4. Winston’s Hot Dad
Chapter 4
Winston’s Hot Dad
“ M aaaaaaa.”
“Yeah, buddy. I see her,” I answer Winston as I turn the truck into the driveway. “What the hell is she up to now?”
Once I park the truck, I slowly climb down from my seat and walk to the passenger side door, opening it for Winston. He jumps down from his seat and heads straight for the fence where the other goats are waiting for him. Then my eyes fall to the pigeon. The pretty girl who is now covered in mud from head to toe and standing against my fence looking like the world just pissed in her oatmeal.
I don’t have to say a word to her. The moment I lift a brow, she takes a deep breath and starts in on her incessant babble.
“I can explain. You see, I really wanted to pay you something for helping me with my car yesterday but you wouldn’t take my money so I stopped at Bun in the Oven on my way home and got your favorites. Dutch apple pie and butterscotch oatmeal cookies. And then I brought them over here to give to you only you weren’t home and the goats were talking to me so I walked over to say hi and met Mr. Patches. Well, that’s what I called him anyway because I don’t know his real name. But then he jumped up on the fence and knocked your treats into the pen and so I freaked the heck out because I don’t even know if goats can have apple pie or butterscotch oatmeal cookies. I mean maybe it’s like dogs and chocolate, you know? That’s a no-go! So, I climbed the fence to get the treats away from them but then I fell into that little muddy area right there and before I could get up they had devoured everything. And maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad except then that little guy right there,” she says, pointing to the goat I have only ever referred to as asshole number three. “He took the pie plate and I worried that if he ripped it apart and tried to eat it…you know, ‘cause goats seem to eat anything, that it might like, perforate his bowel or something and I didn’t want any of your goats to bleed out and die. And I really don’t want to be known as the goat killer around here when I haven’t even been in town twenty-four hours. So, I ran after the goat and he’s clearly much smarter and much quicker than me because he basically ran me face first into that other muddy patch over there and now here I am covered in mud and not a single treat to show for it.”
She takes a deep breath, looking like she could burst into tears at any moment, and it is seriously taking every bit of my will power not to laugh my ass off at her. If she would’ve just waited for me to get home, I could have told her those goats are all assholes who will eat anything in sight. I have to admit though, seeing her like this, mud splattered literally all over her because she cared enough about my goats, about doing something nice for me, it’s cute.
“But I got this back.” She huffs, holding up the empty tin pie plate. “We’ll call that a tiny victory even though it wasn’t really a victory at all because that scruffy little thing took pity on me and dropped it in my lap after I fell in the mud a second time. So yeah. I guess unless your goats are allergic to apple pie or butterscotch there shouldn’t be any of them dying by my hand today. I’m sorry the treats were stolen by your billy-goat bandits. I’ll try again another day. And I’m sorry I climbed your fence and ran after your goats and I’m also sorry I called one of them an asshole.” She cringes. “Oh, well, you didn’t know about that part but now you do. Anyway, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go shower for the rest of the night. I’m quite sure I have mud in places I didn’t know existed on my body.”
She starts to step past me but something causes me to reach out and grasp her forearm. Maybe it’s the flutter in my chest or maybe it’s the tiny bit of guilt I feel that all this happened to her because of my four-legged assholes. Either way, when I wrap my hand around her arm near her elbow, she grips my wrist in response and that flutter in my chest grows stronger. It’s an unfamiliar feeling and not at all comfortable but I swallow back my unease when she halts and peers up at me, her chestnut eyes meeting mine. I quickly try to think of something to say. Anything to keep her here next to me. I know it’s weird, I’ve only barely met this girl but since the moment she opened her mouth standing next to Winston last night, I’ve felt this desire to be near her.
To get to know her.
I’ve lived in this town for years. I’ve been a relatively active member of the community. People see me and think they know who I am. Yet, in this small town full of neighborly people, I’ve never felt like I truly belong.
I’m the odd one.
The quiet one.
The guy with the goats.
People don’t spend a ton of time talking to me because they know I’m not that social. I brought that all on myself, I know. If only they knew the young man I used to be. They would never believe I’m that guy now.
But then Pigeon showed up.
And now something about her has me feeling differently about the world.
Like, things that were black and white for me in the past are now changing color.
Like, this bleak, repetitive, lonely life doesn’t have to be this way.
Something about the new pigeon has me feeling like I belong with her.
And I have no idea why.
