He shrugs one shoulder, a nonchalant move, but the expression on his face doesn’t match. “This one is better if you go on your own, I think. The two of us would probably scare the hens.”
My jaw pops, and I smirk, tilting my head as I take a few paces across the coop toward Grayson. “Don't tell me the big bad Grayson Hart afraid of a little ol’ chicken?”
He scoffs, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Hardly. Like I said, just want you to get the full experience.”
"I think I smell your fear."
"That's chicken shit you smell, sweetheart."
“Promise?”
His gaze falls back on me as the corner of his mouth twitches. I love that he won’t lie to me about it, but I love more that this tough mountain of a man might actually be terrified of a chicken. When he doesn’t answer, I let my gaze fall around the room. Most of the chickens are in the outside pen, having scattered out there after we threw them some scraps that were leftover from yesterday’s meals. A few are still perched on the horizontal bars that line the far wall, and the smallest ones scratch along the floor, likely searching for treats.
I spy one with pretty auburn feathers standing nearby, watching, curiosity getting the best of her. I take a tentative step forward, reaching an arm out to her just like Grayson taught me for Maple. I’m not sure if chickens work the same way, but it can’t hurt to show her I’m a friend. “So, you’re saying,” I begin, taking another step toward the chicken. Once I’m within a foot, I slowlycrouch down, keeping my hand in front of her so she can see I’m trying to reach for her.
“Holly,” Grayson warns, his normally gravelly voice is a little less firm than he’d like.
I reach for the chicken and curl an arm around her back. She clucks a little, but doesn’t try to peck at me, and when I take my other hand to grip her by the opposite side, she lets me. I lift her up, surprised at how light she is, and I tuck her safely to my chest before looking up at Grayson. “So, you’re saying,” I coo, taking another step toward him. “If I walked over there with this pretty girl in my arms, you wouldn’t be freaked out?”
I take the next step toward him, and he tries to move back, but he’s already pressed up against the wooden door that leads from the coop to inside the barn. I tsk under my breath, faking my own bravery as I take another step in his direction.
“Is it the claws? Or is it her beak? I’d like to know what makes Grayson Hart so terrified.”
He pushes out a breath, another attempt at false bravado. “I’m not scared, babe.” My stomach tingles at the slip of the word “babe.” A pet name from Grayson is like a branding, one I desperately want to bear. “It’s just…” He exhales roughly. “They have three sets of eyelids, did you know that? Three fucking sets. It’s not right. They’re like aliens.”
I burst out laughing at that, loud enough that it causes the chicken to freak. She clucks loudly with her feathers flapping wildly and I try to hold onto her, my hands following her into the air as she flies up and away.
Grayson leaves his post from beside the door, rushing to my side, and when I expect him to hide me behind him, the man cowers, actuallycowersagainst my side. His hands grip my shirt near my hips, and I laugh, resting mine on top of his. “There is no way you are hiding behind me!” I yelp. “Are you trying to sacrifice me to the birds?”
His hands lower to my hips, and with a firm tug he walks us backward out of the coop. “How dare you.” He scoffs playfully. “I’m trying to rescue you from an attack, and you accuse me of—” He flinches at the sound of a second hen flapping her wings, and I laugh again, pulling us both to the door and opening it up.
He quickly latches the lock behind us, turning to face me, and immediately throws his head back. “Dammit, we didn’t even get the eggs.”
“I still can’t believe it. You teased me for being terrified to ride a horse. A horse is a beast, they weigh like, what,hundreds of pounds? And you’re scared of a little chicken?”
Grayson crosses over the concrete floor, lifting up the lids to a row of plastic bins along the wall. “Horses don’t have beaks, for one.” He finds an empty bucket and a scoop, dipping into one of the cans. “And horses are like people. I told you. You can tell what they’re thinking, I swear. Chickens, nope. Nuh-uh. You think they’re friends and then they try to peck at your feet.” He dishes out a few scoops of what looks like corn from the bigger can into his bucket before tossing the scoop back in and replacing the lid.
“I don’t think chickens would eat toes.”
“Walk in there with your pretty painted toes on display, and tell me otherwise.”
My eyes bulge, and I freeze, because no way in hell would I do that. He puts a finger up, nearly poking me in the nose. “See,” he says, tapping my nose once. “You’re just as scared as I am.”
He reaches for the door behind me, and I reach out, wanting to see what’s in the bucket.
“We’ll give them some corn to distract them. The ones from outside will likely hear the noise and come racing in, but it should buy us time to get the eggs and get the hell out of there.”
I reach for the wicker basket that we had left sitting on a stack of feed outside the coop. “You’re acting like this is an undercover mission. It’s chickens, Grayson. If I didn’t live in an apartment, I might get myself some.”
With his hand resting on the latch that opens the door, his head cocks to stare at me. “You want to own chickens?”
I shrug. “Maybe. I’m not a hundred percent opposed.”
“Alright, city girl.” He hands me the bucket of corn, reaching to take the basket from my opposite hand. “You’re on corn duty. Just toss handfuls around the barn, watch all fifty hens and the mean ol’ rooster come for ya. Just don’t come crying to me when they flock over you.”
Tugging the bucket from his hand, I shake it once. “Challenge accepted.”
He swings the door open, ushering me to go first. I step over the threshold, careful not to trip on the concrete lip. There are only a few chickens in the barn, with the one greedy lady refusing to leave her nest. “Come here, baby,” I coo to the smaller chicken I had held earlier. “I got some food for you.” I reach my hand into the bucket, running my fingers through the cool corn. Taking a hearty handful, I scoop it out, bending to make a small pile on the floor. My friend scampers over, happily clucking as she plucks at a piece of corn.
