Silver Thaw Read Free

mastiff, Bozo had a dark brown muzzle and ears, with a gold body that looked as if it had been splattered with different shades of mud. The dog woke from his nap, yawned, and then shook his head, sending strings of drool flying from his flapping jowls to decorate everything within a three-foot radius. When Bozo was younger, Jeb had raced around to clean up the drool immediately, but then he’d read online that once dried, it could be wiped easily from surfaces or vacuumed up.
    “If I ever meet the right woman, she’ll take one look at you and run screaming in the other direction. You know that, right?”
    Bozo growled—his way of talking. Grinning, Jeb resumed reading the notes.
My only weapons are a cast-iron skillet and a butcher knife hidden under my mattress so my daughter won’t find it. If my husband tracks us down, I pray that God will give me the strength to knock him out with the frying pan. I will die before I let him hurt my baby again
.
    Bozo let loose with another fart. Flatulence was a trait of the mastiff that Jeb had overlooked when deciding on a breed. Waving a hand in front of his face, he wished he could lend this poor lady his dog, not to torture her with the less-than-aromatic delights, but for security. With Bozo on guard, she wouldn’t need a heavy skillet for protection.
    Jeb turned his attention to the next note.
Damn,
he thought.
This could become addictive
. He felt as if he were peering into someone’s heart. This lady clearly had an abusive bastard for a husband, was as close to flat broke as a person could get, and, to top it all off, had a little girl she could barely support.
    Jeb wondered once again if she was targeting his land with her notes. He thought of his cantankerous old neighbor across the road. Tony Bradley, who farmed full-time for a living, had a heart of gold that he tried hard to hide.
Time to take a stroll
. If Tony had found pink slips of paper on his land, then Jeb could relax. Jeb didn’t like the idea that some desperate female had set her sights on him. Even if she had no car, she could walk by his land if she lived nearby.
    Bozo went with Jeb to Tony’s place. Mastiffs needed plenty of exercise, at least a thirty-minute walk each day, which Bozo got by following Jeb around as he tended to his livestock. Extra walking never hurt—although he tried to make sure his mastiff seldom ran. That was bad for the joints and hips of a dog that weighed two hundred and thirty pounds; also, mastiffs could easily become overheated, even in cold weather.
    With the crops all harvested, old Tony was in “winter” mode, when he repaired his equipment, fed his animals, watched TV, and worked crossword puzzles. Jeb found him tinkering with his tractor, an ancient John Deere that had lost nearly all its identifying green and yellow paint and was probably worth more as an antique than Tony’s whole farm was.
    “Hey, Tony!” Jeb called out. “Got tractor problems?”
    The old man resembled a stout stump with a two-day growth of whiskers and was dressed in tan Carharttouterwear smudged with grease. He cast a cranky glare at Jeb. “Betsy never has problems. Kind of like a woman, son. All she needs is a little lovin’ to keep her motor tuned.”
    Jeb drew to a stop near a front tire that was taller than his hip. Bozo chose that moment to shake his head and send drool flying. Just then, Mike, Tony’s red tri Australian shepherd, bounded out from under the tractor. The two canines sauntered off to take turns pissing on every bush in sight.
    “What brings you over?” Tony wiped his hands on a rag so greasy that it only smeared more oil onto his fingers. “If you haven’t found a new cleaning lady and you’re wantin’ to hire my wife, you’re out of luck. Mike sheds like a son bitch and I’m sloppy, so we keep Myrna pretty busy.”
    Jeb hadn’t started looking for a new cleaning person since his last one had quit. “I’m between jobs right now.” Jeb saw no need to