Melting - Sean Ashcroft Page 0,55

getting too close to the girl ducks at all.

I thought about explaining to him that I was only collecting eggs, but I doubted he’d understand—and even if he did, he probably wouldn’t take kindly to that, either.

I didn’t know a lot about ducks, but I was positive about this—there was no such thing as a good duck.

Not until it’d been crispy-fried and wrapped in a fluffy pancake with plum sauce, anyway.

“Nice duck,” I added, which I also knew had never, ever been true. Geese had the reputation, but ducks were just as bad—worse, maybe.

The drake ruffled his feathers, straightening himself up to his full height. Which, okay, wasn’t all that tall, but still. It was a threatening gesture, there was a lot of ground between me and safety—not to mention the risk of breaking a dozen eggs on the way. There was also the risk that I’d get bitten by a duck in front of a cute boy whose affection and respect were important to me.

Did ducks bite?

I was willing to bet this one did.

“Good duckie, good duckie,” I cooed, backing up, not even daring to glance toward the gate. I knew it was behind me, and I knew that if I made a run for it, a duck would outpace me over the distance.

“What a handsome duck,” I said, still backing away toward the gate as my new arch nemesis waddled forward, deceptively charming little duck feet getting closer and closer. “I bet all the girl ducks love you. Or boy ducks. Whatever kind of ducks you’re into. I’m not judging.”

The duck grunted, taking a handful of quick steps forward.

“You’re supposed to quack,” I told it, and then immediately regretted potentially antagonizing an already angry duck.

“I don’t want the girl ducks!” I said, nearly tripping over my feet as I backed up, desperate to strike the balance between moving away as quickly as I could without moving so quickly that I startled it and triggered its attack instincts.

“I’m gay!” I yelled. “I’m gay and my hot boyfriend is at the top of the goddamn hill watching me yell at a duck!”

Boyfriend.

Oh.

Well.

This sure was an interesting way to find out that I thought of Wes as my boyfriend.

The duck waddled closer, beady little eyes laser-focused on me.

I assumed. I was just realizing that I wasn’t really clear on how ducks worked, and I’d seen a goat on the way in whose eyes I’d never forget.

Wes was right, I had no business being on a farm.

“Okay,” I told the duck. “I’m gonna turn and walk away now. Far, far away from your little girlfriends. Got it?”

The duck stood almost perfectly still, which I decided to take as silent agreement.

I turned, strode two steps up the hill, and then yelped as something hard closed around my ankle.

The duck. The fucking duck was chasing me.

I broke into a run, gasping and crying out as the duck chased me all the way up the hill, pecking and biting at my ankles all the way up. If anything, the yelling only made it worse, and the running was definitely setting off some kind of predatory instinct in its cruel little semi-aquatic heart.

“Take these,” I called to Wes, holding full egg carton out to him over the gate.

I must’ve looked like I’d lost my mind, but Wes took them without comment as I scaled the chest-high wooden gate and rolled over onto the ground, winded.

Wes was on his knees beside me in an instant, concern all over his face, eggs still safe in one hand.

That was good. If the eggs had been broken after all that, I might’ve just stayed here and died.

Something hard hit the gate next to me, and a second later an angry quack told me it was that same duck, still out for my blood.

“I’m not interested in the girl ducks!”

“Hens,” Wes corrected, calmer than I thought he should have been. There was an angry duck who’d already had a taste of human flesh on the other side of that gate.

Well, human jeans, anyway. He hadn’t actually taken a chunk out of me, but I didn’t doubt for a second that he would have, given half a chance.

“The hens!” I shouted through the gate. “I don’t care about them, go away.”

Wes burst into laughter, standing and offering me his free hand to help me up.

I groaned as I picked myself off the ground, brushing dust off my shoulders and then giving up on the rest.

“Where does it hurt?” Wes asked.

“My pride, mostly,”