Page 14 of Out on a Limb
I needed a haircut.
I needed a good dicking.
And I needed my grandfather to get his shit together.
Unfortunately that last one didn’t look like it was going to happen, which meant the dicking wasn’t either.
Because while my grandpa might be willing to put his personal needs above the best interest of the garden, I was not.
Someone had to do the right thing, and unfortunately it looked like it had to be me.
“Probably.” I eyed one of the large bins filled with chickens. No way would it fit in my cart. I turned to Mark. “Can I use your buggy?”
“Sure thing.” He dug the key from his pocket and tossed it my way.
I caught the key mid-air. “I’ll bring it right back.”
“Keep it as long as you want.” He rested his hands on his hips as he looked around. “Not like we’re going to be able to do any actual work anytime soon.”
Hopefully he was wrong.
Mark helped me load one of the tubs into the back end of the open cart and I was off, headed to where I left Andrew setting up the pen that would temporarily house the invaders trashing anything they came across.
I let out a little breath when I saw the chain-link panels were already standing and connected. A handful of landscapers had joined Andrew and it looked like the pen was almost complete.
Thank God.
I turned to grab the water from the seat next to me.
“Shit.”
I’d left it in my cart.
This wasn’t a complicated task. Collect chickens. Distribute water.
That’s all I had to do.
And I still couldn’t keep it all straight.
I checked my phone, hoping I might have a missed call from my granddad telling me he was on his way to handle the shit I clearly wasn’t equipped to tackle.
“Everything okay?” Andrew was suddenly very close.
“I was just looking to see if I missed any calls.” I shoved my phone back into my pocket and turned toward the bin in the back of the cart. “I brought you a bucket of chicken.”
Andrew’s lips barely lifted in a smile. “Next you’re gonna tell me you named your new best friend Nugget.”
“He’s not my new best friend.” That would be pathetic. “I just couldn’t keep carrying him around so I put him in this.”
“He looks happy.” Andrew reached out to stroke one finger down the bird’s crested head. “Doesn’t look like he wants to bite me anymore.”
“He was probably hot before.”
Andrew squinted up at the sun turning all of Florida into an oven. “And now he’s not?”
“I put a cold bottle of water in his bag.”
One of the landscapers pulled the bucket of chickens free and headed to the open gate of the pen. “At least someone gets water.”
