Meadowlarks by Thomas Holladay (novels to improve english TXT) 📗

hour or two.” He sat and sipped whiskey.

She came back with his coat and laid it across the hearth, inside open toward the heat.

Smart girl.

Jesus!

Her body looked hard in those tight jeans, the perfect little cowgirl.

She leaned toward the kitchen, looking at Kirby. “Want some desert? Olen brought us a cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory.” She kept her distance, wary of the couch, wary of him.

Damn.

He shook his head. He didn’t want cheesecake right now. “So, tell me about this thing I’m going to kill.”

Her eyes glazed over, maybe not wanting to think about it. “Cheesecake?”

What the hell?

“Okay, a thin slice.” Kirby stood and watched her tightly fitted backside return to the kitchen.

He set his drink on the table and hurried outside. He got the rifle and ammunition clips from the trunk and put them into the front seat on the passenger side. Already shivering from the cold, he hurried back inside.

He sat on the couch and watched her return with two plates of cheesecake. She set both plates on the table and looked into him. “Want some coffee?”

“Sure.” Why not?

She returned to the kitchen and he drained his whiskey. He wasn’t a cheesecake fan but this looked good, slumped over and moist.

Wait for her. 

He got up and stood in the kitchen doorway, watching her load a serving tray with two cups, spoons, sugar and cream, almost ready.

His stomach churned and he returned to the couch, not waiting anymore. The cheesecake tasted nice, smooth texture, very tasty.

She brought in their coffees and set the tray on the table.

“This is excellent cheesecake.” He shook his head and took another bite. "I mean, I'm not really a fan."

“Cheesecake Factory is the best. Haven’t you eaten it before?” Why did she never listen?

“No. I’m not a big dessert person.” He took another bite.

She sat and picked up her coffee, looking worried.

“What’s up? You worried about me?”

That would be nice.

She sipped. “Of course. This is a dangerous animal. It’s already killed two people since we’ve been here, not to mention the baby cows.” She sipped coffee and stared at the fire.

Look at me. 

He took another bite of cheesecake and set it down. “So, tell me more.” He sipped coffee, a freshly ground blend of Mexican and Colombian beans. He knew his coffees.

Good blend.

She looked at him for a moment then looked away. “I was just wondering . . .” She set her coffee down and took a small bite of cheesecake. “Mm, that is good, isn’t it?”

“You were wondering . . .”

She thought about it. “These people have been dealing with this problem for a long time. I’m sure they must have tried killing these things before.” She set her fork down and looked hard into him. “Maybe we should take that calf back up there while there’s still time.”

Kirby looked at his watch and not at that hick’s stupid clock. “Already nine-thirty. They said the moon would be up by ten.” The hick’s clock chimed once. They probably still had time but that would ruin everything. He needed to kill this thing, mount its head on the wall next to that stupid clock, and show this stupid hick who’s who.

“Oh, my.” She nodded toward the picture window by their Christmas tree.

Those stupid birds had perched outside on the ledge, probably getting away from the snow.

His feeling of dread had become familiar.

He went into her office and poured himself another shot.

Chapter Twenty Two

John Crow sat cross-legged on his Indian rug, nice and soft against the sand floor of his main room, running his fingers over the Maltese Cross imprinted on the leather cover of his new Bible. As was his practice, he placed the spine on the flat of his left hand and let it fall open.

In the Book of Job, Chapter 33, John’s eyes landed on Verse 15, “In dreams, in visions of the night, when deepest sleep falls upon men, while they sleep on their beds, God makes them listen, and his correction strikes them with terror.”

True enough.

He closed the book and set it aside. A gift from the woman and the boy.

The woman and the boy knew this terror now, the terror they must have felt when the beast attacked their home. Hopefully, the God of Heaven has reminded them in dreams.

Let it be so.

Hopefully, God would remind them again and again.

They are part of us now, part of this sacred place.

Not the other, the one called Kirby.

He sets himself apart.

He would follow nothing but those urgings that come from deep within us all, to throw your fist up to the heavens and shout, No. He would not follow God’s teaching. He would do what he wanted without regard for others.

John closed his eyes and let his mind float on the clouds with the ancients of his people.

Why?

Yes, maybe.

For the first time in all these years, John Crow thought he recognized some meaning to it all.

A wisp.

Kidro Potter had been the same as this Kirby, defiant in the face of the power of this place. Kidro had always thought it belonged to him but it never had. It belonged to something bigger than all of them, something stronger than John had ever been able to grasp.

A wisp.

Only this one thing stood clear; as the beast in the Book of Job had been allowed to bring disaster, so too was the beast in this valley.

Why would God allow this? Why had He allowed such pain to fall upon Job?

John had never before understood the debate in this book. But, here in this place, he now thought he might.

It protects this special place in God’s creation.   

Yes, maybe. 

Yosemite had once been a sacred place to John’s people. Now Yosemite was dying the slow death of the white man’s civilization. The valley nearest Yosemite had been as sacred, dammed up by the government to make a lake, a water supply for San Francisco. This valley was all that remained of the once spectacular nature of