Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“I’m a horrible turkey mom,” she says, wringing her fingers as I turn back toward the house. “I should never have taken my eyes off of him. Or I should have had the fence heightened, even if it is insanely expensive. I can always make more money. I can’t make another Kyle.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “He’s a big boy. He handled himself in the wild for a long time before he became a house turkey.”
“But he was high on drugs back then,” Starling says. “He was hopped up on toxic mold and scared his predators away with his crazy. Now, he’s just a normal, sweet, domesticated turkey who’s used to being tucked in at night and has no idea how to protect himself.”
“Toxic mold,” I mutter. “Do you think he might have gone back to that shed? The one where he used to get his fix?”
Starling’s eyes widen. “Maybe. I mean, they tore down the shed and disposed of all the poison grain, but he doesn’t know that. He might have headed back that way. Can we check? Do you have time to drive by with me? It’s about a mile and a half back the way we came. Not far from the Reginald farm.”
“Of course,” I assure her. “I’m here until we find the runaway. Nothing I have to do is as important as being with you.”
I reach out, taking her hand before I think better of it.
We both look down at our joined palms and something passes between us, something bittersweet, but still kind of…wonderful. I didn’t think I’d ever feel this way again. I wasn’t sure I was capable of opening my heart the way I did with Ashland. Once you realize how deeply someone can hurt you, trust is so much fucking harder.
But looking into Starling’s eyes…
How could I not trust this woman? This big-hearted, generous, wild, silly, kind woman who loves her pet so much, she’s on the verge of tears because she’s worried that she’s let him down. If she can love a turkey like this, just imagine how much she’s going to love her husband.
He’s going to be one lucky man…
“Your truck isn’t one of our homes,” Starling whispers as I turn around and head back the way we came. “This is okay.”
I tighten my grip on her hand and say in an emotion-rough voice, “It sure is.”
It’s better than okay.
It may just be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Am I really going to let it slip through my fingers?
Chapter Seventeen
STARLING
Kyle isn’t where the old grain shed used to be.
He isn’t on the Chastain farm or down by the crumbling silo or hitching a ride on the main road leading into town. He isn’t hanging with the goats the YMCA hired to chomp the long grass in their field or window shopping on Main or watching the boats come in by the marina.
By the time Christian pulls into The Dirty Taco to grab the takeout I ordered on the drive over, it feels like we’ve searched every square inch of Bad Dog.
“There has to be somewhere I haven’t thought of yet,” I say when Christian gets back with the food. I perk up. “Or maybe he’s already come home waiting for us on the front porch!”
“Let’s go check,” he says, shifting into reverse. “If he isn’t there, we can eat, check on Bella, and go back out again.”
“But it will be dark by then,” I say, clutching the bag of warm tacos on my lap. “And turkeys roost at night. He’ll be up a tree somewhere, and we won’t be able to see him.”
At least I hope he’ll be up a tree. Surely, his instincts are still strong enough to drive him to seek refuge from danger once it’s dark.
“Then we’ll get up early and look before work,” Christian assures me. “Sunrise is still pretty early this time of year. We should have at least an hour of daylight before we have to head over to the shelter. And when we get there, we can ask Sheila to send out a lost pet bulletin.”
I nod, trying to take comfort in the plan, but when we get back to my place to see no sign of Kyle, I’m so upset I can barely eat my chicken soft taco with extra guacamole.
“One more bite. You need your strength,” Christian urges from the couch, where he and Bella are snuggled up watching America’s Funniest Home Videos. I had a feeling she would love it as much as Kyle and Keanu do—she does—and I’m clinging to the hope Kyle might hear the canned laughter, realize how much he loves our happy home, and come scratching at the door.
“I can’t,” I say, staring at the carcass of my picked-apart taco. “Even Dirty Taco guac with extra cilantro can’t ease my pain.”