by Sosie Frost
And I didn’t know how to tell her the truth.
I hesitantly picked my path through the unstable underbrush. Weeds and grassed choked the path. I hadn’t been to the pond since I was a kid. Didn’t look like anyone had been here since then either.
Ambrose crashed out of the bushes. I didn’t mind the dog, but I didn’t trust him. He was too damn smart…and fixated on my fake leg.
“Not gonna happen,” I said. “It’s screwed on. You can’t steal it now.”
He bent in the bushes, head down, wagging his tail like I’d just stumbled into a trap. Knowing that pooch, he’d probably set it himself. But I’d spent enough time with the mutt to realize he meant for me to follow him. Whether he aimed to herd me into a pen at the end of the trail remained to be seen.
I followed him, cautiously, hurrying only once Gretchen’s panicked cry echoed over the pond.
“Ambrose!” She squealed. “Heel! Get them!”
Three quick whistles dissolved into yet another shout. I broke through a grove of trees only to intrude upon a moment of Kafkaesque insanity.
I’d fought overseas. Survived the most dangerous locations on earth.
I’d endured firefights, narrowly escaped gas attacks, and even walked away from a helicopter crash with only a couple bruises.
But never, in my fifteen years of service, had I witnessed anything as merciless, violent, or downright evil as the six Canadian geese beating the ever-loving shit out of Gretchen.
A flurry of snapping beaks and flapping feathers assaulted the girl. She waved a futile fist, but the geese seized the opportunity to dive for her exposed nose. They hissed and attacked from above, divebombing her head to paddle their webbed feet against her cheek.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
I didn’t know anything about how geese attacked…
But Gretchen was losing.
She attempted to crawl away. It only led her closer to the water where more of the birds lurked in the weeds. They defended their position with ferocity and feathers, honking a battle-cry that echoed into the afternoon. Half a dozen would-be Christmas dinners flanked Gretchen from the cat tails, heads low, necks curled, tongues flayed in a hiss.
Ambrose did his best, corralling the rest of the herd with a quick bark and mock charge.
I’d never seen anything so pathetic in my life.
Or hilarious.
I called to Gretchen, arms crossed, enjoying the melee. “So…the hunter becomes the hunted?”
She didn’t find it funny. Hard to laugh with a mouth full of mud and a webbed foot wedged in her ear. She swore at me from the midst of feathers, beady eyes, and honking vengeance.
“Damn it, sailor!”
She swung her arm once more, successfully batting away one of the more aggressive geese. Indignant, he snatched a war trophy before waddling to the pond. Her sunglasses.
“What happened?” I asked.
“There’s goslings! He didn’t tell me there’d be goslings. Help me!”
I wasn’t moving an inch. Only wished I’d had the foresight to video this. “What’s the matter, sweetness? Tough enough to harass a man out of his parking spot, but you can’t handle a couple birds?”
Gretchen groaned. “I fell. Sprained my ankle. They can sense weakness.”
The biggest of the bastards circled back. He started in the pond, flapping his wings to take to the air. With a ferocious honk and a fluttering of feathers, the goose played a game of chicken with Gretchen, and the goose won. He collided with her, head first, rows upon rows of moderately serrated gums gnawing on her neck.
Gretchen sighed. “Can you just help me?”
And to think. These assholes used to be dinosaurs. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
And Gretchen had tumbled beneath them.
Ambrose barked, but I didn’t see the blur of feathers until it cracked me alongside the head. I shoved the little fucker away, but the damage was done. I fell to the dirt, landing hard on my ass.
“Close your legs!” Gretchen lurched towards me. “They go for the—”
A beak snuck close to my crotch and pecked at my pecker. The white flash of pain yielded to the rush of furious red.
I shouted. “Every last one of these bastards is getting a loaf of bread stuffed up their asses!”
Gretchen’s turn to cackle. She hobbled towards me, diving into my arms as the merciless geese once more divebombed my balls. Hell no. I kicked, startling most of them away. Ambrose handled the rest.
“Christ, I thought ISIS was bad,” I said.
“Just hope they don’t take lessons from the geese.”
I managed to kneel and forced myself to stand. Gretchen wasn’t as lucky. She whistled for the dog—whom the geese actually respected—and bought us a few precious seconds to escape. The geese retreated, settling back in the pond to resume their afternoon.
Gretchen panted, leaning against me as she caught her breath.
She wasn’t putting any weight on her left foot.
The woman knew how to rock those booty shorts. Problem was, the Geese Police uniform came with it. The flamboyantly yellow, horrendously oversized safety vest covered those skintight shorts.
Damn it. Now I couldn’t tell where the ugly vest ended and my fetish began. I loved those long legs, but I liked them whole and without injury. She held her left foot out, inspecting the muddy, feather-stricken tennis shoes. Her ankle had already swelled. She’d sprained it.
And we were in the middle of fucking nowhere. Great.
“You’re hurt,” I said.
“I tripped.”
“Before or after the geese attacked?”
