hands on the wary parakeet.
Twitter fluttered from branch to branch, always just a hair out of reach. Beau knew he should have armed himself with something to attract him, though what that might have been was a question. He had no idea what parakeets liked other than birdseed and cuttlebones.
The bird seemed to be enjoying the rain. He treated it like a bath, fluttering his wings and ruffling his feathers, letting the wetness slide down his back. Or maybe it was a female; it was all the same to Beau. He just wanted to get his hands on the feathered critter, return it to Lizzie safe and sound, and get home.
He was tired of rain. He needed his fields to dry out so he could plow again. If the eternal drenching didn’t stop soon, the creeks would overrun their banks and the countryside would have major flooding. Rescue calls a lot more dangerous than this one would require the unit’s attention.
He couldn’t believe Carla had come to him to apologize this morning. He’d been struck dumb, or close to it. She had so little to apologize about, since he had been in the wrong. Well, not on purpose, but the facts were clear. She’d seen him kissing a married woman. Simple enough.
He’d been off the hook with the gentleman thing. With a little effort, he could have explained away even Merry Lou’s visit. All he’d had to do was say she was lying to protect him.
He’d had his chance to convince Carla of how wrong he was for the deal, and he hadn’t taken it. No, not him.
How crazy was that?
The fact was, he didn’t want her to think that badly of him. He really didn’t want her to pack up and leave.
He must be losing it.
So here he was, doing his Tarzan imitation, swinging from limb to limb in pursuit of a dumb bird. Lizzie more or less expected his antics, but Carla apparently didn’t. He liked the concern that she tried to hide. Crazy, but there it was, in spite of everything. He wanted to save the day, to be the hero, and was risking his neck for the appearance of it.
It wasn’t the same as being the perfect gentleman, but was probably as close as he was going to get.
Damn, but he needed to get his head straight, to decide exactly what he did and didn’t want where the lady was concerned.
“Come here, little birdy,” he crooned, “come to old Beau. You’re a handsome Twitter, yes, you are. If I get my hands on you, I may wring your scrawny little neck for scaring everybody like this. And why you couldn’t pick a nice, dry sunshiny day for your adventure beats the hell out of me.”
The parakeet tilted its head to one side and whistled. Beau whistled back and eased closer.
Twitter flew to a higher limb. Its perching choices were getting smaller and smaller. At some point, the bird would run out of options; he could only go so far. Trouble was, the same was true for his would-be rescuer.
“Lizzie loves you, you ungrateful little beast. She’s crying because she’s afraid of what might happen to you. Do you really want to be lunch for a hawk or its nest full of babies? Do you? Think how she’d feel if that happened.”
The parakeet cocked its head. Beau inched higher, made a quick grab.
“Gotcha, you feathered fiend!”
He tucked the bird into his T-shirt while he searched for the best way down. Easing along a wide limb, he reached for another.
His foot slipped, losing purchase on wet bark, moss and fern. He grabbed for a side branch and missed.
Abruptly he was plunging downward past thick branches that scraped him from hip bone to armpit, slapping at side limbs, grasping them a second before they broke away with his weight. It was a free fall then. Breathless seconds of emptiness passed before he caught a wide, lower limb with one hand while protecting poor Twitter with the other.
He couldn’t hold on. His fingers slipped with slow inevitability. The ground came up to meet him with a wallop that made fireworks go off behind his eyes in gold and red sparkles.
Lizzie screamed, a shrill sound
Twitter fluttered from branch to branch, always just a hair out of reach. Beau knew he should have armed himself with something to attract him, though what that might have been was a question. He had no idea what parakeets liked other than birdseed and cuttlebones.
The bird seemed to be enjoying the rain. He treated it like a bath, fluttering his wings and ruffling his feathers, letting the wetness slide down his back. Or maybe it was a female; it was all the same to Beau. He just wanted to get his hands on the feathered critter, return it to Lizzie safe and sound, and get home.
He was tired of rain. He needed his fields to dry out so he could plow again. If the eternal drenching didn’t stop soon, the creeks would overrun their banks and the countryside would have major flooding. Rescue calls a lot more dangerous than this one would require the unit’s attention.
He couldn’t believe Carla had come to him to apologize this morning. He’d been struck dumb, or close to it. She had so little to apologize about, since he had been in the wrong. Well, not on purpose, but the facts were clear. She’d seen him kissing a married woman. Simple enough.
He’d been off the hook with the gentleman thing. With a little effort, he could have explained away even Merry Lou’s visit. All he’d had to do was say she was lying to protect him.
He’d had his chance to convince Carla of how wrong he was for the deal, and he hadn’t taken it. No, not him.
How crazy was that?
The fact was, he didn’t want her to think that badly of him. He really didn’t want her to pack up and leave.
He must be losing it.
So here he was, doing his Tarzan imitation, swinging from limb to limb in pursuit of a dumb bird. Lizzie more or less expected his antics, but Carla apparently didn’t. He liked the concern that she tried to hide. Crazy, but there it was, in spite of everything. He wanted to save the day, to be the hero, and was risking his neck for the appearance of it.
It wasn’t the same as being the perfect gentleman, but was probably as close as he was going to get.
Damn, but he needed to get his head straight, to decide exactly what he did and didn’t want where the lady was concerned.
“Come here, little birdy,” he crooned, “come to old Beau. You’re a handsome Twitter, yes, you are. If I get my hands on you, I may wring your scrawny little neck for scaring everybody like this. And why you couldn’t pick a nice, dry sunshiny day for your adventure beats the hell out of me.”
The parakeet tilted its head to one side and whistled. Beau whistled back and eased closer.
Twitter flew to a higher limb. Its perching choices were getting smaller and smaller. At some point, the bird would run out of options; he could only go so far. Trouble was, the same was true for his would-be rescuer.
“Lizzie loves you, you ungrateful little beast. She’s crying because she’s afraid of what might happen to you. Do you really want to be lunch for a hawk or its nest full of babies? Do you? Think how she’d feel if that happened.”
The parakeet cocked its head. Beau inched higher, made a quick grab.
“Gotcha, you feathered fiend!”
He tucked the bird into his T-shirt while he searched for the best way down. Easing along a wide limb, he reached for another.
His foot slipped, losing purchase on wet bark, moss and fern. He grabbed for a side branch and missed.
Abruptly he was plunging downward past thick branches that scraped him from hip bone to armpit, slapping at side limbs, grasping them a second before they broke away with his weight. It was a free fall then. Breathless seconds of emptiness passed before he caught a wide, lower limb with one hand while protecting poor Twitter with the other.
He couldn’t hold on. His fingers slipped with slow inevitability. The ground came up to meet him with a wallop that made fireworks go off behind his eyes in gold and red sparkles.
Lizzie screamed, a shrill sound
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