by S. Cook
Tina frowned.
“Damn! That sounds stressful. It sounds like you did the right thing rather than hanging around.”
I shrugged.
“I hope so. I also have a real estate agent working on selling my condo back in Seattle. I bought a home in a rough neighborhood years ago, back when no one wanted to live there. Now, the area’s built up and my ugly condo is appraised at a much higher value than I paid. Eventually I’ll fly back there to pick up or sell my car and my personal possessions. I’m coming out here for the simple life, to get my head on straight and just enjoy the peace.”
“You came to the right place for peace and quiet, most of the time, that is. Every so often we get a good bit of excitement, like tornados or wildlife problems, and this state has had its fair share of wildfires that tend to go on for a couple of weeks. But most days, it’s just going to be you and the big, blue Wyoming sky.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” I said, my smile reaching all the way to my eyes, purposely glossing over everything that Tina had just listed.
I wasn’t going to think about tornados or wild animals, not when I had a freshly signed deed to my own piece of the country still wrapped in its folder in the side pocket of my purse.
We checked out at the electronics store and had one last important stop to make, to the grocery store to stock up on food for my new home. I bought a huge cooler and stocked it with dry ice.
“There should be some chickens running around on your place. You can get eggs from them,” she told me.
We packed up my supplies in the back of Tina’s truck and spent the rest of the day running errands and goofing off in town. I bought Tina lunch at a nice restaurant and ordered extra desserts to go for later.
It felt weird knowing that it would be the last time I saw this much civilization for a while.
Weird and good.
Chapter 5: Leah
“Bye now! I’ll come by to check on you in a couple of weeks, just to visit and to see how you’re getting along,” Tina called from the open window of her truck.
I smiled from the small porch of my new house and waved back. I waited until the truck had made the turn in the road and was out of sight before sitting on one of the tree stumps that served as furniture and dissolving into tears.
My new home was a complete wreck.
Now I understood what Mr. Munroe at the bank had meant about buying it sight unseen. The inside of the house had been completely taken over by animals who ran through the house like thieves on a mission.
The few pieces of furniture had been torn open so that the springs and stuffing burst out, and electrical cords on several of the smaller appliances had been gnawed through.
Most alarming of all were the holes in the roof where sunlight shown through, the product of tiny teeth gnawing at the cedar planks either for fun or for food.
That didn’t hold a candle to the nightmare that was the kitchen.
Cabinet doors were hanging by their rusted hinges from assaults by hungry animals who didn’t waste any time going for the stored food. I’d even opened one drawer and saw a snake slither out of sight.
I’d managed to put on a brave face while Tina was here, even as the girl commiserated with me, but now that I was alone I let the tears flow freely.
Then I stood, resorting to wiping my runny nose on the sleeve of my shirt to avoid having to go back into that house for tissue.
If there was any, and there probably wasn’t.
I refused to think about this situation right now. Instead I’ll take a deep breath and try to figure out a plan to tackle this mess.
I stepped off the porch and headed around the side of the house.
The site in front of me stopped me dead in my tracks.
In front of me was the most horrifying, deadly sight I had seen since first stepping foot off the plane.
An outhouse.
Oh god, no, please don’t let that be a real outhouse, I prayed silently, too afraid to step forward and open the door.
I wracked my brain and couldn’t recall having seen a bathroom in the house. I’d been to upset at seeing the condition the kitchen was in, that I’d naturally assumed the ranch house had a bathroom.
I mean, why wouldn’t I assume there would be an indoor bathroom?
No, no, no, no, Lord, you can call me home right now.
I cannot use an outhouse!
I stayed frozen in place and decided this frightening turn of events was too much to handle.
I would just turn myself around and head the other way and do my exploring on a much more uplifting side of the property.
When I turned around, I came face to face with a stranger standing not two feet away from me.
I let out a terrified scream that quite possibly could have scared off the animals now taking residence in my house, and immediately began punching and kicking at the man.
Only he didn’t budge.
Not even an inch or make the slightest sound.
He stared at me during my screaming assault, not even trying to block my ineffective punches, but not stepping out of the way to avoid them either.
He simply watched me, his left eyebrow going up slightly as he stared at me, confused.
When I had worn myself out a little and finally noticed that my tantrum wasn’t really having any effect, I jumped backwards to put some distance between myself and this heavily tattooed, muscular, unshaven man.
I breathed heavily while trying to formulate a plan.
“I have a gun!” I yelled.
“Where?” he asked quietly. “In the back pocket of your shorts?”
“Maybe,” I replied.
“I’m Mustang,” he said quietly, completely unbothered by my freak-out. “I’m the caretaker.”
“You’re the caretaker?” I managed to croak out. “Jesus! You scared the living crap out of me. Why did you sneak up on me like that?”
“I didn’t,” he said.
“Yes, you did,” I argued somewhat breathlessly, my throat rather raw from all the damn screaming.
