Chapter Thirty
Liam
I crouched down in the corner of the chicken coop, holding a scoop of feed in one hand like it was a peace offering. My other hand hovered defensively near my thighs, ready to fend off the tiny menace eyeing me from across the enclosure.
My thoughts wandered to Evie and the situation with her ex. My chest tightened just thinking about it. I’d already put some feelers out through a couple of contacts I trusted, and what little I’d heard so far hadn’t painted a pretty picture.
The guy was manipulative—that much was clear. He was the kind of person who knew how to twist a situation in his favor, leaving others to pick up the pieces. He wasn’t exactly living in luxury either, which made me wonder if this sudden custody battle had less to do with wanting Hayden in his life and more to do with dollar signs. People like him didn’t change overnight, and I’d bet my last dime that this was about control—or worse, money from Evie.
The thought made my jaw tighten.
Hayden deserved better than a father who saw him as a bargaining chip. And Evie... she’d worked hard to build a stable life for herself and her son. She didn’t need someone like him barging back in and tearing that apart.
If this guy thought he could waltz in and disrupt everything Evie had worked for, he’d have to go through me first. She didn’t deserve this kind of stress. Not when she finally started to let her guard down and trust again.
And not when I was falling harder for her every single day. Whatever it took, I’d help her fight this. The guy might be her past, but I was damn sure going to do everything in my power to be part of her future.
But right now, I had a chicken to tame.
“Alright, Gertrude,” I muttered, locking eyes with the plump hen. “We’ve been through this before. I’m just here to feed you, not steal your eggs.”
Gertrude tilted her head, her beady eyes narrowing as if she were weighing the truth of my words. Then, with an indignant squawk, she launched herself at me like a feathered torpedo.
“Whoa!” I yelped, stumbling back into the wire mesh wall. “Are you kidding me right now?”
The scoop of feed went flying everywhere.
Gertrude strutted to the pile with a self-satisfied cluck, pecking away at the spoils while I scrambled to my feet.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered, brushing straw off my jeans. “Every single time. You’d think I was trying to steal the family jewels.”
I grabbed the empty scoop and stepped toward the feed bin, keeping one eye on Gertrude. She pretended to ignore me, scratching at the ground as if she hadn’t just waged a poultry war against me.
“Alright, let’s try this again,” I said, more to myself than to her.
I scooped another portion of feed, holding it out in what I hoped was a goodwill gesture.
“See? Food. You like food. We’re on the same team here.”
Gertrude didn’t move. She just stared at me, her feathers ruffling slightly in a way that screamed, “I dare you.”
I took a cautious step closer, then another, sprinkling a bit of the feed as I went.
“There you go,” I cooed, feeling a bit ridiculous but determined to avoid another attack. “Good girl. See? No need for violence.”
For a moment, I thought it worked.
She started pecking at the feed I’d dropped. Her beady eyes focused on the ground instead of me. I took a relieved breath and poured the rest of the scoop into the feeder.
And that’s when she struck.
“Ah! Come on!” I hollered as Gertrude darted toward me, wings flapping and beak aiming for my shins. I backpedaled so fast I nearly tripped over the edge of the coop, my arms pinwheeling to keep my balance.
“Gertrude, we talked about this!” I shouted, hopping over a stray bucket to avoid her latest charge. She wasn’t having it. The chicken equivalent of a battle cry filled the air as she chased me in circles around the enclosure.
From outside the coop, I heard laughter.
“Having some trouble there, Liam?” Violet’s voice rang out, and I glanced over to see her leaning on the fence, her phone aimed squarely at me.
Great. Of course, this moment would be documented for posterity.
“Call off your feathered attack dog!” I shouted, dodging another lunge from Gertrude. “She’s out for blood!”
“Maybe if you didn’t look so suspicious,” Violet teased as she recorded my misery.
“I’m feeding her! How is that suspicious?”
“Maybe she senses your fear,” she said, shrugging.
“I am not afraid of a chicken!” I shot back, though my tone lacked conviction as Gertrude launched herself at me again.
“Then why are you running?”
At that moment, Beck strolled up, hands stuffed in his pockets and smirking. “What’s going on here? Chicken aerobics?”
“Beck, help me out here!” I pleaded, waving the scoop in his direction.
He surveyed the scene, his grin widening. “Looks like you’ve got it under control.”
“Oh, sure,” I muttered. “Just stand there and enjoy the show, why don’t you?”
Beck chuckled and leaned on the fence beside Violet, enjoying every second of my humiliation.
“You know,” he said, “if you just assert dominance—”
“Assert dominance?” I interrupted, ducking another peck. “She’s the size of a loaf of bread, Beck. There’s no dominance to assert!”
Finally, Gertrude seemed to tire of the chase. She strutted back to the feeder, her tail feathers shaking as if to say, “That’s right. I win.”
I stood there, panting and glaring at the smug bird.
“This isn’t over,” I muttered, pointing a finger at her. “You and me, Gertrude. Round two tomorrow.”
