I went about my chores after lunch and now stood leaning on my shovel by the milking stall, instead of mucking it out as I should be. The flies weren’t bad today, but the smell of hot, sweet cow manure would keep my interruptions from other people to a minimum. I watched the tall grass of the neighboring pen undulate and it mesmerized me like a lava lamp, but I could not escape the events of the morning. It was surreal to think that I had found a body this morning as I had as a young college graduate when I had found my mother after a sudden accident.

“If it were not for your hair,”—Sam’s sudden comment made me jump—“you would look like your mother right now.”

I offered him a limp smile. He had seen my thoughts again.

“Is that who you were thinking about?” Sam asked.

“Yep,” I said as I tried to look busy and shoveled another army-green cow pie. “You always know, don’t you?”

“Know what?”

“Know what I am thinking,” I said as I shook off my shovel.

“Well, I guess the fact that I had to ask, proves that I do not.” He smiled with sleepy, dark eyes as he came to help me with a flat snow shovel.

“Ha, you got me there,” I said, satisfied that I had shaken off the somber mood.

“But really,” Sam insisted, “you are okay? You are sure? You seem … I do not know. It is okay if you are not. You had quite a shock this morning, and it must echo … other shocks that you have had.”

I couldn’t see my shovel anymore as tears filled my eyes. I had been trying to avoid this conversation, but now that it was here, I found that I wanted to let it all bleed out.

“I admit it,” I whimpered. “I am shaken. And the part that I can’t tell any of the family is that I think I’ve been shaken for a long time. They seem fine, so why am I …”

Sam took the shovel out of my hand and leaned it with his own against the milking stanchion before sweeping me towards him and enfolding me in a hug. It was so strong, clean, and warm that I couldn’t hold back my sobs anymore.

I cried into his cotton plaid collar for a long time. I hugged him around the ribs and absorbed the comfort that I found there as he alternated squeezing me gently and softly rubbing my back. I cried and gasped so hard that I could almost taste the alfalfa smell embedded in his clothes.

When my diaphragm took over and forced me to take a hiccupping breath, my throat had gone raspy and my stomach ached from the sobs. I realized how wet I was making his fresh shirt and I pulled back to apologize. I found that he was crying too. He still had his usual quiet composure, but a single trail of tears divided each cheek.

As I straightened my shirt and shook off the tears, Sam said, “It is okay to take some time. To mourn. Even if Nikki was not a very nice person … you can …”

“I’m okay,” I said. “It won’t do any good to sit in my room and think about it.”

“You have been through much.” Sam riveted his eyes on mine. “I hope you are giving yourself time to …”

“To heal?” I scoffed as I picked up my shovel again. “I don’t think people actually heal from … stuff like this.”

Shoot Shovel and Shut Up
Genre: Traditional Mystery
Release: August 2023
Format: Digital
Purchase Link

After a fight over the family ranch, Dad’s young fiancée is found dead. Bria risks her family’s disapproval to sneak around and investigate as the tragedies pile up. Luckily, she has help from her childhood crush and from the handsome new deputy.

When new love blooms in two directions and her main suspect dies, she must grow around her grief to discover the family’s secrets before she loses everyone she loves.

About the author
Jessica Thompson is the author of the Amazon best-selling mystery novels “A Caterer’s Guide to Love and Murder” and “A Caterer’s Guide to Holidays and Homicide.” Her second book was a Whitney Award nominee in the mystery category and her first book was a finalist in the Wishing Shelf Awards. She also curated an anthology called “Beyond the Woods: A Supernatural Anthology.” She is active in her local writing community and volunteers as the Assistant Communications Chair for the Storymakers Guild.

Jessica lives in the suburbs of Austin, Texas with her husband and two children. When not writing, she’s getting her boots dirty at her parents’ nearby longhorn cattle ranch. Whether she’s revving up chainsaws or wrangling charging bulls, she sees it all as plot-inspiring material for her next mystery.

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