Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 80176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
But, during our time in the Middle East, we’d seen our fair share of chickens. Not fuckin’ once had he even paid them any mind. Not. Once.
But this woman, with her other dogs that were roaming the neighborhood, didn’t seem like such a great veterinarian. I mean, what kind of vet would just let her dogs stray around the area without caring what they did while they were out?
Apparently, this kind of vet.
“Ma’am,” I said, nodding my head. I knew this wasn’t going to go well, but I decided to let her have a chance at fixing this the easy way. “Your neighbor witnessed that dog,” I pointed to the one that was laying on the ground, his paws stained with blood, “running away with her chicken. He dropped the chicken while he was running back here to your place, but she’s got twenty-six dead chickens right now. That was her way of earning income.”
The vet’s mouth pursed.
“My dog hasn’t left the yard.”
Liar.
“Your neighbor begs to differ,” I said. “She witnessed that one running away.”
The woman slammed the door on me, and I growled.
My eyes turned to the dog in question, and I sighed.
It didn’t look like a mean dog, but that didn’t make it any less destructive.
Taking the steps two at a time, I walked back down to the truck and stopped just as a police officer pulled in.
He parked directly behind my truck, and got out, his eyes never leaving me.
The moment that I saw the man, I wanted to punch him.
I didn’t, though.
“What are you doing here, Van?”
I crossed my arms over my chest.
“I’m here because I got news that my neighbor’s chickens were killed and this woman’s dog did it.”
The officer looked at the dog in question and his brows furrowed.
“Which neighbor?”
“Kennedy Swallow.” I gestured across the street. “She lost twenty-six chickens today all due to this little shit head’s dog being out.”
The officer sighed. “You can’t harass the neighbors, Van.”
I headed to my truck.
“I didn’t harass them,” I told him as I opened the truck door. “I came by to inform her of what had transpired. Harassing means that I continued to bother her, which I didn’t. I told her, and she slammed the door in my face. Then you arrived. Simple as that.”
I got into my truck, started it up and was unsurprised by the officer arriving at my window.
The look of anger he gave me wasn’t surprising. What was, was the way he slammed his hand on my window.
“What the fuck, Van?”
I lowered the window and stared.
“What the fuck, what?” I sneered. “Officer Asshole.”
My brother’s hand reached through the open window and fisted in my shirt.
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t do a goddamn thing but stare at him.
“What are you going to do?” I asked. “Hit me?”
“I did everything I could, you know.”
I laughed humorlessly.
“Yeah, I can tell.” I flexed my hands out in front of me. “That’s why I have a phobia of dropping the soap now, right?”
He gritted his teeth.
“Let me go or hit me. Either way, fuck you.”
My brother’s hand unclenched from my shirt.
“I did everything I could,” he repeated.
I shrugged.
If that was ‘everything’ he could do, then he was a fuckin’ joke. Now I remembered why I didn’t have much of anything to do with the bastard. At least my sister didn’t try to pussy foot around the fact that she didn’t care.
“Wasn’t good enough, now was it?”
With that, I rolled up my window and was thankful when my brother yanked his hand out of the way.
He watched me for a few long seconds, before growling and walking away.
I stared straight ahead, my eyes periodically going to the rear view.
And the moment he was out of my way, I backed out, not sparing him another glance.
My brother could go to hell.
He hadn’t helped me when I needed him, and he sure as hell hadn’t helped matters by allowing my place to get utterly trashed.
Needless to say, there wasn’t a damn thing my brother could do to make this all right, no matter how hard he tried.
Chapter 7
I’ve been watching so much porn lately that I spit on my hot dog before I put it in my bun during lunch.
-Things not to tell your parents
Kennedy
The call to the market in town where I sold my eggs was enough to rip my heart out.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Swallow,” the owner of the mercantile, Kevin Yates, apologized. “I can’t hold the spot for you, but when you get back up and running, I’ll definitely consider buying from you again. It’s been a pleasure. I’m sorry, but I just don’t have a choice.”
I just don’t have a choice.
Those words played over and over in my brain, and I wondered what I should do.
I’d never set out to allow my chickens to become my full-time business, but it’d turned out that way.