Aubrey
“Ireally appreciate you coming out on such short notice,” I said to the handyman Camille had called in from the next town over.
He grunted as he eyed the padlock on the shed door.
His nose was red from the chill. It was a very large nose.
Enormous. My sight kept drifting back to it just like Austin Powers when he met The Mole.
“I didn’t want to rush you but I think there’s a cat and a rooster living in there. They’re probably hungry and cold.”
He turned his unhappy round face to me. “Look, kid, I don’t care if Godzilla is living in there. It’s cold and Camille insisted I come out right fucking now. So here I am. Damned ex-wives are going to be the death of me yet.”
“Oh, so you’re Mr. Yates. That’s nice. Camille sold me this place and the shop in town.
I’m opening a bookstore today. A large opening.
” I pulled my thick cardigan tighter around me as a robin called out somewhere close by.
“The shop is already open but it was a soft opening just because I couldn’t wait to have people come in and browse.
I still want to set up a reading corner somewhere then start having poetry readings and workshops, maybe a writer group too.
Oh, and perhaps a game night! Wouldn’t it be fun to have a Dungeons & Dragons night for the local TTRPG folks? !”
He shook his head as he pulled out a large pair of bolt cutters. With a grunt he cut through the shackle. The lock fell to the ground in two cold pieces.
“There you go.”
“Thank you!” I nudged my glasses up my nose.
“I’ll bill Camille.” With that he picked up his bag then sauntered back to his van and left.
Not even a thank you for your business or a see you later.
Honestly, some people were not morning people at all.
I picked up the lock bits, shoved them into my sweater pocket, and then eased the creaky door open.
Spring sun, cold but bright, shone into the shed.
“Oh wow,” I whispered at the mess.
There wasn’t much in here but everything a chicken could sit on was covered with chicken poo. Also, I suspected the orange cat had been using a corner or two as a litter box as the shed reeked of cat pee. “Oh my.”
I pulled my sweater over my nose as I stepped further in.
A small workbench littered with mouse droppings, a rototiller, and a box filled with shavings and wooden eggs—that was the extent of the treasures.
The rooster, who I had named Roberto, and the cat, who I had decided to call Ruggerio, were nowhere to be seen.
I’d heard Roberto earlier but couldn’t place where he’d been crowing from.
If he was going to live here he would need a nice coop.
Or a shed. The cat, Ruggerio, would need a trip to the vet and judging by the size of his nuggets, an operation to remove said nuggets.
But I had to trap them first. The cat would be easy.
The rooster on the other hand might prove a bit more difficult.
How did one catch a chicken? Something brushed against my leg making me jump.
I had a real fear of rats, all rodents really, but especially rats.
“Ack!” I squeaked, jerking my leg up as I looked down to see Ruggerio.
Purring. Rather loudly. The rooster, Roberto, came strutting in proud as punch.
“Oh, hello, gentlemen. Roberto, the Gentleman Rooster. That sounds like a lovely moniker. And Ruggerio, the Paladin knight. What a chivalrous pair. I have some food in the house. One minute!”
I dashed off. The cat and the chicken followed, Roberto’s fancy gold tail feathers flowing in the wind as he and his friend raced me to the back door.
“You win.” I laughed as I opened the door.
“Would you like to come inside? It’s warmer in here.
” I held the door open but neither seemed inclined to enter.
“Okay, that’s understandable. We’ll work on it.
Hold on.” I raced inside, plucked the dry toast I’d not eaten with my over-easy egg from the counter, and went to the back porch.
The cat and the chicken were waiting patiently.
Someone, obviously the previous owner, had fed these two because as soon as Roberto saw the bread he came over to me.
I squatted down to feed him bits of toast. He plucked it from my hand with great care then dropped it on the ground as he made a deep tut-tut-tut sound. “You should eat that.”
He finally gave in and began to eat the bits that he took.
When the toast was gone I hurried back inside, found the bags of chicken feed and dry cat food, and toted them, with the water dish I’d bought, to the shed.
Both of my new friends followed, Ruggerio meowing loudly while Roberto clucked merrily.
They dove into the food when I filled the dishes I found lying around.
Kneeling on an old flap of a cardboard box, I watched them eating with a smile.
I made a mental note to find a vet and set up a visit for them both.
