Striking

by Lila Felix

  Cami

  I crawled out of the shower after a day of work.

  I literally crawled out of the shower after a full freaking day of work.

  Oh my god, these people hated me. They were supposed to be my family. They were supposed to care about me! They were supposed to love me.

  Instead, they took away my spring-line Valentino’s, and forced me into boots-and not the cute kind. Oh no, the working kind, the kind that had leather laces and rubber soles.

  I cringed just thinking about them.

  Especially because now they were covered in mud.

  Mallory and Henry had me all over the farm today. This morning I was forced to clean out cow crap with an f-ing shovel. Literal crap. With an actual shovel. Then to the backyard where I was commanded to give all freaking four dogs a bath. That was comical. Each of them probably weighed more than me and by the end of it, I swear they had given me a bath in drool! Finally, it was off to the sheep-who I’m fairly certain keep looking at me like I’m a tasty meal-to herd them from one field to the next. At least Stockton had done something useful yesterday by showing me how to utilize the dogs. Those freaking dogs-T-bone, Lamb chop, Filet… or something like that. At least they got the sheep moving. Which was so much better than me trying to chase after them.

  This was supposed to cure me of my bad decisions and recklessness??? Mallory was going to drive me straight to a heroin addiction. This was the seventh circle of hell and I wanted out.

  Now.

  “Camdyn, when you’re done in there, can you come down? I have a favor to ask of you,” Mallory called up the stairs from the kitchen.

  Translation: I haven’t tortured you enough today, so I need you to carry out my evil bidding before you think about robbing the closest liquor store.

  Sure thing Aunt Lucifer. I live to serve.

  At home I would have taken the next two hours to get ready. It would have included a luxurious amount of primping and outfit picking out. I probably would have re-painted my toes and definitely spent time matching my shoes to my current mood. But sensing Mallory wouldn’t put up with that kind of behavior, I changed into some simple black leggings and a soft pink off the shoulder tunic. I threw my hair over my head and gave it a quick blow dry with my diffuser. Thank god I had thought ahead and packed that necessity. Leaving my long blond locks mostly damp I used my favorite hair product and let it fall wildly around my shoulders. Secretly, this was how I preferred my hair, easy and natural, but I could never have gotten away with this in LA-except maybe on the beach.

  Finally, I finished with minimal makeup. I was too vain to go completely without, but honestly I didn’t see the point in trying to impress my aunt and all her sheep. In fact, I was kind of trying to un-impress the sheep, since I did not want to send them the wrong message.

  “How can I help you, Aunt Mallory?” I asked from the doorway to the well-used kitchen-it was just so…. country. I leaned my shoulder against the doorframe pretending to be casual and relaxed; meanwhile I could barely hold myself upright I was so tired and sore.

  “Last night, Stockton stopped by and fixed that gate,” my aunt explained over a pot of boiling, uh, something.

  I shivered involuntarily at the mention of Stockton. But bit down on my lip to keep myself from asking the hundreds of questions that popped up. Starting with, did he usually repair gates in the dead of night?

  “Henry promised him some of my canned goods for his work, but since he came while all us normal folks were asleep, I wasn’t able to give them to him.” So that answered that question, gate-repair did not usually happen at midnight. “I want you to drive all this on over to him, before he sits down for supper tonight.”

  “Supper?” I repeated and then realized she meant dinner. “Oh, so like right now?”

  “Yeah,” she answered in a mocking tone. “Like right now.”

  I rolled my eyes behind her back, but voiced out loud, “I don’t know where I’m going, um, ma’am. I could look over your pot of, uh, stew? And you could go. I don’t mind.”

  Mallory snorted at my offer. “Camdyn, don’t take this the wrong way, but there is no way on this great green Earth that I would let you anywhere near my stove.”

  I paused for dramatic effect and then asked dryly, “Alright, what way would you like me to take that?”

