Page 109 of The Auction
“Okay, relax.” I picked him up and set him on my shoulder, where he clamped in with his claws, Creed’s t-shirt providing enough protection for my skin.
I made my way out of the bedroom and down toward the living room and the first thing I noticed was the silence. Where ever he was, he wasn’t in the house. Which wasn’t unusual at all. Creed was up before me every morning. And he only lingered in bed if he was hoping to get laid, but even then he’d feed Patch first and then comeback to bed.
Strange.
While Patch howled and demanded breakfast, I went through the ritual of filling his bowl with a can of wet food specially formulated for kittens.
“You might have to figure out how to mouse,” I told him, setting the bowl down seconds before he started snatching it up, “when the budget gets a little tighter around here.”
AP seemed unworried about such outcomes and continued to eat his specialty kitten food.
“Why didn’t Dad feed you this morning?”
No answer other than theyahm-yahm-yahmof a kitten going at his breakfast.
I walked out onto the porch. From there I had a view of the valley so I could see he wasn’t in the fields. We were going to try and breathe life into the vegetable garden my mom must have planted before she left, just to take advantage of any homegrown vegetables we might be able to produce on our own.
Except he wasn’t there.
The barn. He was fussing with the tractor again. I told him to give it a rest for a day or two, let it dry out even more.
With an annoyed huff because that man didn’t listen to me nearly enough, I grabbed my boots inside the foyer. Wearing nothing more than his oversized t-shirt and a pair of rubber boots, I plodded out across the property that was still sodden, each footprint sinking a half inch to an inch into the dirt.
The door to the barn was open and I stopped in my tracks.
No Creed.
But that wasn’t what had the hair standing up along the back of my neck.
The tractor and farm equipment had been moved to theright side. New shelves had been built with labels underneath them identifying tools, parts, pesticides and the like. The man liked his organization. I knew that from how he kept his shirts, socks, and underwear all neatly folded in separate dresser drawers.
So none of that was surprising.
It was the left side of the barn, where Margo’s stall had once been. It had fallen into disrepair and when I told Herb I was never going to have another horse, he’d broken it down for more storage.
Her lead and saddle, which I hadn’t been able to get rid of, I’d kept hidden under tarps and horse blankets. Out of sight, out of mind.
Creed had thought he was going to use that tarp to cover the crops, but he hadn’t known the size or scope of it.
All of it had been cleaned out. The stall wall and gate rebuilt. Her saddle was polished and hung on a hook beside the stall, along with her lead and reins.
When had he done this?
I’d been standing in this barn yesterday trying to start the tractor. The tractor which must now work, if he’d moved it to the other side of the barn.
It wouldn’t have taken much to re-build the stall. The frame had been in place, just the slats of wood that made up the wall needed to be redone. The gate he must have bought new.
Had he been hiding this all under the tarp and I just hadn’t noticed?
“Shit.”
I whirled around, thinking to find Creed there ready to surprise me with everything he’d done.
Except it wasn’t Creed. It was Jackson, leading a brown and white paint horse, not Will.
“He told me if I got here before sunup you might not be up yet,” Jackson said.
“What? Where’s Creed?”
