A snort of laughter came from the pantry where Harvey was loading crackers and snacks into a tote bag. “Good thing Martin packs his hose wherever he goes so he can put out the fire in yer aunt’s pants.”
“Oh, sheesh, Harvey,” Natalie said. “That was so corny it popped before you finished.”
I groaned in agreement.
“What’s Reid doing for Christmas, anyway?” she asked me. “Doesn’t he have a son somewhere?”
I shrugged. “He’s not spending it at my parents’ with Aunt Zoe, that’s what.” Not after the way my dad bellowed and pawed the ground when Reid showed up at Aunt Zoe’s door a few weeks ago, hoping for a spot next to her at the family dinner table. My dad’s threat to rearrange Reid’s handsome mug for breaking his baby sister’s heart wasn’t merely a blast of hot air and Aunt Zoe knew it. Dad had been the one she’d leaned on years back when Reid shied away from marrying her. Now the heartbreaker had returned, toting a pack of matches along with a fireman’s helmet full of charm, but my dad was ready with his own version of a fire extinguisher—two fists and a hefty rubber boot.
“I thought yer aunt was softenin’ up to Cap’n Smokey.”
“Oh, she is,” I said. “But I think she’s got tender spots on the inside that are still frozen solid. Unfortunately, until she tells my dad she’s changed her mind about letting Reid light a fire under her heart again, he’s going to shoot first when it comes to protecting her.”
“Bad luck for Reid,” Natalie said. “I’ve seen your dad work a gun. He’s a crack shot. But back to your closing up your aunt’s place, what about Duke, Bogart, and Elvis?”
“I made sure they have food and drink to last until …” I frowned in Harvey’s direction. “Crud. We have to stop by Aunt Zoe’s before we head up Strawberry.”
“Why’s that?” Harvey asked without looking up.
“I have to get Elvis.”
Natalie’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘get’ her? Where are you going to take her?”
“With us.”
“Horse feathers, Sparky. Cartin’ a chicken to Christmas is nuttier than squirrel turds.” Harvey stuffed a bag of dried prunes in the tote. “Just fill up the birdy’s bowl with plenty of feed and that chicken will be so fat she gets in her own way by the time we get home.”
“Sure, Elvis will be fine,” I told him. “But Addy will be a mess once she sees you.”
The front door closed, followed by the sound of boots stomping on the doormat. The guys must have the SUV ready to crunch through the snow and ice.
“Vi, you can’t be serious about taking that dumb chicken all of the way to your mom’s. I know Addy has her leash-trained, but she’s not actually a dog.”
Cornelius walked into the kitchen, his jacket and black hair glistening with melting snow. “Did you know chickens can produce over thirty different sounds?” he asked Natalie, stealing a cookie from the bag Harvey had filled with the chewy version of chocolate and peanut butter heaven. “They have their own chicken language.”
“Thirty, huh?” Natalie guffawed. “That’s twenty-nine more sounds than my last boyfriend made during sex.”
I laughed. Picturing Natalie’s last boyfriend, I didn’t doubt her for a second. I turned to Cornelius. “Did you guys get the chains on okay?” I took a cookie from the bag, too, before sealing it and handing it off to Harvey.
Cornelius nodded. “The Tall Medium did most of the work. Southern living hasn’t allowed me much experience with snowy weather apparatus.”
“Whaddya mean, Addy will be a mess when she sees me?” Harvey set the cookies on top of the bag and closed the pantry door. “Makes no sense.”
“The only reason we were able to get her down to my parents without that damned chicken was because I told her you would be up here checking on Elvis every day. She trusts you way more than me when it comes to that bird.”
Cornelius rubbed his hands together. “Chicken origins have been traced back to theropods.”
“What are theropods?” Natalie asked.
“Dinosaurs from the late Triassic period,” Doc answered, joining us. Like Cornelius, he was covered with melting snow. “You ready?” he asked me.
“That’s over 200 million years ago,” Cornelius clarified for Natalie.
“Yeah,” I told Doc. To Harvey, I explained, “When you show up with me at my parents’ place, Addy will realize that her chicken is on her own for several days and freak out. The whole time we’re there, she’ll worry incessantly about Elvis being stuck in her cage.”
He harrumphed. “So, set Elvis free and let her run around the basement to her heart’s content.”
“No way! She knows how to open the basement door.”
“You’re kidding?” Natalie gaped. “Next you’ll tell me she learned the dance moves to ‘Jail House Rock.’ “
“I knew of a chicken named Cluck Berry that could put jigsaw puzzles together,” Cornelius told us. “Although the fifty-piece variety was its limit. Anything bigger and it would eat the extra pieces.”
I frowned at him for a moment, and then shook my head at Natalie. “I’m not kidding. Given free rein, that damned bird will molt on my comforter and hide eggs all over the house like a feathered Easter bunny.”
“What are you suggesting?” Doc asked, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. “We take Elvis with us?”
“What if she gets a wild hair and flaps and flutters all over inside your rig?” Natalie threw out. “We don’t want her distracting Doc while he’s trying to drive through that mess outside.”
She had a good point.
“We could stuff ‘er in yer tumbleweed wagon,” Harvey said.
“My what?”
“Yer puss-n-boots box.”
I looked to Doc for help. “Translate, please.”
“I think Harvey means Bogart’s cat carrier.”
Ohhh. “That’s actually a good idea.”
“I’m full of ‘em,” the old buzzard said with a shit-eating grin.
“You’re full of something, all right,” I said, snapping one of his suspenders.
“We need to hit the road,” Doc said, grabbing the bag
