Later Gator (Southern Fried Sass Book 1), Page 2

  Knowing exactly where he was headed with his inquiry, I threw a curve ball at the cocky Gator Shifter just to see how well he could work on the fly. “Recently, we suffered the loss of our father. It seemed to us that the country was just what the doctor ordered.”

  (Well, it was the truth. Nate the Bastard was dead in a manner of speaking, and he had been our very own sperm donor. So, technically, I wasn't lying. At least, that was my story and I'm stickin' to it.)

  A sudden burst of regret and embarrassment filled the room as the Sherriff bowed his head and offered, “I am so very sorry for your loss.”

  "Me too," the younger man added with a genuine sincerity that made me like him all the more while feeling some real guilt over how thick I’d laid it on.

  "Thanks so much, both of you, really," I quickly responded, waiting until they lifted their heads to start the introductions. Pointing at the only chair in the room, which just happened to be filled with a barely awake red-headed witch, I smiled, "That's Daisy. You'll have to excuse her. It was a long drive. She's still recuperating." It was the best explanation I could pull outta my butt on the fly, and hey, they bought it.

  “And this is Rosie.” I bumped my shoulder into hers just as she batted her eyes and all but cooed, “So very nice to meet you…”

  “Oh, my name’s Matthew Jenkins.” The Deputy slid his hand into hers. “But my friends call me, Matt.”

  "Well, I sure hope we can be friends, Matt." Her emphasis on his name and the sultry tone of her voice was almost too much. It took everything in me not to laugh out loud. Talk about pouring it on thick, that girl could mesmerize an entire room of near-sighted, wheel-chair bound octogenarians with a bat of her eyes and a curve of her lips, and this time was no exception. If she could get rid of Sherriff Butthead, hell, I might even bake her a cake...from scratch...no hocus or pocus. And, that’s on my Witch’s honor.

  Speaking of the nasty Law Man, my tall, blonde, bombshell of a half-sister upped her charm to extra-sparkly-with-a-side-of-vavavavooom as she shook hands with the Sherriff and giggled like a schoolgirl when he kindly offered, "Beauregard St. Croix, ma'am," before she even asked.

  "St. Croix? Now, I just have to ask, have you always lived in Louisiana?" She hit the word Louisiana with so much of her natural southern accent that it came out more like Loooozeeanna which made me think about gagging but then I knew she'd step on my toe with the pointy end of her heel and let me tell ya', that shit hurts.

  "Yes, ma'am, I have. My family's been here for at least six generations." He slid his eyes to the right and looked at me as he continued, "And each and every one of us has been responsible for keepin' the peace and protectin' all the residents of Hairy Wort and Swamp Water Parrish."

  Okay, he was trying to make a point, I get that. We were new, strangers, out-of-towners, if you will, but to be honest, he’d already rained on my parade so I couldn't give a good rat's ass what he had to say.

  Stepping up to him, I declared, "My name's Faith Fairyflower." I didn't offer my hand again, it would've only distracted me from making my point and getting him out of my face. Besides, I was fired-up, touching him would send shivers up my arm, down my spine, and straight to my lady parts - not something I needed in that situation. (Any other situation- hell yeah, but not that one, no how, dammit anyway.)

  Walking past him, I opened the door and smiled, “It was so nice of you to stop by and welcome us. We’ll take everything you’ve said into consideration.”

  Glancing at one another and then back at me, the Sherriff and his Deputy looked a little shell-shocked, which I could tell was new for them. I guess no one had ever given them the old here's-your-hat-what's-your-hurry routine, but I was hot, tired, had been in a car with Rosie and Daisy for way too long, and more than a little irritated. I did not need a Gator with a badge and a superiority complex coming into my new office and telling me what I could and couldn't do.

  As I'm sure you can guess, our ‘discussions' hadn't ended there. If I had a nickel for every time that man got under my skin, I swear, I'd be a millionaire ten times over. And on this shit sandwich of a day, I was once again faced with having to deal with him. Turning to my sister, I asked in the most pathetic voice I could muster, "How about I stay here, and you go schmooze the Sherriff, Rose? He likes you. He’s nice to you"

  “Not a chance, Sister Dear. You and I both know he only gets surly with you because he wants to jump your bones. You just…”

  "He what?!" I shrieked, lifting my head so fast I was a little dizzy as I snapped my gaze to Rosie. "You have got to be kidding me. That…that…scaly, prehistoric, pain in the…oh...that freakin' man does in no way, shape, or form want to jump my bones. Him being my 'Mate' is just Fate's way of once again making me the butt of Her joke." I clenched my fists and ground my teeth as chartreuse bubbles appeared around my head, popping and cracking and filling the car with the sharp, icky scent of blue cheese. "Furthermore, if he ever tried to so much as touch me, I would turn him into a gecko and feed him to Lester."

