Page 2 of Stuff My Turkey
"I'm turning around now," I called out, trying to keep my voice steady. "Please don't shoot!"
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't." The voice was low, gravelly, and vaguely familiar.
As I slowly turned, the beam lowered slightly, and I could make out the silhouette of a tall man in a cowboy hat, holding what appeared to be a shotgun.
Oh god. I was going to die here, outside, covered in filth and avian feathers. Wait, which underwear had I put on this morning? I couldn't remember if I'd gone with the cute lace set or the practical cotton with the hole in the waistband. My mother would never forgive me for being found dead in underwear that didn't match my bra.
"H-heath?" I stuttered as recognition dawned.
The figure stepped closer, raindrops streaming down the brim of his hat. The stern face of Knox's older brother came into view. I'd only met him twice – once at Knox's real estate license celebration and once at some gallery opening in Austin. Both times, he'd been serious, intimidating, and unfairly attractive in that rugged cowboy way I definitely did not find appealing.
"Honey March?" His eyebrows shot up, surprise briefly replacing the anger on his face. Then his eyes narrowed again, jaw tightening. "What the hell are you doing on my property at two in the morning?"
"I, uh..." My legal training abandoned me completely. "There's been a mistake."
"You're damn right there has been," he growled, lowering the gun slightly but not enough for my comfort. "Breaking and entering, for starters. Livestock theft, from the looks of it."
"Livestock theft?" My voice rose an octave.
Heath jerked his head toward my car. "Unless you want to explain why one of my rare heritage fowl is sitting in your back seat?"
"Heritage... what?" I blinked, wiping moisture from my face. "That's not a factory farm bird?"
Something flashed across his face – confusion mingled with disbelief. "Factory farm? This is McGraw Heritage Ranch. We specialize in preserving rare turkey breeds. That 'bird' you've got is a Bourbon Red – worth about five thousand dollars."
My jaw dropped. "Five THOUSAND dollars? For a TURKEY?"
"For a breeding tom with a perfect genetic lineage, yes," Heath said, his voice hardening. "And you're about ten seconds away from me calling Sheriff Dillard."
A cold shiver that had nothing to do with the precipitation ran down my spine. Sheriff Joe Bob Dillard. The infamous lawman who'd once arrested a woman for stealing a candy bar and had her sit in jail for three days because she couldn't make bail. The same sheriff who'd made it abundantly clear he thought defense attorneys were the scum of the earth.
"Please," I said quickly, rainwater mixed with mascara and tears streaming down my chin, "this is all a mistake. I thought this was Buck Jessup’s operation. I was... well, I was trying to rescue some turkeys."
"Rescue..." The corner of Heath's mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly. "From Jessup's place? That's five miles east of here."
"East?" I groaned, mentally kicking myself. "I'm directionally challenged, okay? Google Maps cut out, and I took a wrong turn somewhere. I swear I wasn't trying to steal your fancy turkeys."
"And yet, here we are," Heath said, gesturing toward my Prius with his free hand.
I pushed my sopping wet hair out of my eyes, painfully conscious of how I must look – drenched to the skin, mud-splattered, caught bird-handed. "Look, I'll put it back. No harm done. And we can forget this ever happened."
"Livestock theft is a felony in Texas," Heath said, his voice dropping lower. "Five to ten years, typically."
My insides twisted like I'd swallowed an ice cube whole. A felony conviction would mean the end of my legal career. I'd be disbarred. Everything I'd worked for, gone in one misguided animal rescue attempt.
"Heath, please," I said, hating the desperate note in my voice. "I'm already on thin ice with the bar association. I'm on administrative leave, doing community service hours. A felony charge would end everything."
Something in his expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Administrative leave? What did you do?"
I sighed. "I may have called a judge a 'patriarchal dinosaur' in open court."
To my surprise, the ghost of a smile tugged at his lips before quickly disappearing back under his stern expression. "Sounds like something you'd do."
"You don't even know me," I pointed out, crossing my arms against the cold.
"I know enough," he said cryptically. Then he seemed to consider something, his gaze traveling over my bedraggled form. My soaked clothes clung to every curve, a fact I couldn't ignore as his eyes lingered a beat too long before returning to my face.
"Here's the situation," he finally said, his jacket dotted with glistening beads of water. "I've got potential investors coming tomorrow – well, today now. The Vickerys. They're looking to put a quarter million into my breeding program."
