Arissa moved to one of the cubbies not occupied. The eggs were warm to the touch. There was something soothing about collecting them, if you could ignore the fact that the chickens were watching.
She was just collecting her last egg when Ed said, “Don’t be alarmed.”
Why did people say that? Telling you not to be alarmed immediately made a person alarmed. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she turned to see one chicken blocking their exit. It was just one chicken, but she was squawking and pacing.
“She looks angry,” Arissa whispered, and why wouldn’t she be. She and Ed were thieves.
“Just be calm. We can try to walk right by her. Sometimes she allows it,” Ed said, and started toward the chicken. Arissa had never seen a pissed off chicken before, but this chicken was pissed. She moved quickly, flapping her wings and lunged at Ed.
Arissa then realized what he said. “She sometimes allows it?” It was a chicken, not a prison guard.
“Hilda, calm down,” Ed whispered, stepping back and holding up his hand.
Arissa’s head jerked to Ed. “Hilda, the chicken?”
“I wanted to name her Hyacinth, but that didn’t go over too well.” Ed grinned. “So, Hilda it is, name is fitting.”
“Okay,” Arissa said, not sure how else to respond to Ed’s observation. “Will she peck at us?” Arissa was wearing boots and jeans, how painful was a chicken peck? Looking at Hilda, who seriously looked like she was yelling at them with how she was carrying on, maybe it would hurt a lot. “So now what?”
“I’ll just call the sheriff.”
Arissa’s head almost snapped off her neck with how fast she jerked it to Ed. “The sheriff?”
Her first encounter with him he saved her from drowning in her own kitchen and now he was going to save her from a temperamental chicken. She was really making a good impression. “Maybe I could talk to her,” Arissa suggested.
“She doesn’t listen to anyone but Hank.”
Arissa’s jaw dropped. Was he serious? “You’re joking, right?” The sheriff was a kind of chicken whisperer. That had to be a joke.
Ed didn’t even crack a smile. “I’m not kidding. Hank has a way with females, all females.”
Of course he did. She wasn’t immune. “Let me try before you call the sheriff.”
Arissa hadn’t even made a move toward Hilda when she stopped pacing, turned to Arissa and leveled hard eyes on her. It was a chicken, but she could practically see the bubble over the chicken’s head, her imitation of Dirty Harry challenging Arissa to make her day. She stepped back. “Okay, maybe you should call the sheriff.”
Ed didn’t miss a beat. “I already texted him. He should be here shortly.”
“Does he get called out here often to calm Hilda?” Arissa was joking.
Ed wasn’t. “More than he likes.”
It hadn’t been more than ten minutes that Hilda held them hostage. Ed was sharing recipes. Arissa was certain the sharing of recipes involving the eggs was pissing Hilda off more because she was quite sure Hilda spoke fluent English. Ed stopped sharing when they heard a loud whistle. Arissa noticed two things. Ed grinned and Hilda, who had been really working herself up, seemed to calm down, her pacing stopped, her head turned to the sound.
“That would be Hank.”
If she hadn’t seen it, she wouldn’t have believed it. But not only did Hilda calm down, Arissa could have sworn she was preening. What the fuck? Though knowing the sheriff’s appeal crossed species made her feel better.
Hank whistled one more time when he reached the open door of the hen house and caught sight of Arissa and Ed tucked into the corner of the pen.
“There’s my pretty girl,” Hank called to Hilda. And if you hadn’t known Hilda was a chicken through and through, you would have thought she was a dog in a chicken costume because she turned from her guard and started toward Hank. Hank crouched down to ruffle the top of her head. “Thought I told you that you needed to be my good girl. Can’t be coming out here all the time, Hilda.” Hank looked past Hilda who was now running circles around him and said, “Thought I told you to wait until she’s in her nest box so you could shut and lock her in before you start collecting eggs?”
Ed looked contrite. “I know. She wasn’t here, but I swear she’s part bloodhound. Came running as soon as we entered.” Ed grinned. “She’s so much like Hyacinth. It’s like she’s been cloned.”
Arissa wasn’t paying attention to the conversation. She was speechless. The sheriff did have a way with females. Calming an irate chicken with nothing more than a few words and a head rub. Watching him, she could admit that would have worked on her too. Watching turned to staring, taking in the faded jeans that hugged the muscles of his thighs, and the tan cotton of his uniform shirt that stretched over muscles she wanted to take her time exploring. His dark hair was stirred by the gentle breeze, and she had the craziest urge to drag her fingers through that hair and yank his mouth to hers. God, she wanted a taste, so much so she actually ran her tongue along her lower lip imagining his taste there.
Hank chuckled, rose and looked at Arissa. Eyeing her from top to bottom. Starting with a straw hat, she was dressed in overalls, rolled up at the bottom, a hot pink tee that looked to be two sizes too small. It was the boots on her feet that had Hank holding back a grin, floral rubber garden boots. Jesus. She was the epitome of every man’s dream of the farmer’s daughter, including his own. “Arissa.” He nodded once in greeting.
She tried not to watch the play on his muscles as he stood up, but failed. Lifting her gaze to his face and those dark eyes that a woman, or chicken, could get lost in she replied, “Hi, Sheriff. Thank you for
