Page 4 of The Mistletoe Kisser
“What’s Des Moines like?” she asked.
While he described the city, she watched as one of the Bowler twins, troublemaking four-year-olds with distracted parents, upended his biodegradable container of fried tofu on the sidewalk in front of the petting zoo. He tugged on his mom’s sleeve, announcing he’d finished his supper and was ready for dessert. Mrs. Bowler was mid-gossip session with Bruce and Amethyst Oakleigh and absent-mindedly patted the kid in the face.
Ryan had moved on to the merits of his school, which had a good wrestling team and high-speed internet access in the typing lab. She was doing her best to appear enthralled when a group of Mooners meandered by, animatedly discussing the new movie releaseCrouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.
She recognized Bill “Fitz” Fitzsimmons, a skinny, bespectacled hippie. He was walking backward, performing some sort of martial arts choreography while clutching an ICEE, when the sole of his winter Birkenstock landed squarely on the mound of fried tofu.
It happened in slow motion. His foot slid out from under him. He tried to compensate, but his other shoe landed in the now flattened goop and skated through it. In cartoon fashion, he stepped, slid, and scrambled half a dozen times before gravity finally won. Flailing backward, Fitz toppled over into the petting zoo’s temporary fence. Purple ICEE soared through the air and splattered all over the bigger sheep, who looked startled by the unexpected bath.
The fenceandFitz went down with a clank and an “oof,” respectively.
“Wow,” Ryan said, abandoning his description of his collection of sneakers.
“Uh-oh,” Sammy said, already shoving her hot chocolate into Ryan’s hand.
Pandemonium erupted. Both sheep bolted for the opening. The purple one didn’t exactly vault the prone Fitz. It was more like plowing over him. Fitz squeaked, and the sheep raced down the park’s path baa-ing. The chickens were next, scrambling and clucking frantically over their newfound freedom. The cow trotted forward, slowly gaining speed.
Carter vaulted the table and dove for the cow as she charged for the opening. Beckett made a grab for the closest chicken. John went after the regular-colored sheep that had stopped to nibble at Fitz’s socks.
The ponies in the riding ring eyed the chaos balefully until Fitz, trying to pull himself to standing, accidentally unlatched the gate.
“Hold onto the lead!” Sammy yelled to Jax, who was gaping at the chaos from inside the fence and not paying attention to the dappled gray pony he led or to little Becky Halgren in the saddle. A chicken flapped Beckett right in the face. The little rider gave a high-pitched laugh, startling the pony.
It bolted, with its sticky-fingered novice rider clinging to the saddle, still laughing.
Farmer and fatherly instincts must have alerted John to the potential disaster. He gave up helping Carter drive the cow back into the enclosure and pivoted just in time to pluck Becky from the back of the pony.
“I’ll get the purple sheep,” Sammy called.
“You will? Don’t you want to hear about my Air Jordans?” Ryan asked, but she was already running down the sidewalk. She spotted Eden and Layla sprawled on a park bench, watching the action with popcorn. “Need to borrow this,” Sammy said, snatching the bag of popcorn away from Layla.
“Hey!”
“Sheep on the lam,” she yelled over her shoulder.Ha. She was totally funny.
“Where do you need us?” Eden called after her, springing to her feet.
“Cut between the incense stand and the latkes truck. Try to head it off. I’ll come up on the flank, and we’ll herd it back to the Pierces.”
They split up, and Sammy slipped around the side of Velma Flinthorn’s free-range chicken egg stand. The sheep appeared to be enjoying its freedom and was romping in an enthusiastic zig-zag through the grass and snow. Eden and Layla jumped into its path, startling the sheep. It made a 180-degree turn and loped away from them, heading in Sammy’s direction.
Thinking fast, Sammy stepped out and sprinkled popcorn on the ground in front of her. “Come on, sheep. Come have a snack.” She shook the bag. “Who wants popcorn?”
Thankfully, the purple sheep was feeling peckish. He trotted over and gobbled up the first few kernels.
“Good boy or girl,” she said, unsure of the gender.
“Definitely a boy from this end,” Eden said, eyeing the sheep’s back end.
“Just follow me and the popcorn,” Sammy instructed, sprinkling more kernels onto the ground.
“What do we do now?” Layla asked.
“Walk behind it with your arms out in case he turns around and tries to run,” she told them, shaking the bag and walked backward. “And tell me if I’m going to run into something.
“Watch out for the chicken,” Eden called.
“The what?”
