His Assistant - Alexa Land Page 0,60
it, I found a home gym. Great, so where was I supposed to sleep?
I went out the back door to see if maybe there was an outbuilding or something that I could use. There wasn’t, but over to the right on the wide, covered porch was a comfortable-looking seating area with a hammock, couch, and a rattan coffee table. I muttered, “That’ll work,” and dropped my luggage onto the couch, then pulled a jacket from my suitcase and put it on before climbing into the hammock.
A minute later, the chicken darted out the open door. She stopped when she reached the back stairs and tilted her head to look at the rain. Then she bustled over to a floral area rug and began tugging at the fringe border, to see if it happened to be food.
Harper dashed outside after her and said, “You need to stay close, Lo-Lo.” The chicken ignored him, obviously. Then he turned to me and asked, “Why’s all your stuff out here?”
“Because this is where I’m planning to live for the next week.”
“You can’t do that. It’s freezing cold out here.”
“Come on. It’s probably sixty degrees.”
He threw his hands up and exclaimed, “Exactly!”
“So, it’s not freezing.”
“It might as well be.”
I shrugged and said, “I’ll find a blanket.”
“Why aren’t you staying inside?”
I shot him a look and said, “There’s only one bed.”
“There are also two couches.”
“But they’re right in the middle of the living room, and I’d rather be out here and have some privacy. I seem to remember being promised that when I agreed to come along on this trip.”
“Take the master bedroom. I’ll sleep on the couch,” he said.
“I’m fine out here. Go inside and enjoy your fourteen million dollar tiny bungalow.”
“On eight acres. That part’s key.”
“Yes, what a bargain. Only one million, seven hundred and fifty thousand per acre. I’m sure they weren’t laughing all the way to the bank.”
“You know what? Sit out here and freeze if you want to. It’s your choice.” He turned to the chicken and said, “Come on, Lo-Lo, let’s go to the kitchen and Daddy will give you a mango.” The chicken stared at him for a moment, and then she ran over to me. I grinned as he muttered, “Traitor,” and went back inside.
I spent some time that evening setting up my temporary living space. I’d tried to play it off, but it actually was pretty cold. Fortunately, I found a patio heater in a seating area around the side of the house, and I located a couple of spare blankets and pillows in an armoire in the living room. I also realized one of the sofas folded out into a bed, but I was determined to stick with my plan.
The corner of the porch where I set up camp was partly shielded from the wind by a huge tree. I added an additional windbreak by hanging one of the blankets. Then I augmented the overhead lighting by bringing a couple of lamps outside and running a long, orange extension cord into the living room. The end result was a pretty great little oasis.
Between the windbreak and the patio heater, the temperature was comfortable to me. I was worried about the skinny little chicken though, so I found my gray knit cap with red trim, cut three holes in it for her head and wings, and slipped it onto her. It was a remarkably good fit. I grinned and told her, “You look like you’re wearing a sweater vest. I wish I had a red bow tie for you, because it would be a great finishing touch.” Then I wondered when exactly I’d started talking to chickens.
Sometime later, Harper stuck his head out the back door and frowned. The rain was coming down steadily, and I was under a thick duvet on the hammock with a paperback in my hand and the chicken on my chest. He asked, “Are you really sticking with this Swiss Family Robinson outdoor living bullshit?”
“Yup.”
“Why is Loco dressed like a nerd?”
“Don’t judge her.”
After a beat, he said, “I’m going into town to check out the nightlife, if any.”
“Good luck with that.”
He lingered in the doorway for a few seconds, and then he muttered something under his breath and went inside. A few moments later, I heard the front door open and close, and I glanced at the time on my phone. He’d barely lasted two hours in his alleged quest for rest and relaxation.
“Let’s place bets,” I told the chicken. “I say