Gretchen thrust a finger into my face. “We will never, ever talk about this. You got me?”
I smirked. “Bad for business?”
“If word gets out about this, I won’t have any business. And right now? This is all the business I have.”
“What are you talking about? There’s a shit ton of geese in Butterpond.”
“That’s because I keep chasing the same flock between here and Ironfield!”
I blinked. “What?”
“They’re the same damn geese! I shoo them from Butterpond, they go to Ironfield. Then I go to Ironfield and shoo them back.”
“You’re in cahoots with the birds?”
“Not intentionally…” Gretchen winced, attempting to take a step. “It just worked out that way.”
“For how long?”
“…Three summers?”
“Christ. Who polices the Geese Police?”
“It’s still better than killing them,” she said. “It’s humane.”
“Better give them a cut of the birdseed.”
She frowned. “Already tried to put them on Becky Scarsdale’s land. They won’t stay.”
“Why not?”
“They’re afraid of the bears.”
“Bears?”
“I got fired, remember?” Gretchen huffed. “Mayor Desmond can protect his own picnic baskets.”
Jesus Christ. The goddamned Middle East was less hazardous than Butterpond.
Gretchen took my hand. “I think I need some help getting back to the car.”
Was she serious? “You realize between that between us we only have two functioning legs.”
“I don’t need much help. Let me hop on you.”
“Hop on me later. You’re not going to make it to the car.”
Gretchen hopped once. Twice. Then nearly crashed into the bushes.
This wasn’t going to work.
I gritted my teeth and stopped her. “Go limp.”
She rolled her eyes. “Now is not the time to play that game.”
I never issued an order twice. I reached down and grasped her legs. She squealed as I swung her into my arms, but I didn’t trust my leg to let me get very far with her cradled against my chest.
Wasn’t dignified, but it was effective. I modified a buddy hold and hauled her over my shoulder, gripping her tight with an arm, leg, and
prayer.
I took a step.
The leg held. So did the rest of me. Wasn’t the weight that bothered me, just the unsteady terrain. But she’d wanted a rescue. Hopefully it’d get me blown later.
“Marius, put me down!” Gretchen slapped my back. That wouldn’t help, not unless she wanted us both to end up in the weeds. “You can’t carry me!”
Like hell. I hadn’t lost any strength, just a limb. And I’d be damned if I let a little swamp, prosthetic leg, and a fucking goose prevent me from rescuing my girl.
I took it slow, but I refused to let her go. She struggled against me. Did it make me a bastard if I enjoyed her helpless wiggle? I gave her ass a slap anyway, and it got her to behave—for a moment, at least.
She clung to my shirt. Didn’t trust me? Not like I was going to drop her. Didn’t matter if I imbedded what was left of my leg into the damn prosthetic, I’d eat the pain.
I wouldn’t hurt the girl.
My body was crippled, not my pride.
“You shouldn’t be doing this,” she said.
“Stop worrying about my goddamned leg.” The words bit a little too harsh. “I’m not a child…or an invalid.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
But she thought it. Most people did. “You should know better. You’re out in the middle nowhere, falling down. Getting hurt. What the hell were you thinking?”
Now she stiffened, but she merely swung around my shoulder to wag her finger in my face. “Don’t you take that tone with me. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“Recreating Jurassic Park with some fucking geese.”
“I’m doing my job.”
And it was a stupid fucking profession. “You don’t need to do this job. You shouldn’t be doing this job.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re falling on your ass in a swamp. You could be pregnant, sweetness. You gotta start thinking about shit like that.”
Her struggling ceased, and she softly rubbed my shoulder.
Oh.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?”
Her voice softened. “I was going to tell you.”
Damn it.
Fuck. The third month in a row?
Was it supposed to be this hard to knock up a girl?
I didn’t want to know the answer to that, but I was afraid I already did.
How long until she figured it out?
I pushed through the weeds and carried her to the flatter, more stable land, letting her down only once we approached the parking lot. She limped to her car and rested against the car’s hood.
“Maybe…” She straightened a puff of curls that had fallen out of her pigtail. “Maybe we should see a doctor?”
“Yeah. Might need an x-ray.”
“I meant…” She shrugged. “You know. For the…”
And what was a doctor going to tell me that I didn’t already know?
That we hadn’t already discussed?
That didn’t already terrify me?
“You’re gonna get pregnant,” I said. “It’s only been three months.”
“I should be pregnant already,” she said. “What happens when we go to your interview?”
“You just smile and don’t drink the wine.”
“Marius—”
“Damn it, I’m going to knock you up. Don’t fucking worry about it.”
She crossed her arms. Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to be stressful. It was sex. Good sex. Messy. Sloppy. Animalistic. Sex with no conditions, no rules, and no fucking condoms. As natural as a woman could get with her legs spread and pussy aching.
This arrangement was a man’s dream.
But not when Gretchen’s eyes watered. She sniffled once, but she didn’t cry.
That was good. I could handle getting my leg blown off, but seeing her cry?
