But he couldn’t move one stubborn cow out of the middle of the road. He didn’t understand it. The beast just stood there blocking the way with a dumb expression on its face, chewing its disgusting green cud. Ian grew more furious with each chomp mash chomp the cow made. He had places to be and people to judge. There was no room in his schedule for staring down dirty quadrupeds. “Livestock isn’t nearly as stubborn in England. It must be the American blood,” his little sister, Natalie, scoffed from the seat beside him. Her black silk funeral dress gave her an air of confidence beyond her eleven years. The dress seemed perfectly designed for her. In fact, it had been designed for her — in Paris. “All right, Giles,” Ian called out to the chauffeur as he glanced down at his Rolex watch. “It’s time for drastic measures. Get out, and push the beast over to the side of the road.” The black BMW sedan that the Kabras reserved for their visits to the States sat purring in the narrow road, surrounded by cattle.
