Ruffled Feathers by Stephanie-Anne Street
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. Ruffled Feathers COPYRIGHT © 2008 by Stephanie-Anne Street All rights reserved. This is an "unedited" as is title. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Contact Information:
[email protected] Cover Art by The Wild Rose Press The Wild Rose Press PO Box 706 Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706 Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com Publishing History First Champagne Rose Edition, 2008 Free Read Published in the United States of America
One, two, one, two, one... The phone pealed and Freya halted her aerobic exercises to answer it. On cue, the hateful parrot started to mimic the recorded message: “You have rung...” “Knock it off, you moth-eaten feather duster,” said Freya. The bird didn’t and Freya had to stick her finger in her ear to catch the call. The parrot finaled with a piercing whistle. Of course, Freya should never have given him houseroom. She realized that now. But the large blue and yellow macaw had looked so pathetic in the autumn rain, squatting on her balcony rail and grumbling under his breath. Freya had felt sorry for him. It had to be male, she figured, as no woman, feathered or otherwise, would stay on the rail growing wetter and wetter, without at least trying to find shelter. Men, in Freya’s opinion, were sooks. Though perhaps he was clever. Because here he was, in her nice warm apartment, supplied with lots of food and fresh water and living the life of Riley. But not for much longer. She’d find his owner, give him away...or wring his neck and have him stuffed! Freya ended the conversation with her mother and reset the CD to continue her gyrations. The big, exotic bird perched on her exercise bike mimicked Freya’s breathless beat, his head cocked to the side, eyes beadily watching her exhibition. Freya glared back. “I don’t do this for fun, you know,” she tossed at the macaw as she kicked her legs wide and high. “I have to work to keep in shape because I sit on my backside all day.” Freya groaned. “I can’t believe I’m explaining myself to a bird. I need my head examined.” She renewed her energetic kicks. “Nice legs,” squawked the parrot. Freya rolled her eyes. His owner was definitely a man. **** “How’s the new roommate working out?” asked Freya’s secretary, Jenny, the next day. Freya grimaced. “Wretched thing baled me up in the bathroom this morning. He let out an almighty screech, which made me jump, and I stuck my mascara brush in 1
Stephanie-Anne Street my eye. He makes sexist remarks about my appearance and wolf whistles every time, and I mean every time, I walk into the room. It’s like living with a bunch of jocks.” “Talking of chauvinists,” Jenny said. “You’ve an appointment with the company lawyer in five minutes. Seems there’s a problem with one of your investigative stories.” Freya sighed. It was infuriating the way Nick Everton kept finding fault with her copy. He was overly cautious, overbearing and arrogant. And obnoxiously attractive into the bargain. Not that she personally cared for his tawny good looks. Or his smoky bedroom eyes and whisky-smooth voice. She’d sworn off men since the last in a line of disastrous relationships had ended. But she still had to deal with Nick professionally. Freya snapped her brain into business mode, squared her shoulders, and prepared for battle as she rode the lift to his lair on the twelfth floor. **** “That damn parrot has been more trouble than it’s worth!” Nick stalked up and down his office, running a distracted hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t have left the window open,” Paula, his PA, pointed out with sledgehammer logic. “He needed fresh air.” That was Nick’s defence. He’d never admit otherwise. “Then you should have made sure he was tied to his perch or locked in his cage.” “He needed exercise,” they said in unison. Nick groaned. Paula laughed. “Sounds like you’re in the poop, then,” she said. “Anyway, you’d better forget about the parrot. You’ve an appointment with Ms Sharpe.” “Sharpe by name, sharp by nature,” said Nick, conjuring an image of the cool, precise woman whose icy demeanour would freeze a lesser man. But not him. He enjoyed their spats and was sure one day he’d crack her beautiful, frosty façade and discover the warm woman behind it. **** “Hello, gorgeous!” “You can’t soft soap me, mate. You’re this far,” Freya 2
Ruffled Feathers held her thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart, “from being boiled in oil and served with dumplings.” “Great knockers!” “Now I know you’re lying. Thirty-four A cup does not constitute great anything. You’re in deep trouble here, Bird. Look at this mess!” All available surfaces in the apartment were covered with bird droppings and peanut shells. And Freya’s vase of rusty-pink and white chrysanthemums had been up-ended, soaking the table and carpet. She slumped in the nearest chair, gazing despairingly at the mess, and then realized she’d put her hand on something nasty. The parrot would have to go. **** Nick put LOST notices in his local shops. Freya placed FOUND posters in hers. Mr Platel, the deli owner, became extremely excited when Freya asked him to display her card in his window, but as his English was non-existent and she was in a rush, she couldn’t work out what he was saying. She presumed he wanted the bird and said he could gladly have it with bells on if the owner didn’t come forward. She left Mr Platel, burbling about bells, shaking his head in a perplexed fashion and waving his arms about. He must, she supposed, want the parrot badly. **** Time was running out for Nick. His brother would be home from his travels any day now. He wasn’t looking forward to their reunion. He was ecstatic when he spotted the FOUND card at Platel’s. He immediately punched in the listed number on his mobile. The phone rang out. Nick cursed. Why couldn’t the person at least be civilized and have an answer phone if they were out? **** One, two, one, two... the battle of the bulge continued. Sit ups were not Freya’s favourite, but she told herself every little bit helped. The phone rang. Let it. She had to work off the sinful Danish pastry Jenny had bought her for afternoon tea. Off went the parrot, right on cue. “You’ve rung,” he squawked, rattling off a list of digits. “There’s no-one here 3
