I can do all this, no problem. Hearing voices, she headed for the barn. Maybe someone could tell her what to do. She’d need a basket or something to collect eggs, right? But before she reached it, she heard a terrible sound. Shrieking, clucking, and nerve-shattering squawks.
Phinny raced to the chicken coop to find feathers flying and dust billowing. Oh, God. It was a modern structure with an oak plywood façade, wooden trusses to support metal walls, and a slanted, corrugated roof that offered shade. Dozens of chickens flapped their wings and strutted in circles, bumping into each other. “What’s going on?” She leaped onto a wooden platform—a bridge that joined two identical coops—and headed into the one with a horrible scrabbling sound—nails on wood.
And found a dog chasing a hen.
“Get out. Go. Shoo.” It hurried into one of the huts and gulped down an egg. When it started for another, she swatted at the air. “Oh, no, you don’t. Scram.”
The wily thing scooted around her and tore out of the coop. She chased after it, making a useless shooing motion.
Winded, she bent over, bracing her hands on her knees, as she fought to catch her breath. As the chickens calmed down, she straightened. “Girls, I overslept. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
She didn’t have time to find a basket, so she pulled her shirt out of her jeans to make a cradle. She’d collected about a dozen eggs when she realized this method wasn’t going to work. There were too many of them.
Okay, hang on. She made a quick assessment, figuring each adjoining coop had about a hundred huts.
Good God, why did Kurt need two hundred chickens?
Carefully, she headed over to the bunkhouse. If she was supposed to deliver the eggs, there must be baskets or something. She couldn’t knock, as she needed both hands to hold up the shirt, so she turned sideways and used her elbow to open the door.
And found a bare-assed man changing his clothes.
She closed her eyes. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
“It’s cool. Why are you carrying eggs in your shirt?”
She cracked open an eyelid to find him zipping up his jeans. “I was told to collect them, but there was a dog in the chicken coop—”
“Tigger.” He pulled on a T-shirt.
“Excuse me?”
“That’s Tigger. As long as you give him an egg first thing in the morning, he’ll stay out of the coop.”
“What kind of dog eats eggs?”
The guy smiled. Young, fit, he was clean-cut and friendly. “Tigger does.” He shrugged. “It’s his thing. He’ll scarf them down if Tina doesn’t give him one.”
“Tina?”
His good humor faded. “She’s the house manager, but she left right after the funeral. Went to see her sister in North Carolina.” He reached for a belt and snaked it through the loops of his jeans. “Anyhow, she keeps baskets in the barn.”
“Okay, great. But…why are there so many chickens?”
“Uh, well, it’s a self-sustaining ranch. Kurt was really into preserving the land, so we grow everything we eat and use alternative energy. There’s a lot of people to feed, so…” He offered an adorable smile. “Lots of chickens.”
“Okay. Got it. Thanks for the information.”
“I’d help you, but I’ve got a doctor’s appointment. That’s why I’m not working right now.”
“No worries. I got this.” She headed to the barn, thankful for the shade and the familiar scents of horse, hay, and saddle leather. Baskets hung off iron hooks nailed to the wall, so she knocked one down with an elbow and then set the eggs carefully into it. She didn’t know where to put it, so she left it on the floor of the office. At least the door would keep Tigger out. Then, she went back to the coop with several baskets to collect more.
An hour later, after delivering the eggs to the cook, she headed to the barn to muck the stalls. She’d certainly watched it enough times but doing it herself…that was another story. She found gloves, a pitchfork, and a wheelbarrow all set out for her, so she got right to work. But only half an hour into it, she had to pull the gloves off to get a look at the blisters covering her pinkened hands. Perspiration ran down her back, plastering the shirt to her.
And she wasn’t even halfway done.
She couldn’t help wondering what Declan was doing but picturing the insufferable man knee-deep in pig shit made her feel better. In fact, it gave her the inspiration she needed to shove the gloves back on and do an outstanding job. She doubted a hockey boy had any exposure to farm work.
Without instructions, she wasn’t sure she was doing it correctly, but she understood the basics, so she’d left each floor bare to dry out and then, when she’d finished mucking, she went back with her pitchfork to spread a new layer of shavings and hay.
Her back ached, and her stomach growled, but she wanted to get the next job done. How long could it take to pull a few weeds from a vegetable patch? Smacking the dirt off her jeans, she headed out of the barn.
But when she got there, she nearly keeled over. You’ve got to be kidding me.
It wasn’t a patch. No, this garden provided a ranch full of people with fresh, seasonal produce. How on earth was she supposed to do a job like this herself? Curious, she wandered the rows of tomatoes, zucchini, squash, carrots, and kale. If she was into gardening, this place would be a dream. Her stomach clenched painfully at the tease of all this delicious food.
You know what? I haven’t eaten in eighteen hours. She’d just have to tackle this job later. Making her way around the house to the kitchen door, she knocked.
It didn’t take long for Declan to answer. After a brief scan from her face down to her flats, he gave her a bored look. “What?”
“I need a shower and food.”
“Cool. Do you need help getting the Airstream hooked up?”
She took a step back. “So, you knew it didn’t have power, and you still sent me there?” She was sweaty, starving, and filthy, and he just stood there, as calm and clean as could be. “That’s cruel.”
“As I’ve already said, we’ve both been dropped into this situation, and we have to figure it out as we go along. I didn’t know anything either, but I can help you if you want.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“Let me get my phone and look it up.”
“You don’t know how to do it?”
“No. I don’t own an Airstream.” He disappeared into the house and came back a moment later. “While I’m doing this, you can order food from Harley and Lu’s Emporium.” He tapped away on his phone. “It’s the gourmet grocer in town.” His gaze flicked over to her. “They deliver.”
His assumptions really pissed her off. “I could, but I’d rather hire my own chef. In fact, while I’m at it, I’ll get my butler to do my chores.” She smiled. “Gosh, while you’re putting my Airstream together, I’ll just stand here and think of all the ways I can make my stay here more luxurious.”
Given the arch of his brow, he wasn’t too put-out by her little fit. But she was shaking. From hunger, exhaustion, anger…you name it. Screw him. “On second thought, I don’t want your help with the Airstream. I can do it myself.” And when it finally clicked—that he stood there perfectly clean and composed, anger turned to rage. “Wait a minute, why aren’t you sweating?”