The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (Burnt Boot, Texas #2)(38)

“Dammit! Call the house. Call anybody. Get us some help. We’ll have to open the doors, or they’ll all burn up in there. Those damn Brennans got past us somehow. Naomi is going to fire us for sure,” one of the guards yelled at the other one.

He jerked a phone from his pocket with one hand and opened the doors with the other. Mad hens are one thing, but terrified ones are another story. And a mean old rooster damn sure didn’t like his harem carrying on like that. Both guards dropped to their knees and covered their faces with their hands when the rooster led the chickens out in flight, squawking and clawing anything in their path.

A sea of Gallaghers swarmed toward the fire. The chickens didn’t care if they were masters or servants. They wanted away from the evil fire, so they lit on heads, pecked at ears, fought with people trying to catch them, flew into the trees, and in their fear, dropped a fair amount of chicken crap down on the heads of those trying to coax them down.

Those that had had their wings singed by the fire before they were set loose ran into the mesquite trees and hid in the underbrush. The rooster flogged everyone in his pathway as he made his way toward the nearest barn and flew up to the rafter, where he publicly made known his anger at having his tail feathers plumb burned to a crisp.

“Damn Brennans. Start a fight over in the churchyard, and now this,” Tyrell cussed. “They’re going to pay.”

“You’re damn right, and they will pay dearly.” Naomi wiped a blob of chicken crap from her forehead. “Even if we can catch them, it’ll be weeks before they lay again. I won’t have enough eggs to incubate this year, which means we’ll have to buy our chickens, and I hate store-bought meat. Damn you, Mavis!” Naomi fished a cell phone from the hip pocket of her jeans and jabbed in the numbers to River Bend Ranch.

“Hello,” Mavis said.

“You are a bitch from hell, Mavis Brennan, and you will pay for this,” Naomi screamed.

“What in the hell are you talkin’ about? Did Orville decide to do right by my granddaughter?”

“Hell, no. He and Ilene are talking about getting married now. But I’m pressing charges against you for burning down my chicken house,” Naomi growled.

“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” Mavis quoted with laughter. “Since God has taken my side, you’d better watch out, woman.”

Naomi raised her fist and yelled, “God didn’t do this. Damn it, Mavis, you done messed with the wrong woman because I won’t leave revenge in God’s hands. I’ll take care of it myself.”

*

Jill fluffed up her pillow and pulled a quilt up over her body. She shut her eyes, and immediately that fuzzy feeling that happens before sleep settled in. Then her phone rang.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” she grumbled as she reached for it.

“Jill, hope you weren’t asleep yet, but I had to tell you,” Gladys said. “Naomi Gallagher’s chicken house has flat-out burned to the ground. They had to turn the chickens free, and they can’t catch them. Naomi didn’t believe in clipping their wings, so they’re in the trees, hiding in the mesquite underbrush, and the rooster won’t come down from the rafters in the barn. It’s a big mess, and she’s blaming the Brennans.”

“Did the Brennans do it?”

“Mavis says that God must have avenged her for losing her hogs. She swears that she didn’t do it and that she never had any intentions of messing with Naomi’s chickens. If she had, she says she would have poisoned them, not set fire to them.”

“More fuel for the feud, huh?” Jill said.

She didn’t care if the Brennans and Gallaghers burned each other out as long as they didn’t let their fires spread to Fiddle Creek.

“You sound groggy. Go on back to sleep,” Gladys said.

“Thank you for calling.”

“Just thought y’all might want to keep an eye out for either one of the families. They might use Fiddle Creek as crossing ground to get to the other one.”

Jill yawned. “So is the pig war now the chicken war?”

“No, this chapter in the feud will always be the pig war, I’m afraid. Doesn’t that sound horrible? I’m hanging up now and sleep all day. From now on I’ll do the feeding on Sundays. I’ll get Polly settled, and I’ll only be gone an hour each time. Besides”—she lowered her voice—“I love her, and we get along pretty good, but I’m getting cabin fever, and I can’t ask Verdie to babysit all the time so I can get out.”

That’s when Jill’s stomach growled. She’d had a bowl of canned chicken noodle soup for dinner, but she’d been too tired to eat all of it. Now it was either eat something or never get back to sleep.

She pushed back the quilt and padded barefoot across the cold wood floor to the kitchen area. She opened the freezer. Ice cream didn’t appeal to her. Nothing in the fridge looked good either, so she went to the cabinets.

“Doughnuts,” Sawyer said gruffly.

“You startled me, but that does sound good,” she said.

Sawyer reached over her shoulder and picked up the half-empty box of store-bought chocolate doughnuts. “They’re not as good as what we got in Gainesville, but they’ll make your stomach stop grumblin’. Finn called to tell me that the Gallaghers’ henhouse burned. After I eat something, I’m turning off my damn phone.”