Meadowlarks Thomas Holladay (top 5 ebook reader .txt) 📖

a live animal and not ask her first? How could John Crow put Jason on a horse without asking? How could they kill these poor baby cows on her land without asking?

She’d get to the bottom of that one.

Oh, great.

Outside, snow fell thick. She couldn't see past ten feet.

A knock sounded at the front door.

Perfect.

She got up from the table and put her coffee cup on the kitchen counter. Walking across the spacious living room reminded her of how much she loved this wonderful house, always warm, even in a blizzard. She climbed up to the entry and opened the heavy oak door.

Olen Jacobsen stood on the front porch with two bags of groceries, Barnabas wagging into him like an old friend

Jason still worked at the bottom of the steps, making his first snowman. Why had she not been helping?

“Happy Thanksgiving.” Olen smiled like nothing had happened the night before.

She wanted to fly into him the way that headless turkey had flown into her, tell him she and Jason were leaving, that the sickest bunch of ghouls she could ever imagine lived here. She couldn't. “Happy Thanksgiving, Olen.” Olen hadn't been at fault. She opened the door wide.

Olen carried the groceries into the kitchen and set them on the counter.

He turned and looked at her, a fatherly look. “How you feeling this morning?”

“I’m fine. Want some coffee?”

“I shouldn’t. I got plenty stops to make today.” He hesitated by the sink, needing a nudge.

She pulled a cup from the cupboard and filled it.

“Smells good, by golly. Be right back.” He headed back outside.

She set his coffee on the table, refilled her own cup and set it across from his. She stepped to the counter and unpacked groceries.

Olen returned with a large turkey sealed in plastic with a picture of his store and a Jacobsen's Emporium label. The packaging looked as commercially professional as a supermarket Butterball.

“Lord, that’s a big bird.”

“Ya, ya. That’s the one from last night, fresh as can be.”

“What?” Carolyn plopped onto the bench, suddenly light headed.

Olen sat across from her and watched her hands.

Good grief.

She was strangling a stock of celery.

“This is a ranching community. Up here, people usually kill what they eat; fish from the streams, deer from the forest, cattle, sheep, chickens, or turkeys. They got to learn. The annual school play is part of that learning.” He obviously knew what had caused her anxiety. He sipped coffee. “Good Lord, that's good coffee.”

“I found some coffee beans and a grinder.”

“Ya, Kidro’s custom blend. You want me to get the same for you?” His eyes searched hers, asking so much more.

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, please."

And, yes. I'm okay.

This old man seemed humble, cautious and thoughtful. Maybe she could trust him not to spread this around. “Jason had a bad experience before we left L.A. His best friend was . . .” She looked into her coffee, stalling, sipping.

“Ya, we heard ‘bout this. Sheriff Nason told us ‘bout it, couple weeks before you came. Was at the Rock, a Wednesday night Bible study as I remember.”

“He told everybody? Who told him he could do that? Who do you people think you are?”

The soft smile in his eyes quieted her. The palm of his hand rose toward her. “Up here, we try and help one another out. If someone’s got a problem, they take it to the Rock. After Kidro got taken, your bank sent an investigator to find your husband. Was him who found you. Sheriff got his information from him. Guess the investigator got it from your boss, Mr. Kirby. Sheriff gave us a complete report so’s we’d all know who was coming. Please believe me, no harm was intended.”

“Complete report? What else did he tell you?”

“He told us ‘bout what happened to J.J., how he got shot.”

“And . . ?”

“Told us you worked for Kirby Publications on some kind of children’s magazine.”

“Anything else?”

“Let’s see . . .” he took a sip of coffee, thinking, not feeling nervous in the least. “You lived with your mother down below, and Jason has a dog. I think that’s about it.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t give you my dress size.”

“Mrs. Potter, nobody means you any harm. We don’t get many new people here. We see the same faces day in and day out. So, when we heard you and the boy might be coming, we had a lot of questions.” He shrugged. “Natural curiosity.” His sincerity made her feel ashamed.

Her reaction to last night now seemed like something she might have expected from her mother. The last thing she wanted was to fly off the handle without a thought for others and never to back down.

She looked at the turkey. “Well, that’s certainly a big bird. How long will it take to cook?” She was being conversational, letting Olen know everything was okay. She’d already found a recipe.

“Ya, ya. Helfred wrote out a recipe card. She uses a butter sauce with lemon and curry and other seasonings for basting. Makes it real moist and tender. I got it out in the van with those fresh pumpkin pies.”

She nodded, okay, and changed the subject. “Olen, did somebody check my car? How bad is it?”

IT HAD SNOWED HARD all morning on Thanksgiving Day and Jason loved it. He needed it.

Willis and John showed up around noon, said hello to Jason and Barnabas and went inside to get warm. Okay for them.

Sgt. Snowman worked for Jason anyway, not for those two. Jason didn't need their help to get his soldier into shape. Capt. Barnabas could help, of course. He'd been supervising from up on the porch, staying out of the snow and keeping dry. Neither Jason nor Barnabas had ever seen snow before so Barnabas didn’t trust the stuff. He hadn’t set foot off the porch yet, not even when Jason went to the woodpile behind the barn to get Sgt. Snowman’s arms. He'd selected arm's length green twigs and left the pine needles at the ends. Sgt. Snowman needed