Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
When I came back out, Juni… Charlton Nutter had been replaced by a six-foot-tall, brown-feathered turkey with a homicidal look in his eyes. When he lifted his arms in a gesture of extreme annoyance, the attached orange and red tail feathers spread out in an arc on both sides. “You happy now?”
I bit back a giddy giggle-snort. “Not quite, but I’m getting there.”
He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Let’s get this over with.”
I shoved the sign at him. “Here. Get in the truck.”
“What are you up to, Hunter?” Dunn Johnson demanded, stepping right into my prime turkey viewing location: a spot right under the big lamp post at the main entrance to the town square, where the Stuffin’ was already underway.
“Nothing that concerns you. Mind your business.” I waved him to one side. “You’re blocking my view.”
Dunn jabbed a finger at Charlie—I’d decided halfway to town that I couldn’t call a man under the age of a hundred “Charlton” with a straight face—and the gaggle of townsfolk who’d paused in their mission to collect assorted Thanksgiving side dishes so they could appreciate the giant turkey in their midst. Then he turned back to me and glared some more. “You’re responsible for that spectacle, and you think it ain’t my business?”
“I’m just making sure everyone, including Charlie, knows what he did. He’s a criminal. Case closed.”
For a moment, we both watched as Charlie walked an invisible picket line up and down the sidewalk on this side of the square, muttering halfhearted gobble-gobbles. Every once in a while, a passing driver would honk, and Charlie would raise his sign, making the brightly colored feathers on his arms and tail flutter.
All in all, I felt I had a lot to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
“His sign says, ‘Junior Nutter stole Hunter Jackson’s turkey,’” Dunn pointed out, leaning against the lamp post beside me.
“So it does. I painted it myself. What’s your point?”
“The point is, if you’re tryna embarrass the man, you’re failing. How’s it possible for someone to look that dang sexy in a turkey costume?”
I shoved Dunn’s arm. “It’s not. Not possible at all. In fact…”
I darted another glance at Charlie. Alana had been correct that the costume fit him… sort of. The headpiece, which tied with a bright blue bow where his wattle should be, fit fine, and the turkey feet that covered his boots were okay, but the main body of the costume—a large, be-feathered leotard with a front zipper—hugged his body like a second skin, and the way his tights clung to his hard thighs was vaguely pornographic.
Or maybe not so vaguely.
I swallowed hard. “He’s not sexy. He’s hideous.”
“Mmm. Hideous,” Dunn agreed. “The legs especially. You know, I’ve always been partial to drumsticks.”
I shoved him again, harder this time. “You’re a married man,” I reminded him.
“No shit. And that is my beloved husband.” He grinned and tilted his chin toward Tucker, who was standing with the crowd a short distance away, all glassy-eyed and slack-jawed as he watched Charlie march. “Tuck’s probably daydreaming about Amazon Priming us a turkey getup of our own,” he added fondly.
“Charlton Nutter Junior is a criminal,” I said, just to remind us both that the sexy turkey was actually a horrible human being.
“Oh, right. Because he stole your bird—a tom turkey inexplicably named Dolly Parton—a million years ago.” Dunn nodded solemnly. “He ruined your life.”
I opened my mouth to agree before I realized Dunn was being sarcastic. “You wouldn’t understand,” I said with a sniff.
“Oh, I understand plenty. Did it ever occur to you to ask him why he did it?”
“I didn’t need to. The man got above his raisin’, that’s all. He decided the Thicket wasn’t good enough for him, and he was leaving, so he didn’t care who he hurt.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “It might sound like a joke to you, but Dolly was important to me, and Charlie knew it, but he took him anyway.”
“‘Above his raisin’,” Dunn repeated. He gave a low whistle. “Don’t you sound like the town gossips when they’re on a tear.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.
“Nothin’. Just that I wonder how that idea got in your head, that’s all. And why you decided it was true.”
“I didn’t decide—”
“Do you remember why you cared so much about that 4-H competition?” Dunn interrupted. It was clear he thought he already knew the answer.
Charlie must have realized we were talking about him because I caught him marching slowly as he passed us, trying to get closer. I shuffled around until he faced my back, and then I lowered my voice. “Because I wanted to win. I knew I’d raised the best damn bird around.”
“Sure,” Dunn said calmly. “But winning mattered to you because you wanted to become a turkey farmer. You had strong feelings about free-range heritage breeds at the time, and you wanted to pad your resume. Remember?”