  My aunt was so not impressed. “That’s enough. Now, I wrote down some directions for you to follow. You can take my truck; you’ll notice the directions follow roads. Please no joyriding through the middle of any of our stores. My people down here don’t have the kind of fancy insurance your mother has to protect them against the likes of you.”

  “Ouch, Aunt Mallory. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t trust me.” I was mostly being sarcastic, but her little digs had somehow dug into my thick armor in a way I wasn’t entirely comfortable with. I walked over to the kitchen table and picked up a very heavy box full of jarred…. everything and balanced it in my arms a bit unstably. The multiple sealed mason jars clinked together as I tried to stabilize myself before I dumped it all over Mallory’s floor.

  “I don’t trust you or the devil inside you, girl. Now get going so you can be back on time for supper. Your Uncle Henry is going to come in hungry, and I won’t make him wait on you,” she nodded toward the kitchen door that lead out back to the driveway.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I half-shouted, very military like. I would have saluted just to be a bitch, but my arms were currently balancing a thousand pounds of mushy peaches and something green, which I didn’t even want to guess what it was.

  Psht. The devil inside me. What she didn’t know was that I was just rotten enough I didn’t need the devil telling me how to screw up. I got there all by myself.

  Now there was something to be proud of.

  I wobbled my way to her rust-bucket truck and then balanced the box of canned goods between my hip and the death trap I would be driving, so I could jimmy the door open. I slid the box onto the passenger’s seat, buckled it in for good measure, and then climbed up the driver’s side.

  Nothing in this hillbilly hellhole could be easy though and I had to spend three entire minutes trying to climb up into the cab in my slippery ballet flats. Once successfully placed in the driver’s seat, I stuck the keys in the ignition and started the engine.

  I screamed at the top of my lungs when the engine came roaring to life. This could not be good for the environment. Who was going to hell now, Aunt Mallory, you tree-killing-ozone-destroying-exhaust-sucker?

  Ok, I didn’t really care about the environment. But it was nice to know I had something on her if push came to shove.

  You want me to shovel what kind of poop? Sorry, Auntie M, I can’t take orders from someone Captain Planet would dedicate an entire episode to.

  I thundered down the drive and then out onto the main highway. Stockton’s house wasn’t too far from the homestead I was imprisoned on, so it didn’t take me long to get there. It helped there was only two right turns total, otherwise I probably would have found myself lost and made into an extra on The Hills Have Eyes-Redneck County Edition.

  Stockton’s drive was just as long as my aunt and uncles’. In fact, his whole property was very similar. The newly green grass was vibrant and vivid; the property nestled in between rolling hills that were decorated with well built, elegant iron fences. The gravel drive was a blasé grey against the colorful wilderness that spread out in either direction. If Tennessee wasn’t so f-ing backwards it had some definite potential to be really pretty.

  Eventually I came upon an older style farmhouse, with a wraparound front porch and a newly painted white swing hanging from the ceiling. There was an out building directly next to the house with smoke billowing out of the top of it. I thought maybe it was a barn at first, but by the time I parked the truck in front of the house I was hoping it had nothing to do with animals. The thick, constant stream of smoke did not bode well for any living thing that entered through those doors.
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br />   I paused in the cab of the truck for several moments, not brave enough to face Stockton again.

  After church yesterday I was convinced I could win him over with a little bit of charm and some pretty smiles. I mean, come on, it wasn’t like I had a whole lot of competition around here. Plus, I knew he was checking me out during church…. the naughty boy.

  My full set of teeth was probably enough to knock any of these country boys straight on their asses.

  But then I was mortified afterwards when he had caught me trying to move those damn sheep in my Vivian Westwood heels! I mean, come on Universe, that just wasn’t fair. He was obviously not impressed with my sheep-herding skills, and apparently not patient enough to give me a verbal lesson.

  In fact, he seemed to go out of his way not to say anything to me at all! Bastard.

  Rat bastard.

  But god, those muscles. I shivered again, even though the cab of the truck was plenty warm. He threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing and I think I liked it.

  Damn him.

