He thanked her and hung up, staring at the receiver for a long moment before setting it down. Warmth—that was the key. But how exactly was he supposed to guide a half-frozen pig through a snowstorm?
Still, he couldn’t let it freeze. He had to try something. He scanned the kitchen. No hay, no heat lamps—this wasn’t a barn. But maybe food could coax it. Pigs were smart. And pigs were greedy. He opened the pantry and rummaged through the bottom shelves.
After pushing aside canned peaches and soup, he found an old jar of peanut butter. Thick. Salty. Strong-smelling. He remembered Marlene once saying pigs loved it. He wasn’t sure if it was true, but it was worth a shot.
Raymond grabbed the jar, a spoon, and an old aluminum pie tin. He smeared a hefty glob into the center of the dish, its scent already wafting into the warm kitchen air. Maybe, just maybe, it would follow the smell to shelter.