut across a few steep points, then traversed the creek and rounded into the valley.
“That’s the Crooked Mine Loop,” Bob continued. “It’s the course you’ll be running in the Ass-in-Nine race. Some trails splinter off and some of the inclines can get a bit hairy. You’ve got to keep your wits about you. As long as you keep passing the rock stacks, you’ll know you’re on the right path.”
“We’ll let you get acclimated,” Maud said, then turned to Doug. “You can ride back with us, dear.”
This was happening! In addition to her other temporary occupations, she’d become a donkey nanny!
“Libby, Erasmus,” Bob called.
“Yes?” they answered as another bout of thunder rumbled.
The man sniffed the air. “I’d suggest you get that walk in sooner rather than later.”
“Absolutely,” Maud added, sliding into the pickup. “The walk is essential in building the human donkey bond. You’ve got to do it now.”
“I hope the universe brings us together soon, Libby,” Doug said with a tip of his hat, then tossed a wary look at the still scowling Sebastian before settling into the truck next to Maud.
The skies darkened to a ripe purplish-blue, and Wobbly Bob waved goodbye as he circled around and maneuvered the truck and trailer down the road.
“I don’t like that Zen Dougie. He’s a knob-headed plonker,” Sebastian remarked.
Libby gasped. “I don’t know what a knob-headed plonker is, but it sounds awfully bad. I’m sure your granny Fin wouldn’t approve, and you shouldn’t say that about anyone.”
Sebastian puckered his mouth like he’d been sucking on lemons.
“Libby’s right, lad,” Raz said, but there was still a hint of maddening arrogance in his tone. “You were slightly off. That Zen Dougie bloke is a right knob-headed mug of a plonker-loving twatwaffle.”
“Erasmus!” she exclaimed.
“Fine, you can call him a blooming wanker, son. Blooming wanker is the gentler version of knob-headed mug of a plonker-loving twatwaffle.”
“Erasmus Cress,” she called again, her jaw hitting the ground.
