Page 22 of Small Town Hunter

“What’s your favorite Bible verse?” I ask, trying to salvage the moment.

“One Timothy, two-eleven.”

I bite back an un-Christlike reply.

That is one of my least favorite verses. Maybe because it’s been thrown in my face so many times.

I raise my voice. “Well, there are many other passages that show how women—”

“That’s why I’m glad to be Catholic,” Crash muses out loud. “No editorializing.”

“Your religion is backward. You worship false idols!”

He turns off the TV, and I immediately regret my outburst. “Ever heard of the Ivory Barn Owl?”

I stare at him.

“Each hen breeds once every five years, with a clutch size of about three hatchlings, who grow rapidly until they’re the size of baseballs, at which point they stop growing entirely,” he says. “This owl has somehow out-competed other raptors in its habitat despite its diminutive size and slow breeding cycle. There’s no definite conclusions as to why that is the case. They say the species exhibits greater signs of intelligence than other owls, showing cognition and reasoning skills on par with notable corvid species—”

“Okay, I get it,” I shout. “You really like birds!”

“They hold grudges, they have intimate friendships and fly in groups, just like crows. See? A year ago, a population of the little bastards popped up in Oklahoma and nobody knows why. They’re native to Idaho, and not found anywhere else. In Idaho they are an entirely solitary species.” His voice getsmore excited, like this is the most incredible thing in the world. “But here in Oklahoma, Trina, these rogue owls then formed a parliament that’s said to be near here.” He pauses. “In layman’s terms you’d call it a flock.”

“Um…so?”

“A flock. Ofowls,” he growls like I’m stupid.

“Are you crazy?” I ask him seriously.

“It’s a miracle of evolution, see?”

“Evolution is a lie.”

“Sweetheart, right now there’s nothing under heaven or on earth I would rather do than drive out there and get a look at one of the rarest avian species in North America. Care less about my eternal soul and start thinking of a good reason I ought to put all my plans on hold to help you flake on what I wager is a decent man.”

“Is that how you really feel? Your assumption is wrong. I had a perfectly good reason to run away.”

“Gettin’ me into some beef that ain’t not one particle of my doing, nor any of my business -– I’ve been there before. Been there too many times. Hell, I bet tomorrow I’ll be taking you back.”

“I’mnevergoing back, understand? You won’t be taking me anywhere!”

“Let’s see how you feel tomorrow,” he says grimly.

His phone rings. Ignoring my sputtering, he gets up and takes the call, slamming out of the room.

I flop back and watch Stella spinning her web in the corner. I don’t know what will happen next. But at least I’m here. Safe. For now.

If that man thinks I’ll be begging him to return me, he’s dead wrong.

Crash has been talking nearlythree hours on the phone. Meanwhile, I’m still curled up in bed watching yet another nature documentary. This time about elephants. You know what? It’s kind of nice. I didn’t know TV showed these nice things. Our house had one TV, and I didn’t like using it because it was downstairs, and put me in the path of my mother and her friends.

I only ever watched Reverend Wilson’s program or the news, anyway.

Elephants are cute. They are matriarchal, and the babies stay at the Mama’s side for a long time, learning everything about what it means to be an elephant. I don’t know why these animals get me so emotional. Is this why Crash is obsessed with birds?

Sighing, I consider the elephant right here in the room with me now. And it looks a lot like the dirty, torn wedding dress hanging off the motel sofa.

To recap, right now I am alone, cash broke, in a dirty motel with a perfect stranger of the opposite sex who is large enough to fight an elephant.

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