“Oh.” She looked down at her newest wardrobe addition. “Right. Thanks for picking these out.”
“No problem. I’m glad they’re working for you. Not a day too soon either.”
“Yeah. It’s pretty wet out there.”
The redhead nodded. “And muddy. We’re all grateful for warmer days, but the downside of spring in Captivity is mud.” As if realizing that observation wouldn’t exactly sell anyone on the town, she quickly went on, “Of course, summer is gorgeous. And fall. Fall is my favorite season. The trees turn colors so striking it can make a New Englander jealous. The air is so cool and crisp. The distillery hosts evening bonfires on the weekends. Even winter is lovely. Captivity is like a Christmas postcard.”
“I’m sure,” Izzy hastened to say. “The town is charming.”
Annie laughed again, knowing she’d swung too far toward the hard-sell side. “And muddy, at the moment.”
“But that’s okay.” Izzy raised one foot. “I have the boots for it.”
“That you do. Thankfully, you didn’t come here for the spring thaw. You had a higher calling.”
Did she? “Did I?”
Annie gave her an odd look. “Love, of course. You came for love. We adore Trace—the entire Shanahan clan—and hope you’ll let us know if there’s anything we can do to help make your visit perfect.”
Oh, the guilt again. “There’s nothing. I mean, it is perfect,” she elaborated when Annie’s face fell. “Really. All I need is a funny gift for my friend.”
“Well, you’re in the right place. I’ll let you look around. Give a shout if you need assistance.”
“Will do,” Izzy promised, and turned to the shelves decked with shot glasses, snow globes, coffee mugs, and… “Oh my God.” Her eyes widened at the small box emblazoned with a winking cartoon grizzly bear. Bearly There…ultra-thin lubricated condoms. Tagline? When you want to get wild! Everything about it was perfect. Condoms. The bear. The subtle innuendo that “bearly there” could also apply to the goods being sheathed.
Thinking Danny had a surprise of just this sort coming to him, she grabbed the box, and, just to one-up him, a second box, and headed to the checkout counter. Annie laughed as she rang them up, and told her the condoms, while not exactly souvenirs, were one of their bestselling items.
Izzy left with the funny feeling Annie assumed at least one of the boxes was actually for her and Trace’s personal use, but there was nothing she could do about that.
On the way back to the inn, she again passed the pond. The geese were more awake now, standing around the bank in a group…er…gaggle, honking occasionally. The sun was high, the water sparkling, and the geese sort of sweet and funny, waddling around and looking confused. She took off her gloves, stuffed them into her vest pocket and slipped her phone out. After tapping the camera app, she raised her sunglasses to the top of her head so she could see the screen and centered a shot. Then hesitated. It would be really funny if she could get close, kind of lean in, and take a picture with those birds.
She looked to her right, her left, and then at the sidewalk behind her. It would have to be a selfie since there was nobody around to take the shot for her. Deciding to go for it, she turned so her back was to the geese, raised her phone higher than her head to get herself in a long-angled shot, and then took a step back, and another, and…yes, there they were, standing still, their little bowling-pin heads raised to watch her approach. Almost perfect. Another step closer and…
One of the geese spread its wings like a bat, opened its beak, and let out a loud, aggressive honk. She froze and watched the group of them on her phone screen. Another one opened its beak. Wide. Did geese have sharp bills? Teeth? A little current of fear swirled through her. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe she should—
They charged. As a group. No, not a group, a mob. A loud, angry mob. For one stunned second, she stood there, watching the wall of angry, spread-winged, killer geese close in. The one at the point of the attack chevron they’d formed stretched its long neck and opened its mouth as if preparing to take a big bite out of…her.
“Ohmigod!”
She ran. They followed. Panicked, she took a fast circuit around the pond, but didn’t lose them. Why would she? The pond was their home. She was playing right into their hands—wings—whatever. Winded now, but determined to move the chase off their turf, she rounded the pond and ran down the sidewalk. Buildings passed by in a blur. Mud and water splashed everywhere with every step. From somewhere beyond the honking, she heard a long, high-pitched scream. She tried to scream back, then realized it was her screaming in the first place.
“Helllp!”
Chapter Twelve
Trace snagged the curbside spot in front of the inn, put the Yukon in park, and came around to the passenger side to let a whining Key out of the back seat. The dog hopped down and raced over to where Mad, Wing, and Ford stood, drinking coffee. To avoid getting nosed in the nuts by a Husky, Ford dropped to a knee and gave the dog attention.
“Met your future auntie this morning, K’eyush. Yes, I did. You know what, boy? I think you’re bigger than she is. I do. Don’t go jumping on her like you do the rest of us, ’kay? You’ll knock her flat.”
“Hey, guys,” Trace greeted the trio, then, to Ford, went on, “Glad you met Izzy. Now”—he looked around pointedly—“what’d you do with her?”
“She went shopping,” Mad volunteered.
“She’ll be back any second,” Ford said. “Just walked to the general store to buy a few souvenirs.”
“Shows what you know about women,” Mad retorted. “Best get comfy, Trace. ‘A few souvenirs’”—he made air quotes around the words—“could take hours. Be glad you didn’t get roped into going with her…”
A squall of honking interrupted Mad’s discourse on female shopping habits. Trace, like the other men, turned to the source of the sound. From his vantage point on the sidewalk, he saw Izzy haul ass up the street, screaming, being chased by a gaggle of at least twenty agitated Canadian Geese.
“Oh, fuck…”
“Whoa, man. Look at her go,” Wing said, in awe. “You got yourself a natural born mudder.”
No, he didn’t. Not even close. “Key, go!” Trace said to the dog, whose body quivered in anticipation of scattering geese. The dog bolted off the sidewalk and shot toward the commotion, barking nonstop. He bypassed the fleeing woman and went straight for the birds.
The geese got a gander at Key and dispersed with a flurry of wings and some high-pitched squawks. Izzy, however, just kept running. And screaming. He saw the puddle. He judged her speed. Jumping from the sidewalk to the street, he put himself on a trajectory to intercept her before she could—