by Grace Risata
Batting my eye lashes and giving Todd a shy smile, I advanced in his direction. Once I closed the distance between us, I immediately stuck out my hand and grabbed his crotch.
“Listen carefully, little man…and judging by the feel of your package, know that I absolutely mean ‘little’ when describing your size,” I insisted, speaking calmly and clearly while putting just the right amount of pressure on his nuts. “You couldn’t handle me even if you had the help of these other guys standing limply next to you.”
I then twisted my hand in a motion that elicited a high pitched squeal of pain from my target. Prior experience has taught me that men did not appreciate this move, so I quickly backed up before he could retaliate.
“Go fuck yourself, Todd. Take your friends and get the hell out of our way. Some of us have real work to do.”
“You’re a bitch,” he spat, carefully cradling his groin and staring daggers at me.
“Thank you. Now be a good little boy and go run along,” I replied with a wave of my hand. It’s about time he came to the realization that I’m not to be fucked with. I’m surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. Maybe I’m losing my touch?
Todd grunted at the way he was callously dismissed, and took ‘dumb’ and ‘dumber’ with him. Good riddance.
I snapped my fingers at Samuel and pointed to the chainsaw.
“Do we have more to work with, or does that need to be fixed?”
He picked up the chainsaw and flung it across the yard like it was a frisbee. Okay. I probably should have seen that coming. I would have done the same thing.
Samuel then marched back into the barn, leaving me standing there with Chrissie. Good. I wanted to get her alone anyway.
“So, sweetpea,” I began, carefully choosing my words. “Question time! What’s up with the ‘Todd versus Samuel’ feud? Is this new or has it always been a tense relationship? Who’s the other guy that you’re obviously in love with?”
She blushed twelve shades of red and began to sputter.
“I’m not in love with Brody. He was a grade ahead of me in school and we had some classes together and he’s very physically fit and might have caught my eye, but that doesn’t really mean anything and---”
“Take a breath,” I instructed.
“Yes, he’s cute,” she admitted, “But he doesn’t like me back. We’re not talking about this. It’s embarrassing.”
“Fine. We’ll table that discussion for another time. What about Todd? Why does he hate Samuel so much?”
“Because he’s an asshole,” my bodyguard answered gruffly, coming out of the barn with a different chainsaw. This one appeared to have been built in nineteen fifty-three and had the rust to prove it. Wow. Things were rapidly going from bad to worse around this dump.
“It’s a long story,” Chrissie confessed, instantly clamming up when Samuel shot her a look that implied she should keep her mouth shut.
Much to my amazement, the ancient chain saw started right up and we were finally able to get some work done. Samuel cut up the top branches and I helped Chrissie haul them to a wood pile on the side of the house. After seven trips back and forth, I began to grow frustrated.
“There has to be a better system,” I insisted. “We should have a proper method of transportation to get the wood from point A to point B. Is there no tractor type thing? Like a utility cart with a cargo area in the back?”
“Um…those are expensive. We had more farm equipment, but my dad had to sell some of it to pay bills.”
I could tell she was deeply ashamed of the money situation, so I didn’t pry.
“What about something simple like a wheelbarrow?”
“We have two of those,” Chrissie informed me, eyes lighting up. “I’ll go find them!”
After what felt like an eternity of manual labor with seemingly little progress on the tree, Katherine came outside to bring us a picnic basket full of goodies. I wiped sweat from my brow, threw my gloves into the wheelbarrow, and prepared to dig in to the feast that awaited.
I should have known better.
Chrissie eagerly opened the picnic basket and began to pull out sandwiches, chips, and cans of orange soda.
“What’s on the menu?” I asked as my stomach rumbled.
“I don’t care what it is,” Samuel shrugged. “Right now, I’d eat a dead skunk off the side of the road.”
The exhausted man slumped down against the tree trunk and happily caught the sandwich his sister threw to him.
Taking a closer look at the food, an expression of disgust quickly formed as he turned to stare at me.
