Page 40 of Pining for You

The usual signal was waving at the coach house’s camera hidden in the garage door light and giving it a thumbs up or down. Or in Brad’s case, a middle finger salute up or down.

I closed the door, raced up the stairs and picked up my phone as the call went to voicemail. Marilyn Bordon. Without bothering to listen to the message, I called her back. “Hey, Marilyn, what’s up?”

“Is Bradley around?” Her voice held a tinge of either panic or annoyance, I couldn’t decide which.

“He’s working overtime today.” Guilt crept into me as it always did when he was out on a call and I’d not gone into the office. But it was a Sunday, and there really was no reason for me to go to work now that I’d whipped Molly’s somewhat unorganized system into shape. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Maybe?” The panic or annoyance faded to hopefulness. “Henrietta figured out how to open the latch on the new chicken coop and now all the chickens are running all over the grounds. I’ve tried to catch them but they keep running from me. I don’t know how I’m going to round them up. Could you come over and help?”

Wow, guess I could add chicken wrangler to my list of skills. “Of course. I’ll be right there. Give me ten minutes.”

After texting Brad with a “chickens got loose, going to Marilyn’s” message, I slipped out of my sandals and into my sneakers, grabbed my car keys out of the Faraday box Malcolm had given Brad, insisting he use it to protect our vehicles from car thieves, and headed out.

Marilyn met me as I rounded her house, Snowball tucked beneath her arm. “Thanks for coming. I didn’t know what I was going to do.”

I didn’t either, but I didn’t want to admit that. “Let’s see if chickens can outrun my legs, shall we?”

As she’d warned me, the chickens ranged the entire width of the lawn, and one was roosting in the branch of one of her lilacs. I blinked when I spotted a Rhode Island Red scratching the ground near the shoreline on the north side. “Did you get a new chicken or is he—she—an interloper?”

Marilyn beamed. “That’s Tanya Clucker. A friend of mine loves Rhode Island Reds. She said they do really well in our winters and still lay eggs, so I got a couple on Monday.” She pointed to the willow where another Rhode Island Red was scratching. “That’s Gertrude.”

I slowly walked toward the shore, making an effort to be casual and not let the chicken—Gertrude—see me looking at her. But as soon as I took a step closer to her, she flapped and half ran, half flew up the lawn and sent her sister? Twin? Competition? Flying in the other direction toward the lilacs. “Do you have a fishing net? Something we can use to try to contain them?”

Despite the crisp October breeze blowing across the lake, sweat beaded on my forehead while I chased the damned birds. By the time Brad arrived almost forty-five minutes later, Marilyn had captured Eggatha, Quackers and Amelia Egghart, while I’d only managed to wrangle Margaret Hatcher, and stored them safely back in their coop.

While Marilyn explained the predicament, which really didn’t require explanation considering the two chickens ranging around the lawn, Brad worked hard at suppressing his laughter. He had the advantage of being able to stroke his beard as if he were thinking deeply, though he had perfected the art of having his hand hide his grin.

“Marilyn didn’t seem to have any problems, but whenever I get anywhere near them, or even look then, especially that damned crazy bird over there—” I tipped my head toward Tanya “—she runs away like I’m the Colonel ready to toss her in the fryer.”

“It’s because they trust me, dear.” Marilyn patted my arm. “I’ve built up a friendship with them so they know I’m not going to hurt them. Don’t take it personally.” She frowned as she eyed the still-free Reds. “But Tanya and Gertrude don’t know me yet. I haven’t had enough time to build up any trust with them.”

Shifting his hand as if to rub the side of his face so only I could see his pearly whites, he said, “Let me see what I can do.”

“Gertrude should be called Hen Solo because that little bugger can go point-five faster than the speed of light,” I muttered as I followed him toward the chicken coop.

He pivoted and walked backward, his grin as wide as I’ve ever seen it. “I knew it! You’re a Star Wars geek. Technically, if that chicken could go that fast, she should be called the Mill-Hennium Falcon, because it was the ship that went fast, not Han Solo himself.”

“Oh! We are so doing a Star Wars marathon next weekend!”

“You’re on.” He rotated again and walked forward, passing the coop and heading for the shed where Marilyn kept the chicken feed and supplies. “But first we need to catch the damned chickens.”

“I’ve got a net and that worked okay to catch Margaret Hatcher, but Tanya is too clever, and Gertrude’s too fast.”

“We’ll need the net too, but let’s try this first.” He grabbed a container of chicken feed, took the net I held out to him, and strode to the point where Tanya waited. We all waited as Tanya ruffled her feathers and strutted around, eyeing Brad as she moved closer to the feed. When she dipped her head to peck at it, instead of jumping up to catch her, Brad simply spoke to her. Crooned to her. Poured some seed in his hand and held it out.

Damn if the chicken didn’t start eating from his palm so Brad could easily tuck her under his arm and pop her back into the coop with the rest.

“You’re a freaking chicken whisperer,” I whispered. “And no, we’re not getting chickens. Ellie wouldn’t like them when she’s entertaining in her back yard.

“Never said I wanted any.” His grin was back. He picked up the chicken feed container as if it weighed nothing and made his way over to Gertrude who had watched the whole maneuver from her perch. “But having fresh eggs would be handy.”

I bit my tongue before noting that the man went through a lot of food, so fresh eggs would save a substantial amount in our grocery bills.

He held out another palmful of seed and once again crooned, calling to Gertrude in soft promise. “Come on, girl, you know you want it.”

“If you ever use that tone on me when we’re alone, I’m gonna make you pay. Big time.”

His laugh scared Gertrude, who squawked and raced another dozen feet toward the hedge.

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