Page 4 of Out on a Limb
Andrew’s lips pressed to a thin line, threatening to drag my attention to one of the many things I used to spend way too much time noticing. “But we would still need to figure out what to do with the chickens.”
I blinked.
Then I reached up to check my head. Make sure I hadn’t hit it when I went down.
No knots. No sore spots.
No sign this was anything but the reality I couldn’t seem to escape.
“What do you meanchickens?”
Andrew shifted on his feet again, but he didn’t make any move to back away. “Maybe I should wait until your grandfather’s here.”
I really wished that was an option. “I’m not sure when that will be.”
Andrew’s thick brows came together as his mouth twisted into a deep frown. “I thought he was supposed to be here at ten?”
At least I wasn’t the only one. “He was.” I reached back to dig the tips of my fingers into the spot under the jut of my occipital bone, closing my eyes as I tried to calm down.
I might not have concussed myself, but there was no ignoring the dull ache setting into the back of my brain. It was an almost constant annoyance at this point.
Just like my granddad.
Andrew let out a little sigh. “The chickens can’t really wait.”
Great. Impatient chickens.
Just what I needed.
I dropped my hands to my sides. “Where are the chickens now?”
“Everywhere.”
Good. Awesome.
There were chickens everywhere.
Amazing.
A year ago this might have shocked me, but so far today I’d caught my granddad sleeping with a strange woman, seen septuagenarian titties, and managed to look at Andrew without objectifying him.
What was one more bizarrity?
I went to the side of the administration building and whipped open the door.
A giant flailing fluff of feather and squawk immediately flapped through the opening, sending me stumbling back, swinging my arms as I tried to defend myself against the sudden assault.
Andrew’s body immediately blocked mine as he stepped between me and the attacking poultry. A screech of a wail had me grabbing the back of his shirt, maybe to pull him away.
Or maybe to make sure he stayed between me and the murder chicken.
A second later Andrew lifted one arm up as feathers fell around us.
The chicken dangled upside down from his fist, wings spread as it continued to scream.
I tipped my head sideways, craning my neck until I was eye-to-eye with the most recent catastrophe to strike Sweet Side Gardens. “Is that a rooster?”
“Yup.” Andrew went out the door, taking the giant bird with him.
