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Owen been around old timer Alaskans long enough to know they could be a peculiar bunch, but they almost always had hearts of gold and were willing to help their neighbors with anything they might need. From teaching them how to hunt or fish or build a cabin or a smoker to bringing by some meat from their latest harvest or chopping someone’s firewood if they were out of commission with a bum shoulder, they were mostly a knowledgable, community-minded lot. Of course a bunch of them had lived hard lives of back-breaking physical labor, always running short on cash and having to work all the time to harvest the resources that sustained them.
He knew too a lot of the men had stories like his father’d had—women who had left when bush living didn’t agree with them, often taking children with them. It could be a lonely life, and he wondered if Pops had a sad story. Not that he’d admit it, of course.
“I think we should put the chicken bridge over here,” Cricket declared, pointing to a spot in the sizable run.
She and the other Littles had had a great time painting the pieces Pops brought over yesterday, and the stakes he was towing around in the wagon were a bright riot of color.
“Sounds good. We need to figure out where the stakes need to be placed to best support the ladder but still give it some slack. Can you get the ladder and I’ll get the stakes?”
“Yes, Daddy!”
A couple hours later, the chicken playground had been set up, and the run and coop were done. Cricket very sweetly hugged everyone who had helped, and Owen shook the hands of the guys and hugged the Littles. Even baby Sabrina had “helped” by being sound asleep in a sling on her dad’s chest.
“Thanks, boss,” he told Taj, and the big man grinned back.
“Thank you. It’s going to be awesome having fresh eggs to go around all the time. They’ll be a great supplement to the ones we can harvest and given how hard we work up here, we can always use another source of protein. Plus setting up this Taj Ma-coop has kept everyone busy for a few days. Doesn’t get any better than that.”
Once they’d finished up their thanks, Owen called Cricket over. “What was the one thing Pops asked you to do?”
“Bring the wagon back when we were done with it.” His babygirl slid a glance to the empty wagon and then grinned up at him. “It’s empty, Daddy! Let’s go bring it back. But I have to get something first.”
After Cricket had skittered over to their cabin and back, they walked over to the Big House which was still looking pretty shabby. Owen knew it was low on their list of priorities, but it would be a nice looking building once they’d given it some TLC.
Of course Pops wasn’t actually in the Big House—he rarely was. They heard machinery buzzing in his workshop, and knocked on the door. Even though everything on the island technically belonged to Taj and the other guys who’d bought in, they still gave Pops his space and that included his workshop.
A minute later, Pops opened the door and stood there wiping off his hands with a rag.
“Yeah?”
“We brought your wagon back, Mister Pops,” Cricket volunteered, pointing to the wagon that they’d parked under the eaves of the workshop. And then surprised the hell out of him and—judging by the look on his face—Pops by giving the crotchety old fossil a big hug. “Thank you so much for making my chickens a playground. They’re going to love it and happy chickens make yummier eggs. You can eat as many eggs as you want. And I made this for you.”
Cricket shoved a folded piece of paper toward Pops, and Owen held his breath. She had worked on that thank you note all evening, drawing a picture of what he could only assume were chickens playing on structures that looked vaguely like the things Pops had made. She wasn’t the best artist, but she had tried so, so hard and he thought it was damn charming. If their resident curmudgeon didn’t accept or appreciate the card, he was going to have a very sad Little girl on his hands.
Luckily, while his jaw appeared to tighten momentarily, Pops must’ve buried whatever grouchy retort had come to mind, because he took the card and nodded.
“You’re welcome, Cricket. Looking forward to an omelet.”
Then he retreated back into his workshop, closing the door behind him. Owen breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn’t been effusive, but Pops’s response had been nice enough, and Cricket seemed pleased. Beaming, more like it.
“I think he liked it, Daddy!”
“I think so too, babygirl. Now let’s go get you washed up from all your hard work and get ready for dinner.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Acouple days after the chicken coop was all set up, Uncle Linc was going to come over for dinner. She’d spent the day helping Daddy tidy up the cabin, and stacking up firewood Mister Taj had dropped off on the porch and the rest in the woodshed.
After getting her out of her outerwear and warmed up, Daddy had given her some cocoa in a bottle, and now they were having a cuddle on the couch. She was sleepy and should probably tell her Daddy so he could put her down for a nap with Beyoncé, but she didn’t want the snuggles to be over just yet.
Then he cleared his throat, and Cricket was suddenly very awake.
“I need to talk to you about something important, sweetheart. Starting on Tuesday, I have to go away for a few days.”
She felt like her heart took a tumble off a cliff. She hated when Daddy left even for a few hours. “Days?”
“Yes,” he told her. “It’s time for me to go back to work like we talked about. There’s a village way up north I have a relationship with. I go up every three months or so and they always have a ton for me to do. I swear everyone shows up with a laundry list of things that have been bothering them since the last time I was there. They need me.”
“Ineed you!”
