Rules of Protection (Tangled in Texas #1)(36)

Jake opened the door to the large pen. Chickens of all sizes and colors ran toward the back, huddling against the wall. Hell, this might be easier than I thought. My confidence level shot upward, and I stepped inside without hesitation. The smell was disgusting. Tiny gnats were everywhere. I breathed through my nose instead of my mouth.

The hen boxes were located on the right side of the pen. I moved slowly, trying not to scare the chickens—or myself—any more than I had to. Most of the boxes held at least one egg. Some had hens still in them. No big deal, though. I’d grab the eggs and be on my way. And Jake thought I couldn’t do it? What an idiot!

I grabbed an egg out of the first box I came to and carefully put it in the bucket. Simple. Then I reached for another in the next box. The chickens left their huddle in the corner and dispersed, though they still avoided me.

I spotted the rooster strutting nearby, but he looked as harmless as the rest of them. He was brightly colored with red, orange, and black feathers, but wasn’t nearly as large as I had pictured in my head. He pecked the ground around him as he walked back and forth, never coming any closer than the hens did.

I shook my head, reached for another egg, and yelled out, “Jake, I think you’re a weenie. This rooster is as tame as a—”

The rooster snared my attention when he threw back his head and crowed. It must’ve been his battle cry, because he launched himself at me in a fury of flapping wings and pointy beak. He was on me faster than I could run. I screamed like a girl and hit him with the bucket, knocking him against the chicken wire. He landed on the floor in a daze. I left the two broken eggs where they fell and ran.

Jake opened the door as I dashed out, practically knocking him over. “Are you all right?” he asked.

I held up my arm where a trickle of blood had formed. “That pecker bit me!”

After a serious pause, the three of them burst into hysterics. I wasn’t the least bit amused. “What’s so funny?”

Hank was the first to quiet down. “Honey, that’s the same as saying a shark licked you. Roosters can’t bite. They don’t have teeth.”

“Felt like a bite.”

Jake examined my arm. “It’s barely bleeding, you crybaby.”

“Well, big man, then let’s see your technique. You go get the eggs,” I challenged, handing over the bucket.

He smirked as he stepped into the chicken coop. There was a moment of silence, a light rustling sound, and then the rooster crowed. Feathers flapped and Jake screamed, hitting a much higher note than I did. Then he ran out of the chicken coop.

“Holy shit!” Jake yelled, looking down at the scratches and a bleeding peck wound on his shirtless chest. “I agree with Emily—the damn nuisance has teeth!”

Jake looked frazzled from his humbling experience. None of us could hold back the laughter. We laughed until each of us was doubled over in pain from our aching bellies. It was a side of Jake I hadn’t seen before. I’d seen him laugh and smile, but this was something different. He was more peaceful, more at home with himself.

“All right,” Hank said, still chuckling. “Time to get back to work. We’ll let the womenfolk tend to those eggs.”

Womenfolk? Now I knew where Jake got the macho bravado crap—his uncle’s an old-fashioned, sexist pig.

Floss accepted the bucket from Jake and disappeared into the chicken coop. Moments later, she emerged with a bucket of eggs. Guess we should’ve left the job to the professional.

I spent the rest of the afternoon with Floss. She walked me from pen to pen, pointing out the different types of birds they raised; pheasants, quail, guineas, white doves, and homing pigeons were some of the more diverse species. Together, she and I fed and watered all the animals on their property. Birds first, then horses, and then we went around the backside of the barn to feed the rabbits.

There were two of them in a large off-the-ground cage, one black with lop ears named Jack and one white with brown spots named Twitcher. Jack happily munched a carrot, but when I offered one to Twitcher, she growled and hissed at me. I didn’t know rabbits could make sounds, but Floss said they could scream. It reminded me of Watership Down, and that movie always gave me the willies. I tossed the carrot inside and locked the cage fast.

The men finished the colt’s stall and started stacking bales of hay. Afterward, they worked on the well pump together. Jake smiled a lot, as did Hank. I wasn’t sure which one of them had the better time, but I saw a lot of respect and love between them.

I stood on the back porch eating an oatmeal raisin cookie left over from lunch and watched Jake work. He was still shirtless. Easy on the eyes, but hard on the mind. Hank pointed across the yard at something, but I couldn’t make out what it was. He said something to Jake that made him sprint across the yard and scoop it up.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I went down the back steps. Both men stood at the base of a large dead tree when I joined them.

“What are you looking at?” I asked, as Jake turned to face me. “Ooooh!”

He held a tiny duckling covered in brown downy feathers. “Here, Emily, take this one.”

“There’s another one, Jake,” Hank said.

Jake jogged a couple of steps and scooped him up, handing that one to me, as well. “They’re going to kill themselves,” Jake said, looking up again.

I gazed up at the hollow in the top of the dead tree, at least fifteen feet off the ground. “They’re coming from way up there?”