Page 1 of Stuff My Turkey
Chapter One
Honey
I'd never realized how heavy turkeys were until I was trying to stuff one into my Prius at two in the morning.
"Come on, you feathery jerk," I hissed, wrestling with what felt like forty pounds of indignant gobbling poultry. Rain pelted my back as I bent over, trying to coax the bird into my car without getting my fingers pecked off. "This is a rescue mission! I'm on your side!"
The turkey responded by flapping its wings directly into my face. I staggered backward, slipped in the mud, and landed on my butt with a wet splat.
Perfect. Just perfect. My designer jeans – the only pair I owned that made my butt look amazing while still being acceptable in a courtroom – were now ruined. And I was pretty sure I'd just heard something that sounded suspiciously like turkey laughter.
"Listen here," I whispered, trying and failing to sound authoritative while sitting in a puddle. "I'm a vegetarian and a public defender. Helping the helpless is literally my brand. So get in the car, and we can both get out of this rain."
The turkey cocked its head at me as if to say, "You're seriously expecting me to understand English?"
"Five thousand dollar law school education," I muttered, "and I'm negotiating with poultry."
But desperate times called for desperate measures. I'd driven two hours from Austin to this godforsaken corner of Texas hill country, armed with only a flashlight, a tote bag full of vegan protein bars, and a half-baked plan to liberate at least a few birds from Buck Jessup's notorious factory farm before they became Thanksgiving dinner.
I was drenched to the bone, covered in muck, and about to commit grand theft turkey. And the night was still young.
With a sigh, I hauled myself up and tried a different approach. This time, I grabbed the turkey with both hands, ignoring its flailing as I awkwardly maneuvered it toward the open back door of my Prius.
"I swear, if you poop on my upholstery, we're going to have words," I warned it, finally managing to deposit the disgruntled bird onto the back seat. It settled with a series of huffy clucks, glaring at me with beady eyes that clearly said I was on its shit list.
Four more to go.
I'd only planned to rescue five – enough to make a statement but not enough to overwhelm my tiny apartment back in Austin. My neighbor Mrs. Rodriguez was going to kill me as it was. The building had a strict no-pet policy, but I was hoping I could claim they were... emotional support turkeys? I snorted at my own ridiculous thought as I trudged back toward the low barn where I'd found them.
The rain intensified, drumming against my shoulders while cold rivulets snaked down my back. I cursed softly as my boots – cute ankle boots that were absolutely not made for farm infiltration – sank deeper into the mud with each step. My flashlight beamdanced erratically across the darkened landscape, catching on wet grass and slicks that reflected the cloudy night sky.
The earthy smell of rain-soaked soil mixed with the distinctive barnyard scent that clung to my clothes. Not exactly the perfume I'd planned on wearing tonight.
Wait, had I turned left or right at that tree? Where was the fence I'd climbed over? I spun around, disoriented, my pulse quickening. Getting lost on a factory farm during a midnight downpour hadn't made it into my brilliant rescue plan.
"Stay calm, Honey," I whispered to myself. "You've gotten out of worse situations."
Like the time I'd called Judge Hartman a "patriarchal dinosaur" in open court. That hadn't exactly been my finest moment, but in my defense, he'd denied bail to my teenage client while letting the wealthy white kid with the exact same charges walk free. My outburst had landed me on administrative leave, with community service hours as a condition of my probation. Which, ironically, was how I'd gotten involved with the Texas Animal Rights Coalition in the first place.
A full circle of poor judgment, really.
I took a deep breath of the damp night air and tried to get my bearings. The barn had to be around here somewhere—
The beam of my flashlight suddenly caught on something that made my blood freeze. A sign, half-hidden by overgrown brush, but still legible:
MCGRAW HERITAGE RANCH – PRIVATE PROPERTY
McGraw? As in Knox McGraw? As in my ex-boyfriend Knox McGraw?
Oh no. No, no, no.
I was on the wrong property. This wasn't Buck Jessup's factory farm. I was trespassing on my ex's family ranch. The ranch I'd never visited during our two years of dating because Knoxpreferred city life and never brought me here, despite it being his family's home.
Before I could process this horrifying realization, my flashlight beam was met by a much brighter light that momentarily blinded me.
"Hands where I can see them!" A deep voice rang through the night.
I raised my arms automatically, squinting against the harsh glare. My throat constricted as adrenaline flooded my system.