Did veterinarians doctor chickens? I had no clue but I would find out. My watch beeped as they were eating.
“Ah, time to get to work. You two behave today. I’ll be home around five-thirty.
” I gave Ruggerio a pat on his head then I glanced at the rooster preening his wing.
I touched his back, the gold feathers smooth under my fingertips.
What a gentleman he was! “Guard the house you two. And don’t get into any trouble. ”
When I left for the shop my mile-long list was now two miles long but I’d not change a thing.
I had two new friends to share my life with.
So much for the worry of being alone. What more did a man need than a shop filled with books and a duo of polished gents?
A flash of that danged cowboy in the black hat appeared in my mind’s eye as I slid behind the wheel of my blue PT Cruiser.
Gosh yes he was handsome. And big, strong, burly.
Just the kind of man I liked to plop myself down on their laps for a nice cuddle and pet.
He’d had big hands. I bet he could pet with the best of—
Stop. Stop right now. No cocky cowboys. No smug security officers. No puffed up physical therapist. Nope, no, never more. No overweening men no matter how big and buff they are. We’re living a hermit’s life out here in the woods. Think Radagast the Brown from The Hobbit. Just you and the critters.
Yes, but even Radagast had visitors. Gandalf the Gray must have—
Stop! We are not going down that rabbit hole. Wipe that cowboy from your mind.
“Right. Right, wiping that cowboy from my mind.” There he went. Goodbye Mr. Sexy Britches. A hermit’s life from here on out. Yep. Call me Friar Aubrey.
Okay, I was so going to be kicked out of the monastery.
He was here. For the grand opening. Boy oh boy was I glad I had worn a suit and pulled my raggy hair back into a short little bun.
The shop was pretty busy, lots of people browsing, which made my heart sing. Then he walked in with his black hat and sad eyes, bruised and battered, and all I could think of doing was easing him into a bath of Epsom salts then kissing the dark marks on his throat.
Gah. He was so pretty. And I was so weak.
So very weak. That man needed someone to fuss over him, I could tell.
When he spied me over by the World War II section his somber mood lifted slightly as a small smile pulled at his lush lips.
He tapped his hat with his right hand, the left still resting in a sling.
A bull. A bull had stepped on him he had said, which meant he played with bulls.
Rode them probably. Such a machismo sport. Dangerous. Sexy.
No, not sexy!
Right. Not sexy. Boorish. So very boorish.
“…hardcover?”
I snapped back to my customer. Older man with long silver whiskers and bright blue eyes.
“Oh, sorry, I was daydreaming. Let me see if the publisher has it in hardcover.” I gave the old gent a smile then dashed off to my laptop, darting around a young woman perusing a biography of Elizabeth Taylor.
The bull rider met me at the register with the Ginsberg book in his hand.
He placed it on the counter then removed his hat.
How as it possible he looked so good with hat hair?
Even flattened down those dark locks begged to have fingers carded through them.
“I tried,” he confessed just as the door opened with a chilly gust of spring wind. I’d still not bought any bells. “I really did but I just could not handle the run-on sentences.”
“Understood. Many people struggle with that. If you want to swap this out for something else please take a gander at the poetry section. I have lots more stock now.”
“Thanks, Aubrey.”
“You’re welcome…” I let it hang as I typed in the search bar at the publisher’s page for hardcover information.
“Hoyt. Hoyt Knox. I’m staying out at the Snow Creek Ranch for a few months.”
“Oh that sounds nice. I’m new to town so don’t know about that ranch but I think cows are incredibly cute.”
He smiled at me with such sincerity I felt woozy. White teeth. So nice and white. Straight. Obviously the bulls hadn’t knocked his teeth out or if they had he’d had some wonderful dental work. I liked nice smiles on big men with large—
Stop! No. Down boy. This man is heartbreak in tight Wranglers.
“I’ll peruse. Thanks.” He returned his hat to his head.
“Sure, Hoyt.” I yanked my sight from his to focus on my other customer.
After locating the hardcover edition I noted the price, which was pretty steep, then returned to the World War II section to discuss.
The old gent seemed happy to pay for the hardcover so we returned to the checkout desk to get his order placed and get his payment.
All the while I kept peeking over at the rather large poetry section—sue me I loved words with verse, meter, and rhyme—to see him paging through a small tome with a blue dustcover with red hills and blue sky.