Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“And then you were gone before I got up, which is weird.”
“Yeah. About that …” I grimace, replaying the events of the night and wishing I’d made more thoughtful choices. “At some point between beer number three and six, I aided and abetted an escaped inmate, paid off his debts so he wouldn’t have to stand trial and be given a death sentence—”
“What the heck?”
“—and then I had to make accommodations for the guy because his whole family was murdered. Or will be. May they rest in peace.”
“Mira. What in the world are you talking about?”
I groan, checking my phone again in case Hartley decided to join the twenty-first century and return missed calls. “I bought a pig.”
“You what?” Her screech is loud enough to make me grimace. “You have to be kidding me.” She inhales a sharp breath. “Don’t think for a minute that you’re bringing it here just because I’ve let you bring ferrets and a bearded dragon to my house. I draw the line at swine.”
I start to laugh at her unintended rhyme, but stop myself. This is no time for jokes.
“I saved the piggie’s life, Markie. They were going to sell it, fatten it up, and then process it.” My nose wrinkles as my face turns an unfortunate shade of green. “Did you know they called it that? They process the animals.”
I gag, rolling down my window for some fresh air.
“No, I didn’t know they called it that,” she says. “But I’m not surprised. It makes sense. I mean, how else do you think we get, I don’t know, sausage? Bacon? Pepperoni?”
“Stop it.” I gag again, coughing as a shot of bile creeps up my throat. “I think I just turned vegetarian.”
“So what are you doing with this pig? And don’t even think about taking it to Lolly’s. She might have three hundred acres, and she might even think she could harness a pig—and God knows she’d try—but she has no business doing that. It’d wind up knocking her to the ground and eating her alive.”
My jaw hangs open. “Markie! Don’t put something like that out into the universe.”
“What? They do that, you know. If someone falls while in a pigpen, the animals will eat them. They’re opportunistic omnivores.”
I turn toward the open window to get another blast of air.
“These are things you should know before you purchase a live animal,” Markie says. “But that’s not my main concern. I’m still waiting for you to tell me that you’re not taking it to Lolly’s.”
I narrow my eyes, squinting into the sun. Of course, I’m not doing that.
Lolly, our mom’s mom, and the woman who took care of us when our parents died when I was twelve and Markie was fourteen, is the most remarkable woman on the planet. Everyone loves her. She’s a dumpling-making force of nature who still tends to her rose bushes and volunteers at the retirement center in town. Lolly might be seventy-eight years old, but she’s not old. And only those willing to risk their lives would ever say otherwise.
“No, I’m not taking the pig to Lolly’s,” I say, halfway offended that Markie would consider such a thing. “I’m having Oscar deliver it to Hartley’s.”
Just as expected, the final sentence lands with a silent, yet very loud thud.
“And speaking of Hartley, I need to end this call and try to get ahold of him before I show up on the ranch,” I say, glancing at my phone to confirm that he still hasn’t called me back.
Markie pauses. “So it’s safe to assume that he doesn’t know he’s getting a new pig today.”
“Yeah. That’s a safe assumption.”
“Mira …”
“What?” I say, laughing in the hopes of impregnating this conversation with a little levity. “He’ll love it.”
She laughs, too. I think it’s more of laughter at me and not with me, but I let it go. I have enough arguments on the horizon.
“Well, if anyone can make Hartley love a pig, it’s you,” Markie says. “Just call me when this is over. I gotta know how it plays out.”
“Ye of little faith.”
“Me of a lot of faith that this is going to end in fireworks.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll call you later. And please don’t tell Miles about this.”
Our half brother already thinks I’m slightly unhinged. Every time we talk, he seems relieved that I’m not in jail and braces himself when I start to share a story as if it’s going to have an unfortunate ending. He’s lucky that I find his reactions amusing and don’t take them personally.
“I won’t tell him,” Markie says. “Love you.”
“Thanks! Love you, too. Bye.”
I press the gas—ignoring the distinct miss in the engine as it struggles for gasoline—and turn between the stone pillars capped with solar lights. The black iron sign bearing Blackbird Ranch’s name hangs proudly overhead.
My pulse races and thoughts trip over each other, tumbling around my head so continuously that it’s dizzying. I didn’t think this through. Not the purchase of the pig, not the instruction to take it to Hartley’s, and definitely not the speech I’ll perform to keep Hartley from being mad at me while still taking ownership of the cute little criminal.