What’s wrong? Is the bread moldy or something? Upon completing my own inspection, I figured out what was most likely upsetting the man.
“Leandra, could I see you in private for a moment?” he asked, getting up and pointing to a spot about ten feet away.
I did as he requested, much to the confusion of Chrissie who was left sitting there all by herself. Before I could get a word in, Samuel went off like a firecracker.
“Do you have any idea how fucking embarrassed I am right now? The scene at breakfast was bad enough, but you add in my douchebag cousin and now this? I’m mortified that my mom brought us sandwiches consisting of two pieces of bread with one slice of bologna and no condiments,” he confessed apologetically, shaking his head in disbelief. “I know you have money coming out your ass, and this radical difference in lifestyle must be completely appalling. All I can do is beg your forgiveness and promise you that we’ll go shopping later tonight.”
In response, I sighed and gently placed my hand on his arm.
“Just because I live a lavish existence doesn’t mean I think I’m better than anyone else. It makes me appreciate my life when I’m reminded that others are not as fortunate. If you think I would ever look down on you or your sister, then you don’t know me at all. While bologna is not my first choice, it’s a hell of a lot more appealing than dead skunk on the side of the road. Relax, okay? I’m fine. Have you met me? If I’m not fine, then you’ll be the first to know. I don’t hold back. Ever.”
“It’s just…seeing you out of your element like this…it’s kind of strange,” he admitted, pointing to messy hair piled haphazardly into a bun to keep it out of my face and a fresh complexion free of the make-up that sweated off hours ago.
“I’m pretty much a ‘ride or die’ chick,” I insisted. “I’m going to support my fake husband no matter what. Whether I’m helping haul wood or pulling my switchblade on Todd’s ass, I got your back.”
“I noticed,” Samuel teased with a lop-sided grin. Holy shit. Are we flirting? Should I take off my shirt and fuck him behind the wood pile?
“What else did you notice?” I asked seductively, raising my eyebrow and taking a step closer.
Of course, he immediately cleared his throat, backed up, and quickly side-stepped me in order to get started on our gourmet lunch.
“Is everything okay?” Chrissie asked with concern, eyes going back and forth from me to her brother.
“I don’t like orange soda,” I responded, throwing the can at Samuel which he deftly caught and popped open. “I’ll just drink water from the garden hose.” Yes, desperation was setting in at this point.
“Why is Todd farming the land?” Samuel asked his sister in a wildly abrupt change of topic. “Why can’t dad hire some farmhands and manage the place himself?”
“Most days he never leaves the house, even to go outside. He’s in no condition to do anything right now.”
“Because he’s sick?” Samuel pondered with concern.
“No. He hasn’t had any surgeries since you left.”
“It’s not my business, but what kind of accident did he have and why does it matter if he lets someone else tend to the fields?” I asked in an effort to understand the situation. I can’t fix things if I don’t know the facts.
“If you rent the land instead of farm it yourself,” Samuel explained, “you don’t make nearly the amount of money that yo
u would otherwise. He’s going to end up with about one third of what he usually gets in an average year.”
I couldn’t help but notice that only answered one of my questions. I turned to Chrissie for more details.
“There was an accident with a tractor near the end of the season last year. It…he…his legs were trapped and got badly mangled. After a few surgeries, they had no choice but to partially amputate one leg at the knee and the other at the foot. He refuses to go to any kind of physical therapy or rehab. It’s like he’s just given up on life altogether.”
That would explain the mounting medical bills and the reason why Samuel took off. I’m guessing that the average Kansas farmhand’s paycheck isn’t anything remotely close to what he’s making by working for me.
“We’re done with this conversation,” Samuel declared forcefully, as though his word was law. He shoved half a sandwich in his mouth, got up, and walked away while mumbling something about getting me a glass of water.
“Is he usually such a happy-go-lucky person?” I asked Chrissie, “Or is this permanent bad mood of his a recent development?”
