Silver Thaw Read Free Page B

the dog had good manners and mostly did as he was told. That was a good thing. Mastiffs could be difficult if not properly raised.
    When you owned a mastiff, being in control wasimportant. Bozo was gentle and well socialized, so his protective nature rarely showed itself. Early on, Jeb had made the mistake of leaving Bozo at home while he was out on a job, and the dog had eaten his sheep shed. Jeb had come home to half-consumed planks and a collapsed roof lying willy-nilly on the ground. Marble, his Lincoln ewe, had stood in her pen
baa
ing because her shelter was gone. Now Jeb rarely left Bozo alone. He was afraid his house might be targeted next. Bozo wasn’t a bad dog, but he could be destructive when he got lonesome.
    Lonesome
. Jeb stopped in front of his log-and-timber ranch home and gazed off in all directions. Somewhere out there, probably within pitching distance, a very lonely woman was writing messages and tossing them into the wind. The thought bothered Jeb. He didn’t care if she was the homeliest female who’d ever breathed—if she needed a friend, he’d happily apply for the job. Nobody deserved to be so unhappy.
    As he climbed the inlaid paver steps leading to the front door, he glimpsed yet another pink slip tangled in a holly bush. Curiosity got the better of him. What did she have to say this time? He pricked his thumb retrieving the note. Sucking on the injured digit, he read the damp missive.
I wish I had a friend. I’d make chocolate chip cookies, my favorite, and hot chocolate, and we’d sit at my table to talk. I need to talk. Nobody special required. I just need to have a conversation with another adult. I see people at work, but that isn’t the same.
    Jeb turned to gaze into the distance once again.
Where are you, lady?
The wind in this country gusted in all directions, coming in from the south during the late afternoon and evening. The sudden shifts made messagetracking an inexact science. Huckleberry Road, where he lived, ran parallel to Bearberry Loop and Elderberry Lane, where most of the residences sat on one-acre parcels. Why Elderberry was called a lane, Jeb didn’t know. It was nothing more than a dirt road that never got plowed or graded unless a neighbor took the initiative.
    Once inside, Jeb sent his baseball cap sailing toward his handcrafted juniper coat tree.
Missed by a foot
. Tomorrow he’d have to dust the hat off because it’d be covered with dog hair. Contrary to what he had implied to Tony, he wasn’t keeping up with the cleaning as well as he’d like. He was fussy about his house.
Thanks, Mom
. Kate Sterling was a meticulous housekeeper, and she’d passed on at least some of her obsessions to every kid. Jeb had inherited the kitchen and bathroom manias; he had to have a sterile place to cook and to brush his teeth. Now the rest of the house was going to hell, and that was starting to bug him, too. Cleaning spree tomorrow, he decided. He’d knock it out in about four hours and be good for another couple of weeks, if he could teach Bozo to stop shedding.
    “Fat chance of that.” He reached down to pat his dog’s head. “That lady needs a dog to talk to. You’re all the company I need.”
    But as Jeb prepared dinner—he loved to cook—he had to admit that as great a listener as Bozo was, Jeb rarely went a day without talking to other adults. His mom called daily. His two sisters, real chatterboxes, bugged him about three times a week. His three brothers called fairly often—even Jonas, who was away at college. And, of course, his dad, Jeremiah, rang him occasionally.
    Guy conversations were simple, no chitchat required.
How you doing
? Good.
Just calling to check in
. All’s fineon my front. How about you?
I’m fine
. After that, the call usually ended with, “Love ya.” Jeb appreciated the brevity. That wasn’t the case with his mother and sisters, who had to fill him in on friends, gossip about a neighbor, or a great sale at Macy’s in Bend. He hadn’t