Page 10 of Stuff My Turkey
"We're hosting dinner at the ranch," I said. "My parents are in South Padre Island—they'll FaceTime, but they won't be here in person. Knox is coming, and..." I hesitated, not wanting to mention he’d be bringing Bitsy yet.
"And?" she prompted.
"And we'll have to talk ranch prep at some point," I dodged. "Since you're supposedly helping me get ready for the season."
She rolled her eyes. "You mean I'm going to have to learn turkey terminology? What's a tom versus a hen? Breeding cycles? Genetic lineages?"
My expression softened as I watched her. "Don't worry, I'll teach you enough to fake it."
Driving back to the ranch, we passed Buck Jessup's farm—the place Honey had actually been trying to infiltrate. The contrast between his overcrowded barns and my open-range breeding pens couldn't be more stark. I pointed out the differences, explaining how industrial turkey production sacrificed genetic diversity for standardized size.
"So that's why you're so passionate about this," Honey said, watching the Jessup facility disappear in the side mirror. "You're fighting a one-man battle against the industrial complex."
I didn't correct her on the "one-man" part. Soon enough, if the Vickerys came through, I wouldn't be alone in this fight.
***
We spent the remaining hours getting ready for our guests’ arrival. I gave Honey a crash course in stock development while we walked the property, pointing out the different pens where I kept the Bourbon Reds separate from the Narragansetts and Royal Palms.
"So the Bourbon Reds are the ones I tried to steal?" she asked, keeping a safe distance from the fence.
"Liberate," I corrected with a half-smile. "And yes, they're the rarest and most valuable of the breeding stock. The one you grabbed was Thomas Jefferson."
She cocked an eyebrow. "You name your turkeys after presidents?"
"Only the important ones."
By the time we finished the tour and headed back to the house, Honey actually seemed interested in the operation, asking surprisingly thoughtful questions about animal husbandry. Her lawyer brain tackled the issue like a case she needed to understand, which was... endearing.
At seven thirty, we were both dressed and waiting nervously in the living room. Honey had changed into one of the outfits Laverne had picked out— leggings, a belted cranberry-colored sweater, and riding boots that actually suited her. She'd toned down the makeup and managed to flatten her hair somewhat, though it still had considerably more volume than her usual style.
Just when I was about to check my watch for the twentieth time, the rumble of a large engine broke the silence. I took a deep breath and headed for the door, Honey close behind me.
"Showtime," she whispered.
What pulled into my driveway wasn't so much an RV as a small luxury apartment on wheels. The gleaming vehicle had to be at least forty-five feet long, with slide-outs that I knew would double the interior space. The Vickery Cattle Company logo was emblazoned on the side in gold lettering.
Earl and Dottie Vickery descended the automatic steps like royalty coming down from a private jet. Earl was tall and weathered, with a silver Stetson and a bolo tie with a turquoise clasp the size of a chicken egg. Dottie was petite but formidable, her white-blonde hair perfectly coiffed, a pearl necklace nestled against her cashmere sweater.
"Heath, my boy!" Earl boomed, striding forward to shake my hand with bone-crushing force. "Good to see you again. Ain't you a sight for sore eyes!"
"Earl," I nodded respectfully. "Dottie. Welcome to McGraw Heritage Ranch."
Dottie's sharp eyes immediately zeroed in on Honey. "And who is this sweet little thing?" Her smile was pleasant, but her eyes were cold and calculating, like a cat watching a mouse hole.
"This is Honey March," I said, placing my hand at the small of Honey's back. "My girlfriend."
"Girlfriend?" Dottie's eyebrows rose slightly. "Well, isn't that lovely. Earl, Heath has a girlfriend."
"Well, slap my face and call me Sally," Earl exclaimed with a laugh that was a little too hearty. "Boy your age needs a good woman. Keeps a man from goin' strange."
I felt Honey stiffen beside me but she kept her expression neutral.
"It's wonderful to meet you both," she said, extending her hand. "Heath's told me so much about you."
"All good things, I hope," Dottie said, taking Honey's hand in a brief shake.
"Of course," Honey assured her. "I hear you're interested in Heath's breeding program. He's been working so hard on it."
