Farmed and Dangerous Read Online Free

the temperature dropped like this. She kept an incandescent bulb burning in the coop to add a bit of extra warmth. One silly bird had such a tiny brain, she liked to stand outside in any kind of weather, though. Sure enough, TopKnot sat on the ramp going up to the coop door. Cam had named the black-and-white Silver Laced Polish that because of the way her feathers formed a poufy crown on the top of her head.
    â€œGo on in, you goofy bird.” Cam shooed her with her hands.
    TopKnot only cocked her head, staring. Cam picked up the bird and set her in with the others. She made sure they had enough feed and water, switched off the light inside, and latched the door.
    Keeping hens had its down side. Once she’d nursed these rescue birds back to health with organic feed, fresh water, and clean bedding, they’d begun to lay. Customers loved being able to buy a dozen organic eggs when they picked up their shares. But in the cold, dark weather of winter, the hens were down to laying only one egg each twice a week, even with the extra light Cam provided. She had to make sure she latched them in every day before dark. Foxes and coyotes prowled the woods that bordered the far boundary of her fields. Plus, hens were smelly and, well, birdbrained, although the several Speckled Sussex seemed a little smarter than the rest. But she had them now, and her avid volunteers Alexandra and DJ, who’d spearheaded the rescue and the coop building, often stopped by to help out with the job of parenting the flock.
    The snow seemed to be tapering off as Cam shuffled her way through two inches of white powder to the hoop house. Tired, cold, and hungry, she struggled to draw the floating row cover over the long beds to keep them a little warmer overnight. A helper right now would make her life a lot easier, but she had no partner, no spouse, and she ran the farm alone. At least for now. She had to keep walking back and forth, pulling the cover that stretched the length of the hoop house over the mini hoops that bent over the individual beds. When she finished, she made sure she pulled the door tightly shut, and headed for the house.
    Preston sat patiently on the top step in front of her back door. With his double layer of fur, the Norwegian Forest cat went outdoors every day of the year. Even in a rainstorm she would see him sitting Sphinxlike at the base of the big maple that grew in the middle of the yard.
    â€œCome on in for dinner, Mr. P.”
    He mewed his tiny but enthusiastic agreement. For a big, fluffy cat, he had the littlest feline voice she’d ever heard.
    As she unlocked the door, he reared up. He rubbed his head and his arched body along her knee, as was his habit with his favorite humans. She let him in, locking the door carefully once she arrived indoors. She’d never locked the door when she moved over a year ago to this centuries-old farm. But after being threatened first by the murderer of her farmhand last June and then by the killer of one of her customers in October, she’d installed not only a motion-triggered outdoor light but also a new lock set and dead bolt. She secured the door even when she was inside the house or out in the fields. Living alone, it seemed only prudent. Although with any luck, she wouldn’t be involved with any more murders in her life, ever.
    She spooned Preston’s portion of wet food into his bowl. He turned his head and asked with his eyes for her to pet him while he ate, as was his habit. She obliged for a moment, then heated a dish of leftover stew in the microwave for her own dinner.
    Last night she’d tried out the recipe that she planned to provide to Moran Manor for the dinner. Local eating in a New England winter featured lots and lots of stored root crops, a few greens from the hoop house, and vegetables frozen and canned from the summer. So this particular stew included parsnips, carrots, cabbage, and potatoes from the root cellar. Kale, pesto, and one