Page 100 of Earning Her Trust
They were halfway across the yard when the bunkhouse door exploded open. River Beckett burst out, barefoot and wearing only jeans that hung low on his hips, his hair wild as if he'd just rolled out of bed. In his hands, he brandished a broom like a medieval weapon.
"Where is that satanic feathered bastard?!" he bellowed, scanning the yard like a man who expected an ambush.
Naomi froze, startled by the sudden chaos. Beside her, Jonah didn't even flinch.
A rustle answered from the direction of the chicken coop—a soft, ominous sound like feathers being ruffled in anticipation. Naomi turned toward it just as River's head swiveled in the same direction, his eyes widening in horror.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
A massive black rooster exploded from behind the feed barrels, wings spread to their full impressive span, eyes blazing with what could only be described as murderous intent.
"Kuk-kuk-kuk-KAAAAW!"
General Mayhem—and Naomi suddenly understood exactly why the bird had earned that name—launched himself into the air like a feathered missile, beak aimed directly for River's head.
"Shit!" River abandoned all pretense of bravery and sprinted across the yard, the broom flailing wildly above his head. His bare feet kicked up dust as he zigzagged between water troughs and feed buckets, the rooster in hot pursuit.
"Should… we help him?" Naomi asked, watching in disbelief as the grown man fled from a bird that couldn't weigh more than fifteen pounds.
“Nah.” Jonah didn't even break stride. "He's behind you," he called mildly to River.
"I know!" River shrieked, ducking behind a feed trough. "The demon knows my schedule! He waits until I'm half-asleep after night duty and then attacks! This is psychological warfare!"
General Mayhem landed on the edge of the trough, wings still extended, and let out another ear-splitting crow that somehow managed to sound both victorious and threatening. The rooster paced the edge of the trough, head bobbing, clearly planning his next offensive.
River popped up just long enough to swipe at the bird with the broom, missed entirely, and ducked back down with a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush.
The absurdity of it—this tough ex-Marine cowering from a rooster while the calm, unflappable Jonah simply observed like it was the most normal thing in the world—hit Naomi all at once. A snort escaped her, followed by a giggle, and then suddenly she was doubled over, laughter pouring out of her in waves she couldn't control.
It hurt her ribs, but she couldn't stop. Tears streamed down her face as each new round of giggles shook her body. The laughter felt foreign, almost shocking after days of tension and fear, but God, it felt good.
"It's not funny!" River protested from behind the trough, which only made her laugh harder.
"It's a little funny," Jonah observed, the corner of his mouth twitching.
General Mayhem chose that moment to launch another aerial assault. He sailed over the trough in a magnificent arc, talons extended, aiming for River's unprotected head.
"Motherfucking bird!" River rolled away at the last second, scrambling on all fours toward the water pump. "I’m gonna KFC your ass. Someone get me a shotgun!"
"No one's giving you a shotgun," Jonah called back, still maddeningly calm.
Naomi wiped tears from her eyes, her sides aching from laughter rather than injury for the first time in what felt like forever. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed like this—completely uninhibited, without the shadow of her work or her responsibilities hanging over her. It felt like breaking the surface after being underwater too long, that first desperate gasp of air flooding her lungs.
The realization sobered her slightly. When had she stopped laughing? When had everything become so serious, so heavy, that she'd forgotten what it felt like to just... let go?
Jonah glanced at her, his gaze knowing. "It's always chaos before breakfast here. You either learn to laugh at it or you lose your mind."
River made a break for the barn, the rooster hot on his heels. "A little help here?!"
Jonah sighed, the sound more fond than exasperated. "North paddock is just up that trail," he told Naomi, pointing toward a narrow path that disappeared into a stand of pines. "Can't miss it. Ghost should be checking the far fence by now."
She nodded, reluctant to leave the impromptu comedy show but eager to find Owen. "Thanks for the tour. And the... entertainment."
Jonah's mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Any time." He started toward the ongoing battle, calling over his shoulder, "By the way, that pendant looks good on you."
Naomi's hand flew to the fox at her throat, surprised. She hadn't realized he'd noticed it. But of course he had—Jonah seemed to notice everything, filing it away behind that calm exterior.
As she turned toward the path, she caught one last glimpse of the chaotic scene: River now wielding a trash can lid asa shield, General Mayhem circling like a feathered shark, and Jonah approaching with the casual confidence of a man who'd refereed this particular fight many times before. Somewhere on the periphery, Goose the golden retriever watched with apparent delight, his tail wagging enthusiastically.
