Rosaline Palmer Takes the Cake (Winner Bakes All #1) - Alexis Hall Page 0,101
unusually careful. “It’s more . . . you see that thing over there, with the four legs and the horns. Is that a bull?”
“Maybe,” suggested Harry, “it’s a tractor.”
Anvita poked him. “Not the time. If that’s a bull, we’re dead.”
“Nah, it’s all right. I saw this on a programme once. What you do is, you run towards it, shouting, and that scares it away.”
It was hard to see through the heavy darkness that had crept in with the night, but there was definitely something out there. It was a moving blob with a faint aura of horned malice, and Rosaline was sure it was staring at them.
“No,” she said quickly. “Don’t do that. Because if you’re wrong, you’re going to get gored by a bull.”
“I think,” Anvita put in, “you’re supposed to grab it by the ring through its nose.”
Harry snorted. “While it’s running at you? How’s that meant to work?”
“I think it’s like judo and you sort of . . . use its own momentum against it.”
“How about”—this was Rosaline, whose fear of imminent trampling was not being alleviated by the conversation—“we walk slowly away and don’t do anything to provoke it.”
A strange and ominous grunting came from the shadows.
“No, it will definitely kill you. We need to run away in a zigzag.”
“I thought that was crocodiles.”
The thing in the dark was moving towards them now, and quickly. Rosaline also tried to pick up the pace, but Anvita’s ankle had other ideas.
“I can’t go any faster.” Anvita gave her a little push. “Leave me. Save yourselves.”
“I’m not going to leave you in a field,” protested Rosaline.
“You’ve got a child. Think of your daugh—”
At this moment, Harry swept Anvita off the ground and into his arms. “All right. I’ve got her. Peg it. Don’t look back. You’re not supposed to look back.”
Rosaline did not, in fact, look back—just raced through the grass, convinced at any moment she was going to hear the thud of hooves behind her and then the grisly crunch of Harry and Anvita getting ground into tapenade by an enraged bull. She hit the fence and, although still concerned for her safety, couldn’t help being a little proud of the agility with which she managed to vault over it.
Harry arrived a moment later, bundling Anvita over the top before clambering across himself. They had a few moments to ride the adrenaline wave together, breathless and giggling with relief, before the goat caught up with them.
It gave an aggrieved bleat. Then started nibbling the edge of Harry’s shirt.
“Did you see that?” yelled Anvita. “He totally superheroed me out of that field. He literally saved my life.”
Harry scratched his jaw awkwardly. “I mean, from a goat.”
“It was a bull at the time.”
“I’m pretty sure it was always a goat.” He tried to get his shirt back, which the goat was not happy about. There was a brief tug-of-war and the bull impersonator managed to tear a strip off the bottom. “Oh bloody hell. Now that is gonna show up on TV.”
Given their evening’s activities had consisted of going to a pub and taking a short walk, they made a disproportionately tragic party as they returned to the hotel, with Anvita limping, Harry’s shirt torn, and all of them covered in mud.
“Right,” said Anvita the moment they got through the gates. “Bar.”
“You don’t think”—Rosaline did her best to keep up with Anvita’s increasingly enthusiastic hobbling—“maybe see a first-aider?”
“Oh come on. It’s fine. You said it wasn’t broken and you must know what you’re talking about because you nearly did two years of a medical degree.”
Somehow, Rosaline felt she wasn’t going to win this one. “I said, ‘It’s not broken.’ Not ‘Feel free to get drunk and run around on it.’”
“I’m not going to run around. I’m going to have a glass of wine, maybe two, and then see if I can persuade Harry to carry me to my room.”
Harry frowned thoughtfully. “I reckon carrying another bloke’s bird is all right if you’re escaping a bull—”
“It was a goat,” Rosaline reminded him.
“—but I think if I was carrying you up to your bedroom, your boyfriend might have a problem with it.”
“Don’t ruin this for”—Anvita tried to stamp her foot and then yelped—“ow—me. How often do you think I get carried places in my life?”
“How about,” said Harry, “we go to the bar, you put your foot up, I stay on the lemonade so I don’t get pissed and