Page 17 of Say It Isn't Snow
“Like, more than two weeks? That means we’ll be stuck here for Christmas.” My grip on my mug tightens. “I don’t know if my brother can run my bakery for that long. How am I going to get my customers’ orders out?”
“Hey, take it easy.” He rests a hand on my shoulder, squeezing supportively. “It might not be that long. It depends on when the blizzard passes and when the roads are cleared. Until then, we ride it out.”
As much as I don’t want his help, he has a point. It allows me to calm down a little.
Out of nowhere, the distressed honk of a goose interrupts the steadytinkof frozen snowflakes hitting the ground.
“Was that a goose?” I look around, both curious and a bit worried there’s an animal out in the storm. “I think it’s coming from the wood shed.”
“Hang on.”
He sets his coffee down, then ducks inside for his coat and boots. Without a moment’s hesitation, he wades off the porch into the thick snow. Even with his towering height, it’s almost tohis knees in some spots as he trudges over to the side of the cabin to investigate. I move to the corner of the porch to watch.
“Oh, Greta,” Caleb croons woefully a few moments later. “Did you come to see me and got stuck?”
I can’t see her, but the goose honks in response. He speaks soothingly to the bird he apparently knows by name, moving chopped wood until he has enough room to scoop a big white goose from the walled side protected from the storm.
“There we go,” he says.
“Is she okay? Was she trapped in there overnight?”
“Maybe. There’s a pond nearby she usually forages at. Doesn’t seem like she’s dehydrated.” He holds her beneath his arm, examining her while she squawks with attitude. “She was probably out looking for food once it started snowing and got herself wedged once she was in there.”
He carries her onto the porch and dusts snowflakes from her feathers, then uses his coat to bundle her. After several bouts of animated honking while he talks to her fondly, she settles, even letting him pet her.
I don’t know what to do with myself while it all goes down.
“So, you’re hugging a goose,” I say.
Caleb chuckles. “This is Greta. She lives on the neighbor’s farm at the next cabin up, about two miles away. Want to say hi?”
I like animals, but geese sort of intimidate me. I edge closer, waving awkwardly.
“Hi, Greta.”
The goose turns her frighteningly perceptive blue eyes on me, giving a single, indignant honk. It feels judgmental. And like she’s warning me to stay away from Caleb.
He laughs. “I won’t let her bite you.”
“She bites?” I take a step back and shake my head.
“No. Well…” He strokes her feathers. “Only once. I warned Layla not to hold her hand like that when she was feeding her.”
“Sure, that makes me feel better. How do you know her?”
“This pretty girl’s been in my life for years,” he says.
I remind myself he’s talking about the bird and not some other woman, extinguishing the hot rush of jealousy I have no right to feel.
“I was around nineteen when her mom was showing her how to free range when she was a gosling. She got tangled in some of my grandpa’s fishing netting and was making such a racket until I found her. I think she liked the sound of my voice because she sat patiently in my lap while I worked the netting free.”
All the times I came here with Layla and I had no idea her brother formed a close bond with this goose. He’s so sweet with her. The touching scene makes me slide my lips together, fighting back the urge to swoon over a man who’s good with animals. Curse my hormones for being hardwired to find everything about him attractive.
“I didn’t realize geese lived so long,” I say.
“Same. They’re pretty amazing. The neighbor told me all about his flock when I brought her back to him. They forage for up to three miles away, so after I rescued her I guess she considered our property as part of her territory. She goes back to her roost at night, usually.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.”