My heart pounded against my ribs and I looked at him.
“I’m Leah. Leah Taylor.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” he asked.
“I’m the new owner,” I replied.
His expression didn’t change one bit.
“You bought the ranch?” he asked in the same tone of voice.
“Yes, I did.”
“Let me know if you need anything.”
He turned and started walking away without another word.
I stared after him, frightened and dazed.
“Wait!”
He turned to look at me. “What?”
“I just thought maybe you could ...”
He looked at me impatiently and raised his eyebrows.
I waved a dismissive hand at him.
“Never mind, it’s fine.”
“Suit yourself,” he said.
He turned again and walked away, just like that.
Oh great, I thought, I’d managed to find something scarier than the outhouse. Even worse, he lives on my property, with me, in the middle of nowhere.
I decided this wasn’t the time to go exploring after all and headed to my porch where I slumped down on an old rocking chair.
Rather than letting me relax in its comforting old embrace, I fell right through the rotted slats of the seat, my legs flying up in the air near my shoulders.
Damn!
I stayed like that for nearly half an hour, taking advantage of the position I was in to finish the therapeutic cry that I’d started earlier.
When I finally ran out of tears, I extricated myself from the broken chair and stepped hesitatingly into my own house, being watchful of snakes.
I wasn’t sure what was worse…the rats or the snakes.
At least the snakes didn’t leave their nasty droppings everywhere.
I made as much noise as possible, banging together the cast iron skillets that were st
ill sitting on the stove as I walked through the kitchen, the living room, and up to the loft that overlooked the main room.
Confident that every critter was either long gone or at least well hidden, I decided the kitchen was the most important room to tackle first.
I turned on a battery-operated radio and soon had music to play in the background as I worked. I tackled the sink and stove first, so I could prepare meals. Then washed all the dishes and put them away. All while being watchful of the snake I’d met earlier.
I dared to peek inside the medium-sized refrigerator, afraid of what could be lurking inside. Fortunately, there was no rancid meat in there, just a few boxed items that were easily discarded.
A full two hours passed before I felt anything close to being pleased with the kitchen, but finally elbow grease and lots of soap won out. I put away my recently purchased supplies and went to make up the couch to sleep on, vowing to get to the loft upstairs first thing in the morning.
As I rested my head on my new pillow and stretched out my weary body, I turned over on my back and looked up at the beautiful high-beamed ceilings of my house. I squinted my eyes at the strange black markings dotting the ceiling, hundreds of small black shapes.
Were they moving?
Yes, they were!
I ran from my home screaming again as one of the markings moved. Several other bats stretched out their wings as I screamed, obviously alarmed by the noise. Snatching my blanket and pillow off the couch, I ran out, slamming the door behind me.
The next morning, I was awaked by the feeling that I was being watched. I opened my eyes and yelled again as a face appeared only inches from mine.
“You sure do scream a lot,” Mustang said without smiling. “Why are you asleep on your porch?”
I tried to stretch, but the pain in my back was too great. I sat up, my messy, brown hair standing up in every direction.
“Because there are bats in my house,” I explained somberly, fighting back tears as part of my new policy of not crying ever again about my home. “Between the bats, the rats, and the snakes, I figured I might as well live outside since the outside has decided to move into my house.”
I pulled my blanket around myself to ward off the chill, and because this stranger was eyeing my breasts a little too familiarly for my liking.
“That explains your second round of screaming yesterday. Why don’t you just get rid of the bats?”
“And how do you propose that I do that?” I demanded, too tired, weary, and heartbroken to remember my manners.
“With a broom.”
“A broom? I’m just supposed to go swatting at those things and hope they don’t attack and land in my hair?”
“That’s a myth. Bats don’t nest in people’s hair.”
Nothing seemed to faze this man, not even my complete lack of knowledge about the animals that took up residence in the house.
“Fine. I’ll get a broom and start chasing out the bats.”
“Be sure and open all the windows first or they’ll just fly around the room getting mad. As for the snakes, they’re only there because you have rats.”
“Nice.”
I took a deep breath and held it, refusing to let this get me down.
“Make sure all your food stuff is put up in containers. Better yet, you might want to keep everything edible in the refrigerator.”
“I will, thanks,” I replied in a defeated voice. “Hey, the outhouse over here...that’s not the only bathroom, is it?”
“Of course not,” Mustang answered with a completely blank expression.
“Oh, thank goodness. That’s the best news I’ve heard since arriving here.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled for the first time in twenty-four hours, but it was short lived.
“You now own five hundred acres of bathrooms,” Mustang replied, waving his arms at the vast land behind the house.
He turned and walked away without another word.
What was up with him?
I forced myself to make good on my new vow about no more crying.
But that was a promise that I feared I would break over and over, every single time a new and strange piece of news fell in my lap. And from now on, screaming was to be reserved for life or death situations.
