My Thomas Story Library Novels & Stories

Thomas himself was built like a tank, with three sons who looked like they could bench-press small cars. “So you're Christian's new female.” Thomas looked me up and down. “Here to tell me I'm wrong about my territory?” “I'm here to listen to your case.” For the next hour, Thomas shouted. Literally shouted. About his grandfather's markers, his family's maintenance of the hunting trails, and his contributions to the pack. His wife, Linda, sat in the corner, wringing her hands, looking like she'd aged ten years from stress. Thomas's youngest son, Michael, kept glancing at his phone, his expression miserable.

Chapter 27 Wes: It only took Thomas a few minutes to pick the lock of the door, as he talked lightly about the times they used to play in the sandbox building homes for toy trucks they'd named when they were younger. Reciting the times when he'd sneak cookies out of the porcelain bear cookie jar whenever Ella scraped her knees on the pavement after falling off her bicycle. It didn't take long for me to get pulled into the stories, distracted by the gentleness in his voice, the love he carried with each word as if he remembered every detail of the memories they had.