  (FYI, Lester is the Barn Owl Shifter who sits outside our house protecting us from whatever or whoever goes bump in the night. No, we don’t have a barn, but I’m thinking of having a shed built for him. Nevertheless, he adopted us the second we moved into our cute little yellow house with white shutters and window boxes full of flowers of every color. Now, if I'm honest, which I always am to a fault, he's a pretty cool guy, owl…owl-guy? Whatever, he's really super nice. He runs the library during the day and has a crush on Jennie Lyn, the girl (Kitsune aka Fox Shifter) who owns the Flower Shoppe. I have to wonder how a Fox and an Owl would get along as Mates. I really should do a little magical digging to see if they're fated to be together forever. Something makes me think they’re not, but I'll put that on my mental to-do list. I've got loads of time because it's gonna take Lester at least a month of Sundays to get up the courage to ask her out.)

  "I think the lady...yawn…doth protest too much," Daisy snickered in between yawns and with her eyes barely open.

  "Yeah, I hear ya'," Rosie readily agreed, to which I raised both my middle fingers and stuck out my tongue before making a hasty exit from the car.

  Thinking how lucky it was that I'd worn my knee-high, olive-green rubber boots, I picked my way through the regular-sized chickens, ducks, swans, peacocks, and a few unrecognizable feathered specimens until I finally got to within shouting distance of the highly agitated Henrietta. Ignoring the Sherriff who was working hard to get my attention, I shouted over the clucking and squawking (Henrietta’s, not the birds at my feet.), "Henri! Henrietta!"

  When no response came, excluding the raised eyebrow of one Beauregard St. Croix who apparently thought I could do better, I stepped over a line of chicks waddling after their momma and tapped Henrietta on the shoulder. (Thank the Goddess that shoulder was still mostly human. I've only seen her once in full 'Chicken' and let me tell ya,' it was more than a little disconcerting, bless her heart.)

  Spinning around like a top, she threw her arms around me, pulled me tight to her chest and sobbed, "They're gone! They're just gone! Oh, Faith, they are gone!" Arms tightening around me like a vice, her cries combining with cackles and a chortle or two rose to eardrum-bursting volume as she continued, "Bunny's gonna kill me! Just kill me! She got those babies for me on our last anniversary. What am I gonna do? Waaaaaaa..."

  Entangled in the grips of Henrietta's supernaturally strong arms, I looked to the Sherriff for help. (Forgive me, it was an any-port-in-a-storm kinda moment.) And do you know what that rat bastard did? He gripped the brim of his Stetson with his thumb and forefinger, tipped his hat to me, and with a smile so full of shit that Henrietta would never have to fertilize ever again, he winked, "This looks like a good case for the Southern Fried Sass Agency." Chuckling under his breath, he added, "Good day, Ms. Fairyflower."

  Wonder if alligator purses are in this season, ‘cause I’m about to skin that man’s hide.

  Chapter Three

  An entire afternoon
spent calming Henrietta and assuring her that we would indeed find her beloved ‘babies’ aka chickens had been the longest three hours of my entire life. Between the shrieking and the sobbing, the bouts of clucking and squawking and then the bottom half of her mouth flashing from human to chicken like the disco ball at Studio 54, I was sure I was going to lose my mind and Rosie a fingernail or two.

  However, when all was said and done, Henri stopped blubbering, listened to reason, and was halfway to giving a real smile. I actually believed we were in the clear. Standing up and trying to hustle my sisters towards the door, I had quite literally just touched the knob on the backdoor when seven-feet-nothin’ of curvy, Cajun-born-and-bred, Bunny Shifter, (Yes, I said Bunny Shifter. Hang on, I’m gettin’ there.) came bouncing in the front door.

  “Henri, love, I’m home.”

