Claiming Her Cowboy

“You walk toward her and I’ll circle around behind.”

“What about the goat?”

“He’ll be easy. I told you he’s got vision and hearing issues. As for Mrs. C., she’s an old hen and doesn’t move very fast. She’ll be easy, too.”

“How’d she get out anyhow?”

“I don’t know. Let’s catch her and then I’ll be sure to ask.”

Jack frowned at the response and stepped from the Ute.

“You walk toward her and I’ll circle behind.”

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

“No. I’m not sure of anything,” she said with a grin. “If you have a better idea, I’m open to suggestions.”

Jack moved toward the chicken.

“Flap your arms,” Lucy said.

“Flap my arms?”

“Why?”

“Let her know you’re friendly.” She cocked her head. “You don’t have any medical conditions that preclude you from flapping, do you?”

“No. But I try not to look like a fool on principle.”

Lucy began to laugh.

He paused for a moment at the sound of her laughter bubbling over. Then, despite his better judgment, Jack tucked his hands under and moved his arms up and down.

The chicken wasn’t impressed. She slowly scratched at the ground and then began to run toward him on wobbly claws. “Why is she charging me?” Jack yelled.

“This is Mrs. Carmody and she doesn’t follow the fowl rules.”

Jack’s eyes rounded when the bird attempted liftoff, her black wings flapping furiously. Could chickens fly?

This one managed a small liftoff before landing on her backside. Regrouping, the beady-eyed bird targeted him, one step at a time. Suddenly she picked up speed.

“Old and not very fast, huh? That bird is going to attack!”

Jack turned and ran, straight into a pile of something soft and wet. “Oomph!” His feet slid out from under him, and he landed on his back in the sweet grass.

“Good thing that grass hasn’t been mowed yet,” Lucy observed.

He opened his eyes. Mrs. Carmody was tucked neatly against Lucy, who stroked her feathers with her other hand. The chicken squawked and fussed for a moment, but Lucy held firm.

He had to give the ranch director credit; she’d grabbed the bird and was now doing an admirable job of trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, good thing,” he returned as a black feather danced through the air and landed on him.

“Why did she run at me?” Jack asked.

“She was running to you. Big difference. I think she mistook you for Travis. You’re both about the same size and coloring. Travis always brings Mrs. Carmody treats.”

“So you’re saying that I ran for nothing.”

She glanced away, lips twitching. “Um, yes.”

“And the flapping?”

“To get you into the moment.”

Lucy held out a hand, and he grasped her palm, heaving himself to a standing position. Their eyes met and he froze for a moment, lost in her gaze. Then he glanced down at his once spotless shoes, lifting one and then the other to inspect the soles. A pungent odor drifted to his nose and he cringed. “Manure? Is that what I slipped on?”

She nodded and sniffed the air. “Horse, I’d say. Fresh.”

“Do you know how much these shoes cost?” Jack rubbed his feet back and forth on the long blades of grass.

“My guess is enough to feed one of our kids for a year.”

Jack only grumbled in response, and then he stopped what he was doing and stared at Lucy.

“What?” she asked.

“Could you have caught Mrs. Carmody on your own?”

“Probably.” She said the word slowly.

“That’s what I thought. So you were having fun with the city guy.”

“I’d like to think of it as breaking the ice. You and I have a whole summer to work together. We need to get along. Besides, if it’s any consolation, you passed chicken flapping with an A plus.”

Jack couldn’t help himself. He started laughing, and when he stopped, his gaze met Lucy’s.

Her lips parted sweetly, and he realized they had at least reached détente. In that moment he became aware that his obligation to remain objective while he investigated the ranch for the Brisbane Foundation would be compromised every time Lucy smiled at him.

“What about your goat?” he asked.

“You hold Mrs. Carmody and I’ll go grab Beau.”

He stepped back and held up his hands. “Ah, no thank you. Why don’t I get the goat?”

“You’re okay with that?”

“I’m okay with pretty much anything if it means not holding a chicken.”