“Are you alright?” Those are the words that finally tumble from my mouth. Even as soft spoken as they are, her eyes grow slightly and I squeeze her arm a bit in response if for no other reason than to let her know I get it. I said words. I said more than one word.
She nods her head, her lips parted. “Ye-yeah. I’m fine. Just a bit of a bruised ego is all.” She gives me a soft but reassuring smile. “Good night Winston’s—wait. Do you have an actual name?”
I swallow back my nerves because there are very few people in this town who actually know my name and use it. “My name is Brannon. I’ve always gone by Bran.”
“Bran.” She nods with a hesitant smile and I feel bad that whatever it was she was trying to do before I got here didn’t work out for her. “I’ll remember that. Good night, Bran.”
I let go of her arm and she heads across the street toward her house. “Good night, Pidge.”
She stops again and turns. “Oh, it’s Paige.”
I don’t apologize for the mix-up because I know her name is Paige.
But I’m pretty damn sure somehow or another, even though she doesn’t know it yet, she’s my pigeon.
“Bran! I need your help!”
Why am I not surprised?
“What did you do this time? And please tell me it doesn’t involve Mom and Dad’s car. They’ll kill you if you’ve put another dent into it.”
“It’s not the car!” she shouts from the back yard. “Can you grab some scissors and…I don’t know…gauze maybe?”
Gauze?
My heart rate picks up as I run to the hall closet to grab the first aid kit. “Heather what did you do? Are you okay?”
“It’s not me, Bran. I’m fine. We need to help him…er…her. I don’t know. Just get out here!”
First aid kit in hand, I race to the back yard to find my sister at the picnic table with a bird between her hands. She looks up at me, her face crestfallen, her eyes glistening. “We have to help it, Bran.”
I step a little closer. “What’s wrong with it?”
“I don’t know,” she answers with a sniffle. “It looked like it was bleeding and has this wire wrapped around his wing. I don’t know where it got caught.”
“Sis, you know it’s just a pigeon right? There are hundreds…no, thousands of pigeons in this town.”
“So, this one isn’t important?” she argues.
“I’m just saying ? —”
“And I’m just saying, this pigeon can be saved and if it can be saved, we save it.”
“Alright, alright.” I lay the first aid kit on the table and open it up, removing the scissors from inside. “You hold it and I’ll try to clip this wire.”
She talks to the pigeon sweetly while I disentangle its wing, clipping where I can so as not to cut our new feathered friend.
“Since when do you love pigeons anyway?” I ask her as I pull the last of the wire free.
She takes a piece of gauze and presses it against the small bloody feathers and shrugs. “I don’t know. It was just in distress as I walked by. I couldn’t not help it, you know that.”
Her thoughts make me smile. “Yeah, I know. You’re right.”
“Plus, did you know pigeons mate for life?”
My brows pinch. “They do?”
“Mhmm. So that means if we don’t save this one, its mate will be all alone. And the surviving pigeon only moves on to another mate very slowly because they want their partner back. Isn’t that the sweetest thing?”
“It’s kind of sad if you ask me,” I tell her.
“But that’s love. One day you’ll find a pigeon and you won’t want anybody else. Except me of course. You don’t ever get to get rid of me.”
I roll my eyes playfully. “Great. Guess I better buy a big ass house so me and my pigeon can live on one side and you can live on the other side.”
“Nah. By that time, I’ll be somebody’s pigeon and we can all live in a happy little pigeon commune together.”
I chuckle. “I’m totally telling your future mate that you hog the bathroom.”
“It’s fine. I can’t wait to tell your pigeon how loud I’ve heard you snore.”
“Has anyone heard more on that nasty little asshole, Zeke Chopra?” I hear
Mrs. Woodcock asks from the knitting circle as I take my seat next to her. The Dirty Hookers is the town’s knitting circle that I somehow allowed Mrs. Woodcock to persuade me to join years ago when I moved here. Not having any friends or family around other than Winston, she took me under her wing and showed me around. That included meeting all her knitting and crocheting friends and becoming the first official male member of the group. It’s not all bad. The ladies think I’m the nicest guy in the world because I try to smile for them every once in a while and Mrs. Woodcock knows not to push me too much on my past. So, if nothing else, this hour of knitting is my time to sit back and listen to others chat about the gossip of the town. It’s my way to learn what’s going on without having to involve myself in any of the town’s drama.
