The Tree Shepherd's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

until we get you something else. Thanks, Tarl."
    "You aren't going to make the poor kid wear that Tech nicolor clown outfit, are you?" The bleached blond Renaissance biker babe looked outraged.

    The mud man shrugged. "Whatever. Just trying to
help."
    Yeah, Keelie thought. Help her be ostracized. She'd
keep her normal clothes on forever, if she had to. She
began to feel itchy from the dried mud sticking to her
skin, though. She'd kill for a hot shower.
    "Honey, you'll only make her a laughingstock if you
make her wear those rags. She needs decent garb." The
blonde caught Keelie's gaze and shook her head. Men, she
seemed to say.
    Keelie smiled at her for the help, even though the
woman's concept of decent clothes was probably illegal
somewhere. Funny that the walking fashion nightmare
stood up for her. She looked from the mud man to her
father to the biker babe. She would never fit in with these
people. And she didn't want to live in a pretend world,
playing dress-up.
    The medieval biker babe started to wander away,
browsing through the furniture. Zeke looked relieved. Tarl
the mud man followed her around with his eyes.
    "Hey, I'm camped down at the Shire," he called to her.
"Mine's the big Viking tent with the wooden dragon out
front. Stop by for a beer later."
    The woman looked him up and down. "Sure. I'll come
by. After dark, okay?"
    Keelie was nauseated. The thought of these two ancient
and homely relics doing it was too gross.
    Zeke didn't seem to notice anything weird. "Thanks for the clothes, Tarl," her father said. "I appreciate you
coming to the rescue." He exchanged a knowing look with
Tarl the muddied nutcase.

    What was that about? Maybe it was about how Zeke was
now saddled with a daughter? Some "just us guys" thing?
Or maybe it had to do with the Rennie biker babe. Ugh.
    She looked around the shop at the female shoppers
who'd occasionally gaze at her dad with hungry looks in
their eyes. Yeah, she'd definitely cramp his lifestyle.
    Tarl the mud man smiled at Keelie, but she didn't return
it. She turned away and pretended to look at her nails, then
noticed the dirt caked under her French manicure. Ew!
    "I'll see you later, Zeke. And you, too, Keelie."
    Keelie acted as if she didn't hear him. She knew she was
being a brat, but she didn't care. Let old Zeke figure out
what he'd gotten himself into. Maybe he'd ship her back,
like a Christmas puppy that grew too big. She pictured
herself arriving at LAX with a note pinned to her shirt:
"SORRY. DIDN'T KNOW GIRLS COULD BE SO OBNOXIOUS."
    She ran her hands along a wooden chair. It hummed
with energy underneath her hand. She snatched her hand
back and stared at the chair. Her wood reaction was much
worse here. Mom had said it was an allergy from her dad's
side of the family. Now wasn't the time to ask, though. She
could see she'd really ticked off the old man.
    "Let me show you where you'll live," her father said.
He looked tired.
    No, now was definitely not the time to ask.
    "Come on, you can change upstairs." He handed her
the grocery sack, the ugly clothes stuffed back in.

    Reluctantly, she accepted it. Not that she planned to
change. Not into those clothes. Not into his daughter. She
was her mother's daughter. She would always be Keelie
Hamilton. She was stuck being a Heartwood, but it was
just another name to her. She was Katherine Hamilton's
daughter.
    "What's the Shire?"
    "No place you need to go." He nodded at a woman as
he passed by. "It's the campground for Faire workers who
don't have sleeping space in their shops."
    "Why can't I go there?"
    "Because I said so."
    She laughed. He stopped and looked at her.
    "What? You think you can tell me what I can't do? Get
over yourself, old man."
    "I know this is very different from L.A. But you don't
know how different it really is. Until you do, you'd better
stick close to home."
    "Home is 125 Hemlock Drive, Los Angeles, California. I'd love to stick close to home,