CHAPTER 11

         About forty, Ken Taylor had pulled his black hair into a ponytail at the base of his neck. He wore a heavy brown coat over a flannel shirt, blue jeans, and black work boots. He opened the gate at the back of his truck, then grinned at Kaleb.

“One of these times, though, you should come into town yourself so you can see the reactions of the people who buy your stuff.”

          Shaking his head, he mused.

“I mean, they all but applaud when we bring in new stock.”

“Well… Good to know,” Kaleb replied.

“Still, you should show yourself…”

          It was odd, he thought, that he’d taken woodworking, which had once been a hobby, and turned it into an outlet for the creativity that had been choked off years ago. Kaleb liked knowing that his work was appreciate