I shut the door before she could throw something biodegradable at me.
And then, in the sudden quiet, I smiled.
Not a twitch.
Not a smirk.
A real one.
God help me.I might actually like it here.
Chapter Three
Fifi
There’s nothing quite like the smell of pine trees, sun-warmed earth, and mild poultry chaos to start your morning right.
I stepped out the side door of the Honey Leaf Lodge, the screen door creaking with just enough rustic charm to make me ignore oiling it. The late-morning light painted the field in shades of honey and gold, a low mist curling like whipped cream over the grass.
And just beyond the fence, I spotted them. Our beloved and slightly unhinged collection of barnyard misfits roamed their home. They weren’t actually misfits, but they were rescues that we prided ourselves on rehabbing and spoiling.
“Good morning, my babies!” I called out, waving as I crossed the gravel path toward the paddock. “Did you sleep well? Did you dream of overthrowing the patriarchy? My brothers Liam and Beck are trying to man cave the place, so any pecks or clucks or hooves on a toe is fine by me.”
Misty, the new miniature donkey, gave a hearty bray, which I chose to interpret as “Absolutely.”
I was halfway to the chicken coop when I realized something was off.
Too quiet.
No clucks. No peeps. No Mariah clucking dramatically from the top of the nesting box like she was auditioning forChicken Idol.
I slowed my steps.
“Guys?”
Then, like a feathery torpedo, one of the hens launched herself at the wire fence.
“Oh, no.” I stumbled back, nearly losing a shoe, as Henrietta, and yes, I had named her before realizing she was part velociraptor, darted through the open gate I had definitely closed the day before.
She was fluffing feathers, puffing her chest, and stomping toward me like I owed her rent, even though it was the other way around.
“Henrietta,” I said slowly, hands raised, “we’ve talked about boundaries.”
She squawked loudly.
Then,charged.
“Nope. Not today.” I ran.
I ran harder.
Over the fence.
In my boots.
Through the grass and across the field like a woman pursued by poultry justice.
“I give you organic feed, you gremlin,” I hollered over my shoulder.
