Kevin alone probably accounts for half my grocery bill.
Next is chicken feed. Sheriff might be a tyrant, but he and his little flock still need breakfast. Then dog food, cat food, and a sack of grain for Pickle the donkey who acts like he’s personally funding the entire farm economy.
By the time I reach the counter I look like a walking agricultural supply delivery.
Mr. Hollis scans the bags one at a time while eyeing my pile.
“Are you planning to feed the entire county again?”
“Just my freeloaders.”
He nods toward the door. “Donkey still yelling every morning?”
“Like a foghorn with emotional problems.”
“That animal’s gonna outlive us all.”
“Don’t say that where he can hear you,” I whisper. “He’ll get ideas.”
Mr. Hollis snorts quietly.
I pay for the feed, then grab a coil of fence wire from the rack near the door.
“Oh,” I add suddenly. “And duct tape.”
He reaches under the counter without even asking what kind.
“Camouflage pattern today?” he asks.
“Yes please.”
He slides it across the counter.
“Fixing something?” he asks.
“Everything.”
That earns another grunt.
I haul the bags outside and start loading them into the truck bed. Daisy supervises through the passenger window like a very judgmental security guard.
“You’re not helping,” I inform her.
She wags her tail.
Once everything’s loaded, I climb back into the driver’s seat and start the engine.
Next stop is the hardware store down the road.
Because the barn door hinge decided yesterday that it no longer believes in structural integrity.
And also because the goats discovered they can open the latch if they work together, which frankly feels like a betrayal.
The hardware store bell jingles when I walk in.
“Rae!” calls Linda from behind the register.
Linda is the unofficial mayor of this town despite technically running a hardware store.
