Page 79 of Sunshine
Only I walked right into goose territory, which brings me to my second mistake. I should’ve let them out last. Jay said put the food down, let them out and collect the eggs while they’re eating. And what did I do?
Not. That.
And now I’m trapped.
The chickens had cooed, clucked and zig-zagged, staying the hell out of my way when I was in their coop. They were easy, after all chickens are chicken. But this thing in front of me, blocking me against the barn, with a pond to my right and the life-sucking mud-filled paddock to my left, is no damn chicken. It’s a… maybe it isn’t even a goose. I mean Mother Goose was a children’s book icon, right? Geese weren’t supposed to be evil, were they?
It charges and I yelp. Throwing my hands up to protect my face and my leg up to protect my midsection, I peek to see it’s stopped and is eyeing me seemingly with nefarious intentions.
They call Canadian Geese ‘cobra chickens’ or ‘murder chickens’… I can’t remember now, but this is not one of those bold black, grey and white pests that hold up traffic, blocking cars, attacking bumpers, and scaring cyclists witless. It’s worse!
“Nice goose, nice goose,” I coo, lowering my arms and leg. “We can be friends. You’re just like Mother Goose, yeah? I’ll bring you spaghetti — lots of spaghetti, I promise, okay?”
I start to move, and the thing opens its orange beak wide, and hisses at me as if insulted at being thought of as Mother Goose… And,oh, my, god,are those teeth? On its tongue? Teeth! Jagged little tongue knives! I blink, hoping I need glasses or something, but nope, the thing still has tongue teeth. Another hiss has me pushing back hard enough on the barn wall that it groans. Death by goose is a far more worrisome than being crushed by a barn in this second though.
Tomorrows headlines will read:New York Times bestselling Author Dies at 35 from Goose Attack!
I still lean forward though because I don’t want to die either way. But the goose rises, chest out, wings spread wide, and its long neck bent forward while its open beak blasts hisses and honks at me.
“Nice goose. Nice.” I hold up both my hands. The goose lunges, and I scream. Loudly. Embarrassingly, loudly, as if I’ve been charged by a bull rather than a twenty-five-pound goose.
I stare, frozen in place while it does some sort of war dance, knowing if I move again I’ll be goose food.
“Can we talk about this?” I ask in a soothing voice.
The bird maintains its aggressive stance but closes its beak, which I take as a good sign. I try to think of the name of the goose I was warned about, like maybe if I call it by name it won’t attack,but now, in this life and death situation, my mind draws a damn blank.
After several beats, the goose’s wings fold back, and it looks harmless, falsely harmless.
“Look Mr. or Ms. Goose, I’m not here to do you harm or anything. I’m here to feed you. I’m going to lower my hands, okay?” And when I move, I get another hiss. And the beast rises again, wings wide. As if it wasn’t bad enough that I screamed earlier, now I whimper.
That’s when I feel my phone in my robe pocket.
“Yes!” I whisper-yell, which earns me another lunge, making me scream the loudest yet. I slowly pull the phone out. But as soon as I open the home screen, I can’t think of who to call.
If I call local authorities the headlines will read something far more embarrassing.Bestselling Author, Tess Harlow, Calls for Rescue from Mother Goose.I consider Paige’s parents but her dad’s still recovering from his hip replacement surgery, and Paige’s mom won’t leave his side.
I try Jay’s mother, but there’s no answer. I even call Bylaw Officer Donald because I’m desperate. He answers but rambles on about the birth of his two newest babies, Clara and Kline. He says a lot more, in detail, but I tune him out. I’m able to finally say congratulations but then he passes the phone to his wife. And I hear the details all over again. Case was right, Donald overshares, but he’s got nothing on his wife.
After I hang up with the happy couple, I open my texts, planning to scroll through for options. I freeze at Case’s last text. Hurt wells so big inside me I can’t breathe. I blocked his new number, but this is the text feed from his old number—when I was in love.
When I look up from the phone screen to wipe my eyes, other geese have joined their fearless leader, although they at least hang back, perhaps only there to bear witness to my murder.
“Back off, Harold.” The voice is firm and no-nonsense.
I look up and the hurt from seconds ago quadruples and takes my breath away.
There, slightly out of breath and rumpled, but still like an extra-tall, well-muscled, redheaded superhero, Case walks in his sexy gait toward me. All but Harold scatter.
“Harold! That’s your name,” I say with enthusiasm when I find my air. The goose eyes me and once again puffs up, wings on display, head low, breast out. I squeak.
“Git!” Case takes one big-booted, threatening step and I watch carefully, eyes wide as Harold folds his wings back, holstering them like the weapons they are, and moves away looking around the ground as if nothing is amiss with the day.I stare warily as he wanders off, toward the pond, his gaggle waddling after.
Clenching my jaw, I shove myself off the barn wall. “I was handling it.”
Case folds his arms. His big, big, tattooed arms. And then his eyes skim from my face down my body and I feel heat everywhere his gaze touches me. I grit my teeth tighter. He’s married, and a cheater, so it doesn’t matter how hot he is. He’s an asshole.
“Then what was all the screaming about, Sunshine? I thought you were being murdered.”