Stephanie-Anne Street to take your call. Please leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you.” He then emitted his coup de grace: a fearful shriek. Freya winced, then lightning struck. Maybe, just maybe, the shrill whistle wasn’t a whistle at all, but meant to be a beep. Maybe, just maybe, the parrot wasn’t so featherbrained after all and he was actually reciting numbers by heart. Freya grabbed a pen and pad. “Go on, then, you stupid bird. Say it again.” The macaw angled his head questioningly. Freya thwacked her forehead, disgusted at herself. Now who was being featherbrained? She whisked up her cell phone and dialled in the number of her landline telephone. It rang. The parrot dipped and bobbed while screeching out his litany. “Hah! Got it!” Freya did some jubilant dipping and bobbing of her own. She keyed in the parrot’s number and waited. Her eyes glinted as a now familiar spiel, “You have rung...” played out. She left a succinct message and then waggled her eyebrows at the bird. “Your time’s running out, mister.” **** That evening, Nick tried the number every ten minutes without luck. The next day he kept ringing it from his office. His frustration grew with every unsuccessful call. He decided to cheer himself up by ruffling the feathers of the gorgeous Ms Sharpe. He marched into her office with a perfunctory knock, waving her latest story under her delectable little nose. **** Freya was on the phone, trying the parrot number. Again. She warily watched Nick perch on the edge of her desk. What was it about her that attracted uninvited males to roost in her personal space? She scowled at him while the answer phone message played out at the other end of the line. She left yet another brief message before turning her attention to her antagonist. Good job she was spoiling for a fight... **** Strident ringing greeted Freya as she unlocked her front door. She whisked up the phone just as the parrot 4
Ruffled Feathers did his glass-shattering whistle. “Sorry about that,” said Freya over the screech. “Don’t be,” said a warm, honeyed voice full of amusement. “It sounds as if Macawber’s up to his usual tricks. I should be apologizing to you.” Hallelujah! The parrot man. Freya invited him around to collect his bird, pronto. It was only as she put down the phone she realized she hadn’t asked for his name. A moment later, another man rang about the parrot. Tricky. She didn’t know what to say. Was it open season on lost parrots? Or were there lots of parrot cranks out there? She told him to come immediately, too. The two blokes could fight it out between them. The only thing she cared about was getting rid of the bird. **** Freya pulled on skin-tight sky-blue leggings and a yellow silk shirt. She loosed her hair from its workday chignon and let it tumble over her shoulders. Instead of doing her usual exercises, Freya poured herself a glass of chilled white wine. She deserved it. A celebration was in order. “Can’t say I’m sorry to see you go,” she said, stroking Macawber’s crest. He ruffled his feathers and dipped his head. The doorbell rang. Two men stood there, shoulder to shoulder: one city slick, the other rugged and sunbleached. Her eyes popped in shock. “Nick!” **** Nick was equally shocked. Freya Sharpe? She was the parrot lady? His prim, prickly ice maiden who was now standing in front of him looking warm, relaxed and stunning, was the parrot rescuer? He’d suspected she had hidden depths, but... ...But suddenly Freya wasn’t so warm and relaxed. Nick shifted warily as Freya’s golden eyes narrowed. He knew the danger signs. “What do you want? If there’s any problem with my work it can wait until Monday. I am not doing overtime for you,” she snapped. 5
Stephanie-Anne Street **** “The parrot...” said Nick, glancing guiltily at the other guy. “Macaw,” corrected the honey-toned stranger. Freya studied first one man, then the other. “You’d better come in,” she said. “Hello, Macawber,” said both men at once. The bird gave a loud screech and did his enthusiastic bobbing routine. He stretched his wings and launched himself at Nick, landing on his proffered arm and bobbing some more. He then hopped on to the other man’s shoulder and nibbled the top of his ear. Freya nibbled on her lower lip in confusion. “Let’s get this straight,” she said, “You both own the parrot?” Were these two hunky guys an item? What a waste! “He’s mine,” said Honey Voice. “It’s his,” said Nick. “I’ll explain, Freya.” “I wish you would.” She quirked her head on one side, just like the parrot, and tried to keep a straight face. It was priceless seeing the usually smooth Nick with his feathers ruffled. “This is my brother, Jamie. Our uncle left him the parrot years ago, but because Jamie has a charter business, I baby-sit Macawber when he’s away.” “I see. Pleased to meet you, Jamie.” A strong, slightly callused hand enclosed hers in a firm, warm clasp and sea-blue eyes crinkled invitingly. Yes, Freya thought, she was very, very pleased to meet him. Out of the corner of her eye, Freya saw Nick scowling. Hmm? What was eating him? Anyone would think he was jealous. Now that was an interesting thought. It would explain all her trips to the twelfth floor... Well, well. Freya inwardly smiled. That changed things. Perhaps she would delay swearing off men for a little while longer. She could have a load of fun with these two delicious brothers, parrot or no parrot. And anyway, a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush, wasn’t it? Her eyes met Nick’s and she surprised a golden warmth in them which made her heart skip several beats. Goodness! The warmth was contagious. It spread to her belly and beyond! 6
Ruffled Feathers Okay, so she could still have fun flirting and winding up the two of them, but she knew who had the edge, who would come in for most of the flirting and teasing. “Would you like a drink?” she asked on a breathless note, still holding Nick’s gaze. “Yes, yes. Course you would,” she gabbled, embarrassed all of a sudden. She collected the wine bottle from the fridge, filling three glasses and having a quick sip to steady her pulses. She flicked on the CD player for some background music. Macawber then squawked: “One, two, one, two...” “That’s a new one,” said Jamie as Freya handed out the drinks. “I wonder where he’s picked up that?” Freya choked on her wine. “Freya?” said Nick. Delicate rose bloomed on her cheeks. “He’s been privy to my exercise routine.” “Lucky bird,” said Jamie. “Lucky, lucky bird,” said Nick and winked at Freya. “Nice legs,” said Macawber. The men chinked their glasses. “We’ll drink to that.”
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