Chapter 8
December in Missouri was always cold, but this year, Mother Nature did her best to break records. Jacob stomped the snow from his boots and shook off his gloves before he walked through the front door.
The storm had hit hard the night before and Jacob had spent the last hour shoveling the drive. He was sore everywhere and needed coffee desperately.
“Jacob!” The call came from the kitchen. Of course.
He pulled off his boots, leaving them in the entryway, and tossed his coat, hat, and gloves on the back of the recliner as he strode to the kitchen. “Yes, Peter?” he asked, holding back his irritation.
“Shelby won’t help do the dishes!”
Jacob closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and fought the urge to yell. He was getting particularly
