A Family For The Farmer. Laurel Blount

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      She was still acting skittish, but who could blame her after the day she’d had? Judging from those purple smudges under her eyes, she was tuckered out. He could hear the twins arguing in the living room, something about a cartoon. Emily still had to load them up and make the trip back to Atlanta tonight. Abel felt a flicker of doubt. As much as he wanted to get this all settled, maybe right now wasn’t the best time. He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and wishing he knew just what to say to put her mind at ease.

      “Abel.” Something in Emily’s voice jerked his wandering thoughts to attention. Now she was sitting bolt upright in her chair, and she looked as taut as a newly strung fence wire.

      His muscles tensed. Something was wrong. “What is it?”

      She swallowed, and very, very slowly she scooted the old ladder-back chair a few inches backward. “I think...” she whispered. “Okay, I know it sounds a little crazy, but I think there might be something alive under this table.”

      Abel’s mind flashed to the screened door, to how it had seemed to be open just a crack when he came up the back steps, and he winced. On Goosefeather Farm that could only mean one thing, and he didn’t think Emily was going to like it one little bit.

      Before he could gather his thoughts enough to speak, something gray and long snaked out from under the low-hanging tablecloth and jabbed Emily smartly on the thigh. She yelped, and the mug she’d been holding hit the floor and cracked into pieces, sending the remains of her coffee flooding across the floorboards. Emily tipped her chair over backward, her legs tangling up in its slats as she scrambled away.

      She was halfway into the living room before she stopped to look back. “What is it?” she asked in a trembling voice as the creature sidled slowly out from under the table.

      “She’s an African gray goose.” Abel tried to keep the laugh out of his voice, but he couldn’t entirely manage it. “I gave her to Miss Sadie last spring because I figured any farm called Goosefeather ought to have at least one goose living on it. Your grandma named her Glory. And she’s a born troublemaker.” He addressed his last comment to the goose, who honked briefly at him in reply.

      Emily stayed safely in the living room, her arms wrapped protectively around her twins. They’d left their cartoon to blink owlishly at the unrepentant goose, who was doing her best to thieve the remains of Emily’s muffin off the top of the kitchen table. “Thanks, but you can skip over the introductions. I don’t think I want to be on a first-name basis with that thing. How did it get in here?”

      “You must have left the screen door cracked when you headed out to the barn earlier. She’s smart about opening it if it’s not pulled all the way shut. Your grandma thought it was a cute trick, and that didn’t help.”