She shrugged and stared off into the distance as though afraid to answer.
“We’re nine years apart in age, so it’s not like we hung out much as kids. I mean…I was only eight when he was in high school and doing stuff with his friends all the time. He used to be…happier…before things started to fall apart around here. Did Sam ever…? No. Never mind.”
What was she going to say? There’s nothing that annoys the piss out of me like an unfinished sentence.
“Chrissie, let me tell you a little story, okay? Due to personal experience, I can not handle it when someone doesn’t finish their thought. My great grandpa sat at the dinner table and called out to my great grandma one night as they finished eating. He said, ‘Can you…’ and then abruptly keeled over of a heart attack. It haunted my gran until her dying day because she never did figure out what he was going to say. In my world, we don’t leave our thoughts hanging. Spit it out.”
“I just wondered if Sam told you about Jacob,” she whispered, immediately turning around to make sure her brother hadn’t suddenly come back.
Who the fuck is Jacob? It’s bad enough I had the mystery of ‘Todd’ and now she’s throwing a ‘Jacob’ at me too? At some point the woman is going to realize I don’t know shit about my supposed ‘husband,’ and she’s going to call us out on our fake marriage.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she blurted hysterically before running off into the house.
I rolled my eyes and leaned back in the grass, gazing up at the clouds. Let’s take stock of the situation. We have one Irish criminal mastermind who is supposed to be on a spontaneous cross country road trip vacation. But am I? Fuck no. I’m stuck in a low-budget soap opera with no clothes, no shower, and a shitload of bologna. Literally and figuratively. This whole entire experience is one mountain of bologna. Next time I’m on the run from trouble at home, I’m going to take a plane to the Caribbean and fuck my way through a fleet of cabana boys while working on my tan. This is bullshit right here.
A large hulking figure suddenly loomed over me, blocking out the sunlight.
“Break’s over, boss. Time to get back to work,” Samuel announced while holding out a hand to lift me up. I took the glass of water he also offered, gulping it down in record time.
“What does this job pay?” I asked, slowly running a finger over my lips and leering at my bodyguard.
“Sorry, Leandra. A wise woman once told me that you always negotiate the price before any work gets done. You’re shit out of luck this time.”
I grunted in frustration at his wisdom. Of course, I was the one who taught him that.
“Hey, is your sister okay? She started to ask me a question and then ran off into the house as though something was very wrong.”
“What did she say?”
I put a hand on his arm and looked him dead in the eyes to convey that this was serious, confessing, “She wanted to know if you told me anything about someone named ‘Jacob,’ but then never explained what that meant.”
“Fuck,” he sighed, shaking his head and most likely wishing he was somewhere else…anywhere else.
“I think she’s going to catch on to the fact that I’m supposed to be your wife, yet know nothing about you.”
Samuel took a deep breath as though debating whether to speak or shut down entirely like he usually did. After much deliberation, he met my gaze with a stony expression.
“Jacob is my brother. Was my brother. He’s…dead.”
Samuel’s voice broke a little and I had to wonder just how much the man suffered in his short life. I stood on my tip toes and wrapped my arms around him. He was getting comforted whether he wanted it or not. Much to my surprise, he returned the embrace and clung to me in a way he never has before.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I whispered in his ear. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Just know that I’m here for you. Please tell me you got revenge on the person that killed him. If that’s what we came here for, I swear to God I’ll help you bring justice to his murderer and bury the body where no one will ever find it.”
Samuel pulled away and stared down at me with a look of longing for something he desperately wanted but wouldn’t let himself have.
“Thank you. I think, deep down, some part of me knows that you really would help me kill someone and then give me a rock solid alibi. I appreciate that, Leandra.”
He slowly leaned over and gently kissed me on the forehead. We were totally having a moment and I didn’t want to blow it by grabbing him for a real kiss and possibly more. I can be a lady sometimes if I try really hard.
