requisite cup of tea, “how long has Ranger Guthrie been killing rabbits for you?”
Bernie scratched his ample stomach and squinted into the middle distance, perhaps at some mental calendar. “Started last summer, yeah, Ronnie?”
Veronica shook her head. “Spring.”
Bernie turned the squint on his wife. “This or last?”
“This.” She wagged her head at Goose. “Rabbits around here are just heck on gardens. And you know we do a decent mail-order fudge business in the winter, but it’s our herbals that keep us afloat.”
“Herbals?”
“Natural remedies. Tinctures. Dietary supplements. Teas.” She pointed her chin at the teacup on Goose’s knee. Goose lifted it for an obliging—and vaguely weedy—sip. “We depend on those gardens. But the rabbits.” Veronica pursed her lips and her jowls waggled sorrowfully. “Merciful heavens. Greedy little things ate a good half of everything we put out.”
“We tried everything,” Bernie said. “Fences, chicken wire, Tabasco, egg whites, little bundles of hair. Even put out cups of beer one time.”
“That was for the slugs.”
“Slugs,” Bernie echoed sagely. Veronica gave him a fond smile.
“Finally we decided to trap ’em.”
“The rabbits?”
Bernie laughed. “Who else? The slugs?”
Veronica chuckled, too. “Not those drunkards.”
Goose forced a smile. Why not? Rush wasn’t here to judge her. “It didn’t go well? The rabbit trapping?”
The Samuelssons sobered abruptly.
“No,” Veronica said.
“What happened?”
“We ordered a bunch of traps—off the Internet, see?” Bernie said. “They were supposed to be no-kill.”
Veronica pressed her lips together. “You should’ve seen the letter I wrote to that company. Gave them a piece of my mind, I don’t mind telling you.”
Bernie nodded. “Ronnie does a real good poison-pen letter. Used to do it for money in college.”
“And when you discovered the traps were harming the rabbits?”
Veronica paled and looked away. Bernie drew a breath so deep it rattled in his lungs. “Middle of the night,” he said finally. “Sounds so awful I can’t describe them. Coming from the gardens. Thought maybe some raccoons were fighting, and I went out back to turn the hose on ’em.”
“It wasn’t raccoons?” Goose prompted when Bernie paused.
“No. Half-killed rabbit.” Tears started in his eyes but he blinked them back. “Full moon,” he said. “Plenty of light to see how the trap had broken the thing’s leg near in half.” He swallowed hard. “Rabbit was finishing the job with its teeth when I found it.” His voice wobbled and he cleared his throat. “Should’ve just hit it with a shovel. Tried to, tell you the truth. Couldn’t do it. Didn’t have it in me to kill something that small and defenseless.”
“Of course you didn’t. You don’t need that kind of ugliness in you.” Veronica touched her husband’s knee then turned her gaze on Goose. “Not when Rush has enough for everybody.”
Chapter 8
“YOU THINK of Ranger Guthrie as a killer?” Goose asked carefully.
“Of course.” Veronica drew back her chin until it disappeared into her ample neck. “He killed about anything that moved when he was in the army, you know.”
“Navy,” Goose said. She was startled to find herself talking through gritted teeth.
“Excuse me?” Veronica blinked big, bovine eyes.
“Ranger Guthrie spent twelve years in the navy, not the army,” Goose said. “He was a SEAL.”
“A seal?”
“Special Operations.” She had an idea her face might be a little scary, so she forced it into a smile that would’ve had Rush in spasms. The Samuelssons seemed to appreciate the effort because they relaxed into their flowery couch again.
“Think of enlisting in the military as going to college,” Goose told them. “Getting onto a Special Operations team is like going to Harvard or Yale.”
“Oh.” Bernie frowned as he puzzled that one over.
“And being a SEAL is
Bernie scratched his ample stomach and squinted into the middle distance, perhaps at some mental calendar. “Started last summer, yeah, Ronnie?”
Veronica shook her head. “Spring.”
Bernie turned the squint on his wife. “This or last?”
“This.” She wagged her head at Goose. “Rabbits around here are just heck on gardens. And you know we do a decent mail-order fudge business in the winter, but it’s our herbals that keep us afloat.”
“Herbals?”
“Natural remedies. Tinctures. Dietary supplements. Teas.” She pointed her chin at the teacup on Goose’s knee. Goose lifted it for an obliging—and vaguely weedy—sip. “We depend on those gardens. But the rabbits.” Veronica pursed her lips and her jowls waggled sorrowfully. “Merciful heavens. Greedy little things ate a good half of everything we put out.”
“We tried everything,” Bernie said. “Fences, chicken wire, Tabasco, egg whites, little bundles of hair. Even put out cups of beer one time.”
“That was for the slugs.”
“Slugs,” Bernie echoed sagely. Veronica gave him a fond smile.
“Finally we decided to trap ’em.”
“The rabbits?”
Bernie laughed. “Who else? The slugs?”
Veronica chuckled, too. “Not those drunkards.”
Goose forced a smile. Why not? Rush wasn’t here to judge her. “It didn’t go well? The rabbit trapping?”
The Samuelssons sobered abruptly.
“No,” Veronica said.
“What happened?”
“We ordered a bunch of traps—off the Internet, see?” Bernie said. “They were supposed to be no-kill.”
Veronica pressed her lips together. “You should’ve seen the letter I wrote to that company. Gave them a piece of my mind, I don’t mind telling you.”
Bernie nodded. “Ronnie does a real good poison-pen letter. Used to do it for money in college.”
“And when you discovered the traps were harming the rabbits?”
Veronica paled and looked away. Bernie drew a breath so deep it rattled in his lungs. “Middle of the night,” he said finally. “Sounds so awful I can’t describe them. Coming from the gardens. Thought maybe some raccoons were fighting, and I went out back to turn the hose on ’em.”
“It wasn’t raccoons?” Goose prompted when Bernie paused.
“No. Half-killed rabbit.” Tears started in his eyes but he blinked them back. “Full moon,” he said. “Plenty of light to see how the trap had broken the thing’s leg near in half.” He swallowed hard. “Rabbit was finishing the job with its teeth when I found it.” His voice wobbled and he cleared his throat. “Should’ve just hit it with a shovel. Tried to, tell you the truth. Couldn’t do it. Didn’t have it in me to kill something that small and defenseless.”
“Of course you didn’t. You don’t need that kind of ugliness in you.” Veronica touched her husband’s knee then turned her gaze on Goose. “Not when Rush has enough for everybody.”
Chapter 8
“YOU THINK of Ranger Guthrie as a killer?” Goose asked carefully.
“Of course.” Veronica drew back her chin until it disappeared into her ample neck. “He killed about anything that moved when he was in the army, you know.”
“Navy,” Goose said. She was startled to find herself talking through gritted teeth.
“Excuse me?” Veronica blinked big, bovine eyes.
“Ranger Guthrie spent twelve years in the navy, not the army,” Goose said. “He was a SEAL.”
“A seal?”
“Special Operations.” She had an idea her face might be a little scary, so she forced it into a smile that would’ve had Rush in spasms. The Samuelssons seemed to appreciate the effort because they relaxed into their flowery couch again.
“Think of enlisting in the military as going to college,” Goose told them. “Getting onto a Special Operations team is like going to Harvard or Yale.”
“Oh.” Bernie frowned as he puzzled that one over.
“And being a SEAL is
Similar Books
