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

Scooter’s head bolted up at Kidro’s feet. His ears perked and his hair stood up, sensing something outside, probably those stupid birds. The fire cracked, a log rolled, Scooter jumped up and Kidro stepped away from the fire.

He heard it now, a low, animal moan coming from the upper meadow. He’d been expecting that shrill cry, that hyena-like laugh.

Not tonight.

Tonight, that would be a welcome sound.

The pain in his knee and his whiskey buzz had been replaced by a tight knot in his stomach.

Scooter rushed up the steps into the entry, barking frantically, scratching at the bottom of Kidro’s new door, the strongest store-bought door he could find.

Sweat slicked Kidro’s palms as he crept up three stone steps to his entry and turned into his office. He wiped his hands on his wool shirt and grabbed his Winchester rifle. The steel felt slippery cold, cranking a round into the chamber. He released the safety and held his rifle at the ready, walking softly back into the entry foyer, listening.

Scooter’s barks and snarls blocked out everything else, his nose pressed to the crack at the bottom of Kidro’s new store-bought door. “Quiet, Scooter.” Kidro’s legs felt like heavy bags of sand, creeping back down the entry steps, crouching near his fireplace, barely breathing now.

In a flash of clarity, he realized Gilpin had returned to the upper meadow and taken back the bull calf.

“Damn all Gilpins, forever.”

Scooter’s barks grew more shrill, more frantic, scratching at the bottom of the door, and Kidro’s mind flashed images of that dark night ten years ago. He hadn’t seen it clearly with the moon behind the clouds but he remembered the size of that thing, the speed. He and Ethan shot at it without phasing it. Remembering that ear shattering scream when J.J. had chopped off its front leg stopped Kidro’s breathing.

He backed closer to the kitchen and knelt where the fireplace blocked his view of the entry.  Birds flapped and pecked at the bay window behind him, distracting him. He dared not turn to look.

The pain in his left knee had returned, not letting him get all the way down, not letting him get comfortable to take a shot. And those birds . . .

His heart thumped loud, mingling with the flutter and clatter of the birds. Sharp pain gripped his left arm and chest and sweat burned into his eyes.

The front door crashed. The splinters sprayed across the living room floor.

Out of Kidro's view, Scooter snarled and yelped. He shot across the living room and smacking into the far wall, a blur. Unnatural how slowly his dog dropped to the floor, laying there in a twisted heap.

My last and only friend. 

Grief gripped Kidro, increasing the pain in his chest and arm.

The rifle slid to the floor, too heavy to hold, and Kidro Potter wept, unable to move.

A large form descended the steps from the entry.

He dared not look at it.

The creature stood in the living room on all fours, its long, sharp claws clicking noisily at the wood floor, announcing its presence.

“Oh, God,” Kidro whispered, looking up at it, unable to stop himself.

Its eyes glowed red in the dark. The huge, dark creature stared into Kidro, captivating. It stood on its hind legs and stepped toward Kidro. Those angry, glowing red eyes faded to a familiar blue.

The pain left Kidro’s chest and he stood, no more pain in his knee. He recognized the cheerful glint in those eyes.

It's . . .

“J.J., is that you?”

Chapter Three

The next morning, Sheriff Phil Nason woke up early, ill at ease with that unexplainable feeling, a sense really, that something had gone horribly wrong. He’d had them before and they’d never amounted to anything. This time felt different. Gilpin had trudged sideways through his mind all night, tossing and turning, all those possibilities tumbling around in there and bumping into each other.

His lady, Dr. Nancy LaRosa, opened her dark eyes. “What is it, Phil? You’ve been restless all night.” She always knew when something bothered him.

“I don’t know.” He sat up and scratched the whiskers under his chin. “I’ve got the jitters about that nitwit, Gilpin.”

“Why? What’s he done now?” Nancy knew Gilpin was brainless and she’d only lived here for three years.

“Nothing, I hope.” He got up and went into the bathroom to relieve himself, leaving the door cracked so they could talk.

“Can I fix you some breakfast?” Her tone said she was getting up anyway. The closest door next to the bathroom opened and clothes hangers slid along the closet pole.

“Coffee would be nice. Give me time to take a quick shower and shave.”

The clinic and classroom were ample but Nancy’s living quarters were a scant couple of rooms off to one side. The bedroom and full bath were barely adequate. The living room was a nook with two chairs and a lamp table. Someone might read a book in there, nothing more.

The tight kitchen had a small dining table near the window, a nice place to watch the sun come up through the trees. Other than that, there was not much of a view; the back of Jacobsen’s Emporium, the Rock Church and school over there, and the brick jail a little farther down. Two giant Sequoias between the church and school blocked the mountain view beyond.

Nason stood, gulped the last of his coffee and Nancy handed him a full travel mug. She turned her face up, inviting. Nason didn’t mind. Her kisses always tasted sweet and soft. She patted his chest and smiled, Get going.

Nason pulled on his coat and turned out the kitchen door. The early morning air felt crisp, hurrying along the wide, covered walkway that ran across the front of the classroom and clinic, not eager to be spotted. The whole valley knew he and Nancy were seeing each other, but neither wanted to flaunt it, their reason for leaving his truck parked in front of the jail with his service revolver and official hat