75

Owen patted his stomach and leaned back in the chair at the sheriff‘s desk. If he had to eat another bite of anything, he was going to burst. Those Larson women knew how to stuff a man senseless. Who knew Thanksgiving could render a man comatose for days on end?

He sat up straight. He couldn‘t even take a deep breath. In an effort to finish up the leftovers, Jenny persuaded him to have an extra helping of ―thanksgiving breakfast‖ that morning. He hoped that they were officially done. He‘d had enough of turkey to last a lifetime. Now it was time for his poor stomach to get a break.

He picked up the latest papers on Meyer‘s desk and sorted through them. Good. None were of him. But there was one on Robert Scott. Owen frowned. Why did the name Robert sound familiar? Oh yes. He was the name Joshua had written and placed in his wallet when Owen went to Guy Ike‘s house. That was the day of the shoot-out. He shivered at the memory. He hoped shoot-outs didn‘t happen often