  Going from calm, cool, and collected to a sobbing, wailing basket case in one-point-eight seconds flat, Henrietta was up on her feet and once again weeping. "Oh-Bunny-Oh-Bunny-Oh-Bunny-Oh-Bunnnnnnyyyyyyy!"

  Catching her partner in mid-air and wrapping her well-toned arms around Henrietta’s back, my landlady, the Mayor of Hairy Wort, the owner of Miss Bunny’s Southern Fried Tofu, and a former female Olympic wrestler glared at me with such force it felt like I’d taken a medicine ball to the tummy. Her crystal blue eyes, accentuated by the beautiful espresso hue of her gorgeous skin, felt like lasers etching the words ‘Dead Meat’ across my forehead. There was no doubt in my mind that the shit was about to hit the fan and in case you were wondering, I was cast in the role of the poop.

  Raising my hands in surrender, I hurried to explain before my landlady became my land-Bunny, “Hang on just a sec. We didn’t take the chickens, Henri called us to find her babies.”

  “And find them is what you’re gonna do, right?” It was more of a threat than a question, but nonetheless, I quickly replied, “Yes, yes, ma’am. Henrietta said they are the easiest to track at night. She even recorded their ‘sleepy song’ as she called it on my phone so I can use it kinda like a hunter would blow into a duck call.”

  Snatching my phone from Rosie’s outstretched hand, (Did I mention I love Rosie? She’s a bit know-it-all and seriously nosey, but dammit, she’s always got my back.) I swiped my finger across the screen, hit the blue microphone icon and held my breath as the sound of Henri’s soft cooing filled the room.

  Slowly nodding, the glowing of her eyes dimming, Miss Bunny smiled, “Good, that’s good. I trust you girls to find Henri’s babies. Ya’ gotta know they mean the world to her.”

  And there it was in a nutshell, the chickens meant the world to Henrietta, Henrietta meant the world to Miss Bunny, and that folks is true love. If it can happen between a big Chicken and an even bigger Pink Bunny then maybe it can happen for…

  (Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! I have no clue what I was thinkin’, but we were definitely not going down that road.)

  Shoving all Gator related thoughts from my mind, I reassured Miss Bunny, “Yes ma’am. We’ll be out lookin’ just as soon as the sun goes down.”

  Happy that she had turned her attention off of us and back to her Mate, I spun around as fast as I could without looking like I was making a fast get-a-way, even though I was, and headed towards the door. Knowing my sisters were behind me, I didn’t stop or even glance over my shoulder until I had my fingers wrapped around the handle of the car door, and then I only dared to speak because Rosie sassed, “Out of the fryin’ pan and into the fire. Another great Faith Fairyflower special.”

  “Hush up and get in the car,” I scolded, not willing to take the chance that Miss Bunny’s super-powered-Shifter hearing would pick up our conversation. She was happy with the answers I’d given her; the rest was up to Fate and my wicked Witchy skills.

  Bypassing the turnoff for the office, because I'd had quite enough of Portia for the day, I drove straight home. Pulling into the carport and switching off the engine just as the last rays of the sun disappeared from the sky, I nearly had a heart attack when Daisy sprung to life, popped her head over the seat and squealed, "I have a plan. I think I figured out where Henri's babies are."

  Out of the car before either Rosie or I could comment, the redheaded bundle of piss and vinegar dashed to the front door, disappearing inside in record time. Thoughts of turning my bright red Cabriolet (Hush, I keep my baby running with sheer will and witchcraft. She may be old, but she's mine.) around and driving as far as three-quarters of a tank of gas would go almost won the war going on in my head, then Rosie sighed, "Come on. If we don't get in there, Daisy's gonna have three suitcases, two train cases and a cooler packed to overflowing for our nighttime maneuvers in the great outdoors.

  Groaning as I opened my door and let the soles of my feet hit the hot asphalt, I hate to admit that I whined, “Do we have to?”

  “Yes, and you damn well know we do,” Rosie responded, the smile so evident in her tone that I didn’t even have to turn around to know it was there. “But if you come in and get ready, I’ll whip you up a venti white-chocolate-mocha Frappuccino with an extra shot of espresso, whipped cream, and a cherry.”