  There was something so alpha about him, so primal. The thought of my body wrapped around his, his huge, calloused hands gripping my legs, my hands holding those firm muscles that swathed his back…. oh my god. They didn’t make boys like that out in LA.

  Sure, all of the models and aspiring actors-and believe me, there were about a bajillion of those-had muscles to spare. But Stockton’s were born out of real work, and hard life. The playboys back home built their bodies in air-conditioned gyms with personal trainers and protein shakes.

  And the way he just took care of me, without asking. First his jacket. I hadn’t even had a chance to complain about being cold! I had no idea how he even guessed I was uncomfortable. And ok, maybe carrying me across the field hooked over his shoulder, with my ass hanging in the air, wasn’t the most thoughtful way of being chivalrous. But…. I had been pissed about ruining my shoes, and with every step my heels had sunk helplessly into the spring-soft grass. He saved me the headache of trying to make it back to the house without snapping a heel or worse, an ankle.

  Plus, I couldn’t really forget that he’d gotten the f-ing sheep where they were supposed to go.

  Without him, I would have been stuck out there for the majority of the day!

  However, I would never tell him how thankful I was for his assistance.

  He still acted like a complete jackass.

  Ok, big breath in. I could do this. I could face him.

  I slid down from the monster-high truck cab and sashayed up to the front door-just in case he was watching and had started to wonder what in the hell I was doing in the truck. Confidence was key when facing a cocky-thinks-he-knows-best-hillbilly.

  I raised my hand and knocked firmly on the screen door. When nothing happened, I knocked again. Still nothing. I looked around for a doorbell, but of course, that would be way too modern for these parts.

  I wondered if Stockton lived with his parents, or if this was his property. I would be reluctantly impressed if he owned this all by himself. He couldn’t be that much older than me. And while I flopped around like a fish out of water, it didn’t seem fair that he would have his life together enough to own his own house.

  “Hello,” I called out loudly at the screen door. “Anybody home?” I cleared my throat and knocked again.

  Ok, so maybe I wouldn’t have to face him. Maybe he wasn’t home and I could just leave the canned goods on the porch. Crime for stolen pickled vegetables had to be low around here right? Or maybe my aunt’s mushy fruit was as good as gold….

  Whatever. Worth the risk.

  I would just leave it on front of the step with a note explaining what it was for: fixed gate in the dead of night, you weirdo. Or something like that.

  I turned on my heel and then let out the highest pitched scream I was capable of.

  “Ah!” I screamed again, and then shook my head and stumbled back into the screen door. “Holy shit!”

  “Cami?” Stockton asked behind a mask of dirt and grime.

  “You scared the hell out of me!” I shouted, the irony of my comment not lost on me. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that! You have to warn them if you’re going to stalk around in your best impression of Rambo!”

  “Rambo?” he repeated, not at all amused with my terror.

  My heart was pounding in my chest and my skin tingled with adrenaline. It wasn’t just that he had somehow snuck up behind me, but that he was head to toe covered in streaks of black dirt. He was terrifying.

  And sexy as hell.

  Wait, where did that come from?

  “You look like you’re getting ready for a SWAT mission. Why are you so dirty?” I gasped out, trying to catch my breath.

  He stared down at me, even though he was on the ground and I was up a few steps on his porch. He was obviously annoyed, but he answered, “I was working. You do know what working is, don’t you?”

  His tone and question irritated me beyond the fear that he was the Sasquatch of the Appalachian Mountains here to feast on my poor helpless, virgin body.

  Ok, maybe slightly less than virgin body.

  “I know what work is,” I sniffed. “I worked all day.” I crossed my arms and tried not to take in his sweaty, god-like body. He was all rippling muscle and taut, perfect definition. His face was streaked with black grime, but he was probably the only human being on earth where it actually enhanced the strong lines of his face and full perfect lips that were pressed into a firm line of disapproval. His eyes flashed with annoyance, but their light green color was brilliant against his dirty, sweaty face. He was shirtless underneath worn, denim overalls and if my brain had been able to register anything beyond how f-ing delicious he looked I probably would have been able to come up with some kind of country cliché. Rivulets of sweat ran from his perfectly chiseled neck down his defined chest and awe-inspiring arms. And from the view I had I could see that even though one arm was curiously larger than the other, there was absolutely no physical deformity on this man. He was perfect. I swallowed roughly in an attempt to disguise my embarrassing desire.