Unfortunately, I broke that last promise when I ventured into my outhouse, pulling open the door and seeing the massive spider web built so thick across the door frame that it almost blocked the view of the inside.
I took a long stick and knocked down the spider web before flinging the stick as far into the nearby woods as I could.
Today’s the day I take back my house, I swore as I put my hand on the doorknob of the house a few minutes later. The animals can either move on out or get used to having me as a roommate.
After working most of the morning on the upstairs loft and successfully encouraging most of the bats to leave, I had the bedroom completed.
The mattress might be worth salvaging since the former owner had never even taken the plastic off it, but I still dragged it out into the yard for some fresh air and to get the musty, closed-house smell out of it.
At noon, I headed downstairs to the kitchen to begin making myself some lunch. I found a pot and began filling it from the tap. I was a little worried when the water didn’t pour out as readily as it had the night before and carried with it a slight brownish tinge. Maybe the pipes were a little rusty.
I set a few potatoes on to boil. Then I opened one of the small packages of dried meat that Tina had helped me pick out, slicing it and placing the pieces in a bowl with a little butter.
When the potatoes were finally soft, I drained off most of the water and dumped them in with the meat and butter, pleased with my first real home-cooked meal in my house.
I took my bowl and mug of coffee leftover from that morning’s pot and sat on my porch, pulling up one of the stumps to use it as a side table. I tested the remaining intact rocker with several pushes of my hand before gently sliding into it, eating my food and watching the clouds pass by overhead.
Off to the west, darker clouds moved ominously in my direction, making me painfully aware that my roof needed patching. I finished my lunch and darted in the house, positioning a pot under each visible hole, ready to move them into more accurate positions if the rain started up.
I need more pots.
There was a weird looking pot in the pantry I’d noticed when I was cleaning up last night. I ran to the pantry and found the enormous metal pot with a hinged, locking lid, a spigot jutting out at the bottom.
Realization dawned on me that this pot served a very real function. I hefted the large pot to the front porch and placed it on a stump in the yard, opening the lid to let the rainwater in.
A special pot to catch fresh water in, I thought, mentally patting myself on the back for my own ingenuity.
Mustang appeared out of nowhere around the side of the house.
“That big pot is for washing your clothes,” he called out as he walked by, not even slowing down.
I watched in silence as he continued on past my house like a phantom ghost man without stopping or offering to help.
Couldn’t he see what a damn predicament I’m in here?
And yet, he walks on by without a care in the world. Any decent man would take ten minutes to help a lady out.
At least I could wash my clothes with the rainwater I collected, if it ever did rain. I went to ask Mustang where he washed his clothes, but he was already gone.
Where did he keep disappearing to? A hole in the ground? A cave?
I figured the smug know-it-all probably beat them on a rock in the river.
He was already nowhere to be seen.
It wasn’t possible, there was no way he could have disappeared in the field around the house that fast, so he had to be lurking nearby somewhere. Hiding behind a tree or something.
I felt the hair rise up on my neck, knowing that he was around, ready to jump out and say something
snarky. I could almost feel him near, watching me and probably laughing at me.
This place was messing with my head.
I looked up at the rock formations surrounding the ranch and for the first time thought I saw hollowed out places that could be caves. Caves that could hide just about anything.
Was that loan officer at the bank serious about there being mountain lions out here?
I could almost sense other sets of eyes watching me, an unsettling feeling that made me glad for the first time that Tina had insisted that I buy the gun. You won’t be ready if you’re not willing to shoot the damn thing, I thought glumly.
I took a deep breath, and knew I had to set up a target and practice if I was ever going to learn to stop being uncomfortable with it.
I dragged the handy stump out away from the house and propped it against a fallen tree trunk. After finding a nail, I pushed the paper target through it and used my boot heel to hammer it into the stump lightly.
I set up the rifle the way Tina had taught me, took aim, closed my eyes, and fired.
Not even close.
Luckily, the box of ammo came with a lot of the little dull gray bullets. I tried again, once again not even hitting the stump, let alone the margin of the large paper target.
I kept trying, not one to let a little thing like total incompetence stop me from working towards my goal.
As I lined up the site on the gun and took aim at the target, a large, weathered hand reached out and wound around mine, helping me hold the barrel steady in its warm grip.
A second hand covered mine as my finger shook nervously above the trigger. Hot breath slid across my cheek as Mustang’s face hovered beside mine, steadying me as I aimed.
I fought the urge to melt into his warm arms, painfully aware that this was the closest I’d been to a man—any man, let alone one as built and good-looking as Mustang—in a long time.
Failed love affairs were the first thing on the list of what had been wrong with my life back home. So much so that I knew coming out here and living like a hermit would at least mean I couldn’t get my heart broken again.
“Don’t close your eyes,” Mustang said softly in the sexiest, huskiest whisper I’d ever heard.
I couldn’t see them from this angle, but I could imagine dark, brown eyes staring straight ahead, willing the bullet where he wanted it to go.