At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [39]
They all sat on the porch that evening, paper plates balanced on their laps as they sprawled across the disarranged furniture, picking at the tuna sandwiches Ida Mae had made them for supper. They were too tired to eat, and almost too tired to move. It had taken every available hand to repair the damage done to the floor before the stain dried, so Ida Mae had been recruited to handle the sheep. She had of course complained about it nonstop, but there was a touch of satisfaction on her face as she joined them on the porch with a glass of iced tea.
“Something wrong with them sandwiches?” she demanded. “It’s a sin to waste food.”
They all murmured protests, insisting the sandwiches were fine, and Lindsay even took a bite.
“I had me a nice Irish stew planned,” Ida Mae went on, “with old-fashioned soda bread and apple pie. But that was before you decided to let wild animals run loose in the house while you was painting the floors.”
“Sounds wonderful, Ida Mae,” Lindsay murmured, half asleep. “We’ll have it later.”
Ida Mae snorted.
“It was nice of Zeb to only charge us half price for the sheep,” Bridget said, rousing herself to speak.
“That’s still half our profit,” Lori said morosely.
Noah said, “He ain’t taking that deer.”
“Oh, I don’t think he’ll do that . . .” Bridget looked helplessly to Cici. “Do you?”
Cici, too tired to even shrug, merely waggled her eyebrows.
Lindsay said morosely, “For fifty years I’d never even seen the inside of a courtroom. Not so much as a traffic ticket. Now I’m standing before a judge twice in one year.”
“Next thing you know, your mug shot will be on America’s Most Wanted,” Lori said, peeling the crust off her sandwich. “Of course, without a satellite dish, we’ll never see it.”
“We only have to pay the fine if we don’t either release him into the wild or find a suitable facility to take him before the court date,” Cici pointed out.
“How much do you think the fine will be?”
Cici sighed. “More than we can afford.”
“It ain’t right, coming in a man’s house, telling him what to do, threatening his property,” Noah said angrily. “Ain’t that against the Constitution?”
Lindsay focused with difficulty through her fatigue. “Umm . . . illegal search and seizure. Yes. That sounds like a good research project.”
“I ain’t writin’ no report,” Noah warned darkly. “And he ain’t takin’ that deer.”
Bridget’s tone was troubled. “It’s my fault. I never should have asked Farley for help. But who knew he’d bring his cousin?”
Lori said, “It’s okay, Aunt Bridget. You did right. We never would have gotten the job done by ourselves. I guess maybe sheep ranching is not as easy as I thought.”
“Nothing ever is, sweetie,” Cici said tiredly, and put aside her plate. “But next time, please, I’m begging you, just think it through, okay?”
Ida Mae said dourly, “You’re all crazy as March hares, if you ask me. Letting wild animals run loose in your front parlor, moving your parlor onto the porch . . . And I’m telling you, it’s too early to be shearing sheep.”
“But at least we have the fleece,” Lori said, cheering a little. “And we know someone who’ll buy it. That’s something.”
Bridget reached across and patted her knee. “That’s a lot, honey. You’ve worked hard and you did a good job.”
“But,” Cici pointed out, “I don’t think there’s much point in your writing this idea up into a business plan.”
“Yeah,” Lori agreed sadly. “Figured that one out.”
They were quiet as the night settled in, bringing with it the clean sweet smell of new grass and turned earth. A night bird chirped and its mate