The latest drama was a pretty big smack in the face to our town’s cornhole team. I don’t blame anyone for still being up in their feelings about the whole thing. Turns out the captain of our rivals, the Spitz-Hollow team, was cheating to get his team through the championships by spraying cooking spray on the plastic boards.
Fuckers.
As far as I’m concerned Zeke can eat glass.
“I think he should be sent straight to the county jail,” Mrs. Pierce replies in a huff. The force with which she turns her yarn as she knits amuses me.
Callie scoffs with a larger-than-life eyeroll. “That team was so full of bullshit. It was totally unfair what they did to Kodi and the rest of our team. Not to mention Zeke outing Brian the way he did. He’s nothing but a heaping sack of shit. If his punishment were up to me, I’d cut his shriveled up little penis right off, cover it in the cooking spray he was using on those cornhole boards to cheat his way to the championship, roast it over an open fire until it’s basically nothing but ash, and feed it to Winston.”
Whoa! That gets my attention as I choke back a laugh. “Hey now!”
Callie cringes when I speak up, having forgotten I was sitting here, I’m sure.
“Winston doesn’t eat dick.”
Being probably the most words I’ve ever said in this knitting circle, Callie’s eyes grow huge and she stares at me like an owl. “You’re right. Sorry about that.” She swallows. “How about we chop that thing up and sprinkle it in the woods for the birds?”
I nod approvingly and Mrs. Woodcock snorts. “Well, that would certainly give the Tit Peepers something fun to watch as some of those bigger birds of prey swoop in.”
The group has a good laugh and then Mrs. Pierce changes the subject to one that draws my attention immediately.
“Have any of you met the new girl in town?”
“There’s a new girl in town?” Rowena asks from her seat next to Callie, her orange yarn bunched up beside her.
“Oh yes, and she’s quite darling. She’s helping to run The Cuckoo’s Nest for Rosie and Javan Starling while they’re traveling. I think she said she’s their niece. Is that right Judy?”
Mrs. Woodcock nods. “That’s right. She seemed very friendly. And she’s been cleaning like a mad woman inside that antique shop for the past couple of days. Looks like she’s planning to make some changes in there.”
I noticed she was cleaning earlier too.
I can’t hold back my grin knowing exactly what Judy and Lilith have been up to all day, because they were undoubtedly doing the same thing I was doing from inside my shop across the square from The Cuckoo’s Nest. Since she’s kept her distance since I found her a muddy mess outside the goats’ pen, I’ve had to resort to keeping tabs on her in more creative ways. I have to admit disappointment has had me a little down wondering if this is going to be the pigeon’s normal now instead of haphazardly running into her here and there. She never knew it but I kind of enjoyed seeing her. Her smile reminds me of a time in my life that felt safe and peaceful and…happy.
But maybe she’s upset with me.
Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.
Maybe she thinks I’m a jerk.
Maybe she plans to keep her distance from now on.
Ugh, now I feel a little like an ass.
“Mrs. Woodcock.” Callie tilts her head with a smirk beside me. “Have you and Mrs. Pierce been spying through those binoculars again?”
Bingo.
Busted!
Better them than me.
They don’t need to know I’ve been spying on the pigeon.
A confession like that will end up in the Nosy Pecker.
The ladies giggle together. “What’s a little harmless fun amongst friends?”
Rowena shakes her head. “Callie and I will have to stop by to meet this new girl after we’re done here.” She tugs at her yarn. “If I can ever get this row right. I keep messing it up.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Callie states.
Mrs. Woodcock pokes me with her knitting needle. “Perhaps you should stop by and introduce yourself too.” She peers at me from over the top of her spectacles, reminding me of my old second-grade teacher, Mrs. Miller. “She’s a pretty little thing, you know?”
Actually, I do know.
I’ve been watching her every chance I get.
I saw her dancing in the shop this morning.
I saw her singing through a broom stick microphone.
I saw her ass in the air when she was scrubbing shelves.
She’s so much more than pretty.
But I don’t say any of that out loud. Instead, I merely grunt and continue my stitches.
What they don’t know won’t kill them.
Mrs. Woodcock leans over and whispers, “I also know she’s staying right across the road from you.”
“Mhmm.”
“Somebody nobody knows could be right up your alley, you know.” I feel her give me that motherly stare that only she has been able to pass my way over the years, and I nod.
“Mhmm.”
“Good.” She smiles to herself as she turns her yarn through her fingers. “Glad that’s settled. I can’t wait to hear how your first meet goes.”
Inwardly I smile to myself.
If you only knew.