Read Allie's Moon for Free Online Page B

apparently been nesting under one of the eaves evacuated
with alarmed chirps and resettled in a nearby pear tree.
    “ Damn it to hell!” Jeff groused.
Regaining his feet he looked at the insides of his hands and saw
stickers lodged in them. He stepped into the cool dimness of the
barn, absently pulling out the spines with his teeth.
    The feeling of abandonment was strong here,
stronger than anywhere else on the property. Livestock—a horse or
two, maybe a couple of cows—had once occupied the stalls. The vague
scent of them still lingered. But nothing lived in here now except
the spiders that wove curtains of webs draping the rafters and
probably a lot of mice.
    Jeff searched the walls and all the corners,
looking for the materials he needed. He found old horse harness and
a plow, rusting farm tools, a crate of filberts, a keg of axle
grease, a box of shingle nails, and a few milk cans. He even found
the ladder. But no shingles.
    Up in the loft he found the remnants of a hay
crop, a trunk, and some old picture frames, but no shingles.
    Exasperated, he stood in the doorway and
glanced back at the house, loath to go up there and ask questions
of Althea Ford. He didn’t want to look into those probing blue-gray
eyes again so soon. Even though he’d mostly kept his face lowered,
he’d felt the searing touch of her gaze as she examined him.
    But where the hell were the shingles?
    Jeff went back outside and battled more weeds
and blackberries to circle the old building, searching for a shed
or a springhouse, anyplace that might have been used for
storage.
    After he narrowly missed stepping on the
opening of a hornet’s nest, his patience shortened to the quick. He
stood in the thin midday shadow of the barn and dragged his arm
across his sweating forehead. If he could lay an egg to replace the
one he took from Farley, he’d do it or die trying, just to get out
of this damned job. Mason had said this sentence wasn’t about his
pilfering, but that’s what had landed him in jail.
    Looking at the house again, he searched the
windows for a watchful face. Then he scanned the sea of grass
surrounding him. If he stayed off the road— Maybe he could cut
across the fields and walk back to town. Let Will find Cooper
Matthews to come out here. After all, he’d made the promise to
Althea Ford, not Jeff.
    If he stayed out of sight in Decker Prairie,
he could avoid Mason. All he wanted was enough money to buy some
whiskey at the Liberal and find forgetfulness. Alcohol offered a
kindly oblivion for only the cost of a bottle. For a few hours he
wouldn’t see a dead boy’s face in his mind, or Sally’s note. If he
had a whale of a headache afterward—well, nothing in life was free.
Money . . . he rummaged in his empty pockets.
Oh, yeah—he didn’t have any. That was how this had all come about
to begin with.
    But if he lasted the afternoon here, the Ford
woman would pay him and he could buy that whiskey.
    Just then he noticed a small lean-to addition
near the front end of the barn. Slogging back through the grass, he
pushed open its door. Amid a jumble of stuff, including the
shingles, he found an old iron bed, a table with a bowl and
pitcher, and a battered chest of drawers.
    Jeff stepped outside and looked at the steep
roof again. He only had to last through the rest of the day. When
Will came to pick him up he’d tell him he didn’t want to come back.
Maybe the sheriff would forget about teaching him a lesson, and he
could go get that whiskey.
    Now if he didn’t fall off and break his fool
neck—
    ~~*~*~*~~
    “ Who did you say he is?” Olivia stood
at the side window in the parlor and craned her neck, trying to see
the top of the ladder that rested against the house on the other
side of the glass. With her head tipped back, her long, silky curls
brushed her waist.
    “ His name is Jefferson Hicks,” Althea
repeated, lifting her voice. She sat in her favorite chair, the one
with the needlepoint seat and back that