“The whole ‘accomplice to murder’ thing isn’t necessary though,” Samuel continued. “Jacob died from a drug overdose.”
I nodded in understanding. Drugs were a problem in every corner of the world. That’s why I made damn sure to get quality merchandise for Ian in the hopes that I could pay attention to how much my brother was using and know exactly where it came from.
Fuck.
Ian!
That’s why Samuel hated him so much. The drugs! It must have reminded him of his own brother’s struggles. No sooner had I opened my mouth to ask about this, when Chrissie slammed the front door and rejoined our tree cutting party.
“Are we finishing this or what? The tree isn’t going to neatly pile itself up unless we keep at it,” she informed us, stating the obvious.
“We were waiting for you, slacker. Now get your ass back to work,” I demanded.
The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully with way too much sweat, manual labor, and lack of fun or excitement. We had the tree eighty-five percent handled when Samuel decided to call it a day.
“I vote that we make a run into town for some supper, go shopping for much-needed supplies, and then crash early. This has been one long day,” Samuel advised, wiping the perspiration from his brow.
Oh, but it wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. The drama had barely even begun.
What could make today even more thrilling? Good question.
The answer to that?
Roughly one hundred and fifty pounds of blonde bimbo marching up the driveway and waving frantically in Samuel’s direction.
“Sammie! You’re home! You’re really home!” she shouted, quickening her pace as she ran directly towards my bodyguard.
Fuck. That.
“Oh, hell no,” I muttered under my breath, taking up a defensive stance and planting myself right in front of my man like I was a human shield. Once the bitch got closer, I was able to make out a few interesting details.
Number one, this broad had curves in all the right places…starting with a chest laden with two perfectly large round tits, and traveling all the way down to tanned and toned legs showcased by the tiny jean shorts she wore. Her blonde hair was done up in the sexiest little side braid that screamed ‘sweet innocence’
and ‘dirty slut’ both at the same time, if that were even possible.
Number two, the whore had stars in her eyes when she looked at Samuel. Not like an unrequited crush, but more along the lines of the way you stare at a long lost love that’s returned home to you. As in…she’d had a taste of him and wanted more.
Number three, and most important, the skank sported a nice, fat middle. That’s correct…she was very plump with child. Knocked up. Bun in the oven. Preggers.
Holy fuck. I took a step to the side and forced myself to remain calm. Do the math, Lee! You’ve known Samuel since January and it was now July, but he left Kansas a month or two before moving to New York…fuck. This bitch is showing big-time. I know nothing about babies and pregnancy and how round you get during which month!
“How far along are you, honey?” I demanded without thinking clearly. If this was Samuel’s baby, I was going to have a meltdown.
She stopped dead in her tracks about six feet away from us. I think I can safely assume that she expected to find Samuel by himself and had not accounted for my presence.
Stupid bitch cocked her head, twirled a stray blonde curl around her finger, and blinked her eyes a few times as though she could make me disappear if she tried hard enough. A hand went down to her protruding belly, ironically covered with a red gingham maternity top that reminded me of a fucking table cloth, and she rubbed the baby bump.
“I’m almost five months along,” the hillbilly doppelganger for Elly May Clampett chirped happily.
A relieved sigh whooshed out of my lungs and I finally felt my heart return to a normal rhythm. Thank God for prayers answered today.
I felt a firm hand suddenly wrap around the back of my neck, and Samuel slowly worked his thumb in a stress-relieving circle as though this was the most casual thing in the world. Yes, it felt nice, but I was too distracted to enjoy it.
“Hello, Betty Jo,” he drawled, pulling me closer while staring at the woman strangely. “Congratulations on your pregnancy. I’m sure Pete is thrilled.”
Holy shit. Maybe Betty Jo is just a friend or a neighbor and she was genuinely glad Samuel was home. Maybe she was worried after his abrupt departure. Maybe my bodyguard was best friends with Pete and I just made a complete jackass of myself by that blatant display of jealousy.