  “Wow,” he drawled, not affected at all by me, “One whole day of work. That has to be some kind of record.”

  I quickly snapped out of my lusty haze and sent him a death glare, “What is your problem? You don’t even know me.”

  “I don’t need to know you. I know your type and I’m not buying whatever you’re selling,” he shot back angrily.

  I snorted at that and looked away. I had to. His striking body was distracting me from how pissed off I was at the ugly things falling out of his mouth. “Oh, you know my type? You mean, girls from outside your little hollow? You know a lot about girls that live in actual civilization with things like running water and cell phone service?” I laughed derisively to hammer in my point. “You don’t know anything about me. Or my type. You’re just like everyone else around here, you’re afraid of something different. I’m not going to apologize for my blond hair or tanned skin. I live by something called an ocean. Do you know what that is? If you need help I can pull out my phone, it has something called the internet on it and I can show you a picture. It’s kind of like a lake, but a whole lot bigger and it tastes like salt.” I narrowed my eyes and turned back to face him, daring him to meet my glare.

  To my surprise he did, boldly. His mint green eyes bore into mine with a fierceness I had never seen in real life. My breathing faltered when I realized I didn’t know if he was going to yell at me or kiss me. Something intensified the air between us, like electricity and raw, primitive energy.

  “You got quite a mouth on you, Duchess,” he said slowly, but with no less heat. “Is that why you’re down here? Trying to get all that sass outta you?”

  He was perceptive, I could give him that. “Actually, I like my mouth just how it is.”

  His eyes flared with something powerful, something I was almost afraid of. I swallowed again, and hugged my arms tighter to my body. I had always go
ne for the clean cut type before-literally. I usually liked them both clean and cut. And while he could claim one of those attributes, clean was something yet to be desired, at least at the moment. Still, the thought of launching myself off this porch and wrapping my legs around his waist just to find out if he liked my mouth too was kind of playing on a loop inside my head.

  Maybe I was more messed up than I thought I was…. It wasn’t like he had been all that welcoming to me.

  Still better than Bryce, but god, those could not be my standards.

  While we were having our epic stare down, a Jeep pulled up next to Mallory’s truck and came to a stop. The same gorgeous, dark haired girl that he was sitting next to in church on Sunday jumped down from the cab and bounded up to us.

  Oh no, this had to be his girlfriend. No wonder he was such a dick to me.

  Holy hell, I was working on turning into a home wrecker. What was wrong with me?

  “Hey, Stock,” she called out excitedly. “Who’s your friend?”

  She was all popping energy, bouncing on her toes, unable to stand still. Her hair was a gorgeous deep brown, almost black and it hung in shining waves down her back. She looked more comfortable today than she did on Sunday in black yoga pants and a slim fitted t-shirt. Her eyes were almost identical to Stockton’s with that bright, minty green color. I found myself chanting “sister” in my head, over and over again.

  He didn’t deserve me. He was rude and critical and clearly judgmental. But the thought that he had a girlfriend sat very badly with me. It wasn’t that I wanted him. I just preferred him alone, and miserable and mostly…. alone.

  “Not important, Will, why don’t you go on in the house,” he nodded at the front door, never taking his eyes off me.

  Well, unfortunately for him, I was raised with manners. “I’m Cami,” I smiled at her.

  “I saw you at church, Sunday,” Will said obviously. “You were sitting with Ms. Mallory and Mr. Henry.”

  “My aunt and uncle,” I explained. “I’m staying with them for a while.”

  “Awesome,” she beamed at me genuinely. After a slight pause she offered, “I’m Stockton’s little sister, Will. Uh, Willa, but everyone calls me Will.”