Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
My first morning alone since the guys moved in, and I have to say, it’s not that bad. Not that I don’t miss them, but the knowledge they’ll be coming home to me makes me warm inside. And really happy.
I used my new coffee maker to brew some hot coffee, even though it’s starting to get warmer now. Just about time to switch to cold brew.
With my coconut sugar and frothed coconut milk, I watch a bit of local news in the living room, my fuzzy companions all about the room, Nikki curled up into the bend of my knees beside me.
At least our interview won’t be on again. If you could even call it an interview. It felt more like a “gotcha” piece, considering all the personal questions and how they tried to capture Ezra on film when we told them no.
The only good thing to come of it was the deal made with Jasper’s sponsor, who apologized for what that interviewer did.
He’s going to include Springer’s Sanctuary in his trust, giving us an annual gift to cover the cost of caring for his animals here on the sanctuary, plus more money to help with operations.
To say I’m still shocked is an understatement.
The man does have six horses, though. And apparently a handful of small dogs, a mix of corgis and chihuahuas.
That thought spurs me on to turn off the TV and carefully lift my laptop from the coffee table onto my legs without disturbing Nikki, who’s snoring like a full-grown man beside me.
I spend the next hour or so researching animal behavior centers offering certification classes, and find a couple I’m interested in learning more about, when a noise outside draws my attention away from the screen.
Putting the laptop back on the coffee table, I have to disturb more than one dog now as I get up and walk to the nearest front window.
Scanning the lawn, my eyes zero in on the barn, the fence, Pie and Gator, and a man inside the fencing who does not belong there. He staggers toward my animals, and a fury burns inside my chest, traveling through my veins.
“Oh, fuck no.”
I make a dash for the solid metal bat we keep near the front door. It’s for protection, not sports. And, telling the dogs, “Stay,” I exit the house, closing the door behind me.
My blood pumps fast, heart beating hard, breathing shallow as I approach this man who’s tripping over his own feet again as he approaches Pie.
Pie makes an angry sound as he rears up, making the man stumble backward.
The moment he goes to grab Gator, I’m hopping the fence like I’ve done it a million times before, pure rage carrying me.
“Get away from my animals.” My voice is all anger, but it doesn’t do my feelings justice.
The guy turns, his eyes unfocused. “I saw… saw this place on TV. Wanted to check it out.”
He’s obviously drunk, and what’s more, his Southern accent has alarm bells ringing in my brain.
“You can’t be here. This is private property. Leave.”
“What? Isn’t this like—” he hiccups “—a petting zoo?”
He knows full well this isn’t a petting zoo.
“Abso-fucking-lutely not.” I grip the bat tighter as I seethe. One false move, and I will pummel this guy until he can’t remember his name. I don’t care who he is.
“Ohhh, you got a mouth on you, little lady.” He stumbles a step toward me. “How ‘bout we put that to good use, huh?”
Ugh.
You know, there was a time in my life, back when I was a Sweet Summer Child, that I really believed there was no way men spoke like this to women, no matter how sleazy or drunk they were.
I thought it was all made up for movie drama or something.
But as soon as I got into the corporate world, I was forced to grow up real fast.
As he shuffles even closer, his arms extend toward me, but he’s slow and off-balance, so I side-step him, bring up my bat and connect it with his forehead with a satisfying thunk.
Shouting, he falls to the grass below, and that’s when Gator rushes in and bites down right on his balls.
Hard.
The guy’s shouting turns to blood-curdling screams, and I usher Gator away for his safety, still gripping the bat tight, finally understanding where the little fluffy donkey got the nickname “Chomp.”
I realize then there’s a familiar rumbling engine in the driveway. The gearshift is thrown into park so angrily and loud I can hear it over the man’s shrill screaming.
And then, a roar of fury.