‘Then their owners need to take care of that. I’ve got more than enough on my plate!’
Jesse did that squint again. ‘You are their owner.’
‘What?’ My head snapped up from looking down at the sodden and apparently hungry chicken.
‘The chickens came with the property.’
‘No.’ I held up a hand. ‘No. No, they didn’t.’ I felt the panic rising as my voice did the same. ‘There was absolutely no mention of chickens. I know about the impending sheep, which I haven’t figured out what the hell to do with, but I’m not getting fobbed off with a load of bloody chickens too!’
He gave a shrug. ‘Definitely yours. And it was on the property details.’
‘How come you’re so well informed about all this?’
‘Because my family were the previous owners. My cousin, to be accurate. I saw the details. The chickens were specifically mentioned.’
I stared at Jesse, looked down at the chicken, who looked back up at me, before I returned my gaze to Jesse.
‘I take it you didn’t read the details too well.’
I remained silent. What was I going to say?No, I didn’t actually because I was on a massive bender, busily throwing away everything I’d worked for so that I could end up in the arse end of nowhere, soaked, freezing cold in a dilapidated house wrapped in a Barbour and little else, being judged by a beady-eyed hen.
‘You should really get inside before you freeze to death.’
‘It’s not like it’s any warmer in there,’ I blurted with a shrug, dislodging a small pool of raindrops off my shoulders. I’d begun to forget what hot water actually felt like and, should I ever get the luxury of experiencing it once more, I would never again take it for granted.
Jesse frowned. ‘The heating was working when I checked it over for my cousin. It was left on frost setting to stop the pipes freezing. Have you changed it from that?’
Changed it? I thought these things just all worked automatically…
He tilted his head, water running off the waxed hat in rivulets. ‘Would you like me to pop in and go over it with you?’
I hesitated.
‘Here.’ He pulled a wallet out of the back pocket of his cargo trousers. ‘Do you have a friend or someone you can send this to?’ He held out his driving licence.
I nodded. ‘My phone’s in the car.’ I backed up and opened the door, sitting down carefully, aware that if I’d bent in to grab it I’d have shown him my arse. Not that a man who looked like he did would have taken much notice, bearing in my mind the granny pants and the fact I’d already brained him earlier in the day. I hadn’t missed the butterfly stitch now holding the cut above his eye together.
‘Oh!’ I said, standing up again and pushing the door closed behind me.
‘Problem?’
‘No,’ I said, snapping a picture of his licence. How did he manage to even look good in that? Most people looked like a wanted poster in theirs. I bet his passport photo was good too. Git.
‘I was just remembering… erm, earlier. Sorry again about whacking you with the wood.’
‘No harm done.’ He touched his head under the brim of his hat. ‘Well, not too much anyway. There are those who’d argue I could do with some sense knocking into me.’
‘Sorry. Again.’
There was the briefest flash of a smile. So quick that I wondered if the cold was making me hallucinate. It was such a great smile, I might well have done as by this time, I felt I was pretty susceptible to hallucinations. I tapped on my phone and, with lack of anyone else to contact, sent the photo to myself and shut it off.
‘Done?’
‘Yep.’ I nodded.
‘Good. Come on. You need to get dry and I’ll get the heating on for you.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’