Violet and Beck were laughing now, and I couldn’t help but join in, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all.
“I hope you’re enjoying yourselves,” I said, brushing off my jeans again.
“Oh, we are,” Violet said, wiping a tear from her eye. “This might be the best thing I’ve seen all week.”
“Glad I could provide some entertainment.”
Beck clapped a hand on my shoulder as I stepped out of the coop.
“You know, Liam, you’ve got a real knack for this farm life.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Maybe next time, you can handle the chickens.”
“Not a chance. Gertrude seems to have a special place in her heart for you.” He winked.
“Lucky me.”
Life at Honey Leaf Lodge was never dull, that was for sure.
The sound of hurried footsteps thudded behind me as I stood by the barn, brushing the sawdust off my hands. My parents came rushing out, their faces flushed with concern.
“Is the zebra missing?” Mom asked, her voice a mix of panic and exasperation.
I straightened, exchanging a look with Beck, who had just come out of the workshop holding a bucket.
“What? No,” I said, shaking my head. “I just saw her about fifteen minutes ago.”
Beck froze, bucket in hand, and his expression darkened. “Are you sure? Because last time you ‘just saw her,’ we found her in the neighbor’s chicken coop stealing corn.”
“That was one time,” I shot back, though I couldn’t quite keep the grin off my face. “Relax. She’s probably still in her pen.”
Mom wasn’t buying it. “I don’t know about that. Abby just called from Buttercup Java. She said she saw Macy trotting down the sidewalk in town.”
“Past the coffee shop?” Beck blurted, already tossing the bucket aside and sprinting toward the zebra’s pen. “How does she keep getting out?”
“She’s a mastermind, Beck!” I shouted after him. “Maybe you should stop underestimating her.”
Mom sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Abby said she tried luring her back with a carrot, but Macy wasn’t interested.”
I bit back a laugh. Of course, Abby would try to coax a zebra with a single carrot, as if Macy didn’t have the culinary standards of a diva. “Well, that tracks. She’s probably holding out for apples. Or maybe one of those fancy protein bars Dad keeps in the pantry.”
Dad finally joined us, wiping his hands on a rag.
“What’s going on? Did she really get out again?”
“She’s not here, and Abby saw her in town,” Mom said quickly. “We need to find her before she causes trouble.”
By then, Beck was at the zebra’s pen, and he let out a low groan.
“Yep. She’s gone,” he called over his shoulder. “And she didn’t just escape—she pulled the latch loose again. I don’t know how she does it.”
“That zebra has a future in engineering,” I muttered, jogging over to join him. Sure enough, the latch was hanging at an odd angle, barely attached to the post. “I swear, she’s smarter than some of us.”
“Not helping, Liam,” Beck said, glaring at me. “How about you focus on finding her instead of making jokes?”
Mom clapped her hands, already switching into crisis mode. “Alright, Beck, check the main road toward town. Liam, you head over to the park. She likes grazing there. Your dad and I will drive around the outskirts to see if she wandered toward the fields.”
“And what happens if we can’t find her?” Beck asked, his tone half-serious, half-dreading the answer.
“We will find her,” Mom said firmly. “Because if we don’t, you know what happens next.”
I grimaced, knowing exactly what she meant. The last time Macy got loose, the local news ran a piece about “the Buttercup Lake Zebra on the Loose,” complete with photos of her trotting through the town square. The lodge had never gotten so much publicity or ribbing from our neighbors.
“Alright, alright, I’m going,” Beck grumbled, pulling out his phone. “If I spot her, I’ll call.”
“Don’t just call,” I said, already heading toward the truck. “Try to catch her. You know, before she wanders into another boutique and starts knocking over shelves.”
“I’ll do my best, but I’m not making any promises,” Beck shot back.
As I drove toward the park, I couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Only at Honey Leaf Lodge would “zebra wrangling” be a normal part of the day. Macy—or Barcode, as Beck insisted on calling her—was the quirkiest member of our motley crew of rescue animals. And while she was undeniably a handful, she was also part of what made life here so unpredictable and fun.
I slowed down as I reached the park, scanning the open space for any sign of her black-and-white stripes. A few families were playing on the playground, and a couple of joggers waved as I passed, but there was no sign of Macy.
Pulling over, I hopped out of the truck and called out, “Macy! Macy, come on, girl! I’ve got treats.”
Nothing. Not even a rustle in the bushes.
I was about to give up when my phone buzzed. It was Beck.
“She’s not on the main road,” he said as soon as I picked up. “But one of the guys at the gas station said he saw her heading toward the bakery.”
“Of course she’s heading for food,” I muttered, climbing back into the truck. “Did you check the bakery yet?”
“Not yet. I’m on my way there now.”
“Alright, I’ll head to the square. If she’s making her way through town, someone else has to have seen her.”
As I hung up and turned the truck around, I couldn’t help but grin. Life at Honey Leaf Lodge might be chaotic, but it was never dull. And with Macy leading the charge, today was shaping up to be another adventure.