  Just hearing the name of my favorite drink brightened my spirits. I hadn’t seen a Starbucks, much less anything caffeinated that wasn’t as thick as wallpaper paste, strong enough to jump up and slap me across the face, and tasted like chicory (These crazy Cajuns put roots – like from the ground, honest to the Goddess, roots - in their coffee.) since I’d driven past the tall wooden sign happily announcing that I’d entered Swamp Water Parrish. To say I needed a fix of my special java was like telling a person they wouldn't sweat their heinie off in Hairy Wart, LA in the middle of July. It was a bold face lie.

  Getting to my feet, I shut my door before rounding the back of the car and grinning, “You gotta deal.” Slapping Rosie a high-five I added, “Besides, this has got to be the easiest case we’re ever gonna get, right?”

  “You know it,” she sing-songed from behind me. “No chickens are gonna skip the henhouse on our…oomph! What the…?”

  Stopping so quick that Rosie ran into me, her shocked and thankfully incomplete expletive still ringing in my ear, I could barely breathe, let alone speak as I attempted to visually digest the insanity that had befallen my living room. Unsure where to look first, I leaned my head back just enough to catch a glimpse of Rosie’s face before whispering, “Do you see what I see or am I hallucinating?”

  “Well, if you’ve lost your marbles than mine have fallen outta the same bag,” she chuckled a little more maniacally than I was completely comfortable with, which prompted me to continue, “Is that Daisy covered in feathers, standing in the middle of a dozen chickens, asking them the proper way to flap her wings and peck the ground?”

  Placing her hand on my shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze, Rosie snickered, “Yes, ma’am, that is about the sum of it.”

  Deciding in a split second that there was absolutely no way I was ever going to beat the insanity that my life had become, I jumped in with both feet and joined the party. Pulling my cell phone outta my pocket, and I pressed the camera icon, pointed it at Daisy and called out, "Smile, Chicken Not-So-Little, this one's for the Christmas cards."

  Chapter Four

  “Nature is not my friend,” I grumbled, slapping the four-hundredth mosquito that dared to land on my arm.

  "But you're an Earthen Witch," Daisy bubbled, as she hopped ahead of me, still dressed as a chicken and singing the ‘sleepy song.' Ya' know, there are days I seriously wonder if we truly share any DNA at all. "Nature and all the Goddess' gifts are to be nurtured and cared for. Even the little, itsy bitsy mosquitos."

  Was she serious? Oh yeah, she was. When Daisy was fully awake, she was a freakin’ ray of sunshine, it was completely and totally nauseating.

  “Yeah, Faith’s an Earthen Witch alright,” Rosie interjected. “As long as that Earth is at the Four Seasons with room service, cable TV, and a bellhop to carry her luggage.”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha.” I grumped, ducking jus
t in time to avoid being slapped in the face by a low-hanging branch. “Just because I prefer the less rustic things in life does not mean that I do not appreciate the outdoors.”

  “Oh, I know,” Rosie laughed. “You just ‘appreciate’ it from a distance, through a window, with air conditioning and a cup of coffee.”

  I hated to admit it, but she was right. I just wasn’t cut out for hiking through the back ass of the swamp with Daisy in a chicken suit and vampire bugs leeching my plasma. Someday, I’m gonna learn to keep my mouth shut. Really. I am.

  Ignoring my sisters as they continued to discuss my affinity for the indoors and how I had just not yet learned how great the out of doors was, I had to interject when they started making fun of the time I almost caught my tent on fire. “That’s really not what happened and y’all know it.”

  "Oh yeah, I almost forgot," Rosie teased, turning around and adding air quotes as she walked backward. "You heard a ‘bear' and were convinced it was coming to eat your Hershey bar stash."

  "I did, and it was."

  “But only you heard it, Faith,” Daisy added with a cheery. “Besides, bears are so sweet and cuddly, and they like honey, not chocolate.”

  Slapping my forehead with my palm, I growled, “Are you serious? I swear, Daisy Jo Nightinblossom, you have gone off the deep end. No more Winnie the Pooh movies for you.”

  “Whatever,” she sang. “You’re just mad ‘cause you wore out the Beauty and the Beast DVD.”

  “Yeah, so,” I groused. “Is it my fault I’m damn near as old as Methuselah and still like cartoons?”

  “No, we all…”

  “What a bitchy witch.”

  “She really is. Are you sure she’s the one?”