Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Thaddius shuts the pens and secures them, as he said he would. The wooden doors are all latched, and even the ones I did are okay. He checks them and then walks away, satisfied.
Right before he walks past me to shut the big door, two blurs streak in. One is orange, the other fluffy and white. The cats keep going, hightailing it for the square bales stacked up along the other side of the barn.
“They’re mostly feral,” Thaddius explains. “They came with the place. I did trap them and get them fixed at the vet, but my god, it was no easy feat. I’m so glad they made it okay. I felt so bad doing that to them. There’s one cat that’s friendlier, though. He lets me pet him when he feels like it.”
“Cats are their own people.”
Thaddius makes closing that big door look easy. He also makes it look sexy, all his muscles bulging and flexing under his soaked T-shirt. I wonder what his skin would look like without said T-shirt. Like in the shower. When he strips down after a long day. I would take his clothes off slowly, massage his tired muscles, start up a hot shower, then get in with him and make sure he’s well soaped up. I would also be sure to inspect every bit of him.
Yipes on a sheep. Seriously? No! No, no, no. No sexy shower thoughts. Sexy shower time is not for the likes of Thaddius and me. At least not together.
After Thaddius checks all the pens again, he walks around, muttering words of calm to everyone. He lets himself into Herman Merman’s stall and rubs the donkey’s muzzle. “We’re going to be okay, boy. Going to survive this one, just like all the others.” He puts some feed out, but the stalls all look clean when I walk past to inspect. This barn is abnormally clean. I now know how Thaddius spends his time and why he’s in such good shape. Cleaning up after animals by himself must be a huge job.
“Shit! Shaggy!”
“I’ve got it.” I rush to the door and call for the dog. He comes running after a few seconds, his long white hair all blown to one side by the wind. “Come on, boy.” He rushes through the door just as the rain lets loose.
It sounds more like it’s raining sheep out there than water. The raindrops must be huge to bounce and bang off the roof like that.
“The metal makes it loud,” Thaddius says, watching my face. He was studying me. It makes my belly flip-flop like it’s turning itself inside out, and my nipples remember the near contact they just had with his nipples. It’s exciting for the rest of me too.
We both look up at the roof. It’s probably safer to look up than at each other. He lets himself out of Herman Merman’s pen and looks through the door I’m still holding open partway. Shaggy pants and shakes himself, then goes and lays down on his bed in the corner of the barn.
“What about the chickens?” The wind has only gotten worse since the rain started.
Thaddius’ eyes widen. “Shit! They’re probably all hunkered down, sheltering wherever they can, but if we make a loop around the yard and see anyone, we should get them rounded up. There isn’t any thunder or lightning that I can see. Just enough rain to wash a body clear away. Can you take it?”
“Can I take it? Please. I drove across the darn country by myself. I can handle a little rain.”
I dart outside alongside Thaddius, and he bangs the door shut behind us.
Two seconds into dashing across the yard, I know I can’t take it. The rain is driving down in stinging sheets and, somehow, individual drops too. It’s like little hornets, all going straight for my eyes to blind me. It certainly doesn’t feel great on any other part of my body, either. Within three point six seconds, I’m soaked to the bone, and my cowboy boots are squishy.
“I’ve got one!” Thaddius races past me with a brown blob in his arms. The chicken coop, a smaller red building, is right beside the barn. He opens a tiny door, and in the chicken goes.
I don’t know how he can even see a thing out here, but he’s far more efficient than I am. In no time, he’s made four trips back and forth with chickens in his arms.
I finally spot a white blur under a bush beside the house, so I race over and try and scoop it up, but the chicken either hates me or doesn’t want to go. It clucks at me angrily and tries to peck at my arm. I grab it by the legs and use them as a handle to sweep the bird safely up into my arms. It still squirms and pecks and struggles, but eventually, I get it through the door to the coop as well.