Page 8 of The Solstice Additions
“Will you rub liniment into the bruise on my nose when Fred pinches it?”
“I’ll rub whatever you want rubbed, sugar plum.”
He blew out a breath, threw his hair back from his face, and squared his shoulders. “Okay, I’m ready. It’s only a bird, right?”
“Exactly. Just a bird.” With that, I set the flashlight on the grass, unlocked the door, and slowly opened the coop. Four beady goose eyes glared at me in the dark. Fred, as I knew he would, charged at the intruder. I acted with speed and a well-practiced hand and got him up and into my arms, his wings tucked down, and then stood to pass him off to Kenan. Wilma was honking madly, as was Fred, but she was tight on the nest. “Here you go. He’s not really heavy, he’s just fluffy.”
“Cool. Right, cool, okay.” He took the goose with soft hands, doing as I had said, and in a second, he had the bird gently restrained. “He’s stronger than a bird should be.”
“You’re doing great. I love you.” I kneeled down, the hay crunching under my knee, and snaked a hand out. The first pinch arrived with speed, catching the sleeve of the flannel shirt I’d pulled on just for this reason. “It’s okay, darling. Just going to check to see if you have any babies. Settle down. Ouch. Okay, that one hurt a little.” I felt around under her toasty, warmbreast. My fingers found an egg. I removed it carefully, sat back on my heels, and shone the flashlight up into the egg, large end up. This one had a network of blood vessels started as well as a small dark form moving about inside the egg.
“We have a wee wittle goose,” I said and placed the egg aside in the hay to gather another.
“Yay. Fred is giving me death glares,” Kenan whispered while Wilma gave me another pinch. “Can you candle faster?”
“He’s just plotting his revenge,” I teased as the welt on my forearm began to burn. The sleeve would take most of the punishment, so that was something. I candled all six eggs with speed, grimacing slightly at the burn of a good bite as I took egg number six out from under my goose. She’d gotten the back of my hand on that one. I could have worn gloves, but I was leery of possibly losing my grip and dropping an egg. “Okay, mama, I’m giving them all back. Stop hissing. There you go.” I carefully placed them in front of her, and she did the rest, using her bill to roll her kids back under her toasty, warm bosom. “Such a good mother. I’m all done bothering you now. Tomorrow, Kenan will bring you and your husband a dish of old tomatoes from the pub.”
“Excuse me, Kenan will dowhatnow?”
I rose and slipped my arm around my gander. Fred was highly disgruntled as I gave him a soft toss back into the coop and closed the door in his face.
“There, all done, and with great results. All six are fertile!” I beamed while brushing the hay and chaff from my knees. “Just two more weeks and we should have babies. What’s wrong? Did he get you?”
Kenan sighed, then turned to show me his back. “I think he shit down the back of my pants.”
I shined the light on the wet green poop stain on his shirt. Yep, it had for sure gone into the back of his jeans.
“Damn, that was rude of him. Why don’t we go inside, hit the shower, and I’ll wash all the goose poo from your sweet ass?”
“The things we do for love.” He sighed. I thought of patting his butt, but it was kind of wet with goose poo, so I kissed him on the neck instead, right under his ear, and then I took him inside to wash his backside thoroughly.
He enjoyed the slip and slide of my tender ministrations. He was squeaky clean—and well sated from a robust fuck using our fave silicone lube that had a place of honor beside the shampoo and soap on the shower rack—from top to bottom. Nothing said love quite like washing waterfowl poo from the pert ass of your man before fucking said pert ass. Romance, thy name is Brann.
Chapter Seven
Aweek later, I woke up and rolled over to give the lanky stud muffin beside me a smooch on his sexy shoulder and then bolted out of bed as if someone had hooked battery cables to my balls.
Kenan blinked into consciousness, pillow marks on his face as he squinted at the June sun falling through the window.
“What?” he mumbled as he knuckled his eyes.
“Time to listen,” I called out as I grabbed some shorts and dashed to the bathroom to piss.
He said something, but it was mumbled. After a fast pee and shake, I washed my hands, pulled on my old cargo shorts, and made a beeline to the back yard. I really did love summer. The days were long and warm, the birds were up early singing a cheery good morning song, and the grass was soft and plush under my bare feet. That lovely Seals and Crofts song played in my head as a gentle breeze tickled my face.
I could hear Fred noodling at the door of his coop. Stepping gingerly into the pen area, taking care not to step in goose poo, Itiptoed to the sturdy little building, bent over, and placed my ear to the door. Eyes closed, I listened intently for the peep of baby geese.
“It’s still a little early, isn’t it?” Kenan said from right behind me. I startled and cussed as I straightened while tossing a sour look at my boyfriend. He looked far too edible to be too seriously put out. I loved him in nothing but jeans with his hair a tangled mop, his eyes sleepy, and his mouth begging to be kissed. So I kissed him and waved him out of the pen.
“Yes, technically, we still have a few days,” I conceded as he made his way to the other side of the fence. Once he was clear, I unlocked the door. Fred came out of the coop like a greyhound released from the starting gate. Well, a greyhound with feathers and an attitude. “No!” I barked at the gander as I spread my arms to look larger. He stalled, folded his wings, and then waddled back to the coop, honking proudly as Wilma hurried to toss some hay over the eggs.
“Nice trick,” Kenan said, then passed me a pail of waterfowl pellets.
“Thanks. It works nine times out of ten.”
“Pretty good odds.” I nodded before dumping their feed into their rubber dish. Wilma stood in the coop eyeballing me as if Satan himself was doling out their grub.
“Okay, lady, I get it.” I backed out of the pen, leaving the door open so they could get a little exercise before she got back on the nest. She wouldn’t take long. A fast nibble followed by a quick bath and a drink in the creek, then she would race back and settle back on her eggs. Fred, as most expectant fathers do, would chill out nearby. “Let’s go eat.”