Damn it.
I looked away. “You should still be careful. The ground’s uneven here. All you need is to tumble down a gopher hole. The geese would tear you apart.”
She winked. “Now you see why my job is so important.”
Not the word I would have chosen. “You herd geese.”
“It pays the bills. Barely. But I can manage.”
I didn’t want her managing. I wanted her protected. “Don’t worry about money. This job’s enough to support us both.”
“The job is important to me, sailor.”
That didn’t make any fucking sense. “You scare geese. Professionally.”
Her bottom lip pouted. “So?”
“You can be replaced by an airhorn.”
“People pay for my services.”
People would pay a hell of a lot more for what she did with me at night, but I sure as fuck wasn’t letting her sell it. “It’s a quirky, fun little job for Butterpond. But what’s gonna happen when we go to DC?”
Gretchen quieted. Like she hadn’t even considered it.
Like she hadn’t even thought of our life in Washington.
She busied herself with her swollen ankle, reaching for her shoe. I stopped her before she did something stupid.
“Don’t take it off,” I said. “It’ll start to swell. We need to get some ice on it and rest. Can’t have you limping on a busted ankle when we go for the interview next week.”
“I’m tough.”
“Figure we can look at a couple apartments while we’re there,” I said. “Check out the neighborhoods.”
She puffed a deep breath between her lips, masking it as a hiss of pain. “You’re…already thinking about that?”
“I plan for every contingency.”
“This is just a…contingency?”
“If I leave it up to you, you’ll have us living in a fucking cabinet somewhere, judging by your choice of housing. I’d rather get something and settle it quickly. Don’t want you hauling boxes around while you’re nine months pregnant.”
“You want to live in DC then?”
“Or someplace with a decent commute.”
“What about a commute from Butterpond?”
“An eight hour drive every morning might be rough.” I wasn’t in the mood for her bullshit. “What’s wrong?”
Gretchen hesitated. “Nothing. It’s just…”
“Jesus, what?”
“I talked to my dad. He knows we’re trying. Chloe told him about the pharmacy, and he called me out on it.”
Great. I’d saved her ass, but who was gonna save mine? I’d survived the geese to get gunned down by an overprotective father.
She met my gaze. “He wants to meet you.”
“I am impregnating his daughter.” I nodded. “I owe him a handshake, at least.”
“He’s…not going to the Bahamas.”
Wasn’t expecting that. I tensed, but Gretchen didn’t know when to stay quiet. She sputtered, the words escaping in a rush.
“He said he wants to stay in Butterpond. Especially if he’s going to have a grandchild. Especially since we're not married. He doesn’t quite trust our arrangement.”
My voice hollowed. “Do you?”
She quieted. So did I. My heart crashed against my ribs.
What the hell did I have to do to prove to this woman that I cared for her?
Did she want me to say it? Did she want me to demonstrate it?
Gretchen was the only woman who could ever tempt me to do something this insane. And the further I lost my grip on reality, the more sense our plan made.
I could fuck her. Hold her down. Cum inside her. But she hadn’t given herself completely to me yet.
And I had no idea why.
“I know you can take care of me.” Gretchen winced. I opened the door to my truck and helped her into the seat. “But I will not be a burden or dependent on you.”
“Responsibility is responsibility,” I said. “I made a promise to you, and I’m going to follow through. I will be the one taking care of you and that baby whether you want it or not.”
“Marius—”
“You have n
o idea what you’re doing for me, sweetness. But I’m going to make sure you’re rewarded for it.”
“I don’t want a reward.”
“Then what is it?”
She said nothing. Neither did I, but I tasted the profanity on my lips.
“I don’t know what you want,” I said. “Romance? Fairytales? There’s no such thing as Prince Charming. And happily-ever-afters never happen. That’s your own insecurity talking. Fear of change and the unknown and hardship. Well, everyone is afraid of that, Gretchen. It doesn’t make you weak, it makes you practical.”
“It means something more to me,” she said.
“You can either have your rose petals and champagne…or you can have the guy who’s gonna be there at two in the morning to get you some ice cream.”
“And that’s what you want?” She shrugged. “An arrangement? Responsibility?”
“I want a baby—and I’ll do anything to get it.” That should have been the end of it. But my gut ached in her silence. “You don’t want to go to DC.”
She spoke too quickly. “I didn’t say that.”
“You’re thinking it.”
“I didn’t know Dad would stay.”
Jesus Christ. I tapped my hand against the truck. “Remember what you told me? Remember when you said you were lonely? How you wanted to take charge of your life?”
She frowned. “What’s your point?”
“You can’t do it in Butterpond.”
“Why not?”
Did I really have to be the bad guy? “Your dad might be staying here, but he’s gonna get married. He’s having another kid. His life is starting over again—and he has Chloe at his side to help him.”
“We don’t know that,” she said. “Chloe might break his heart. Leave him at the altar.”
“Sure…or they might be absolutely in love and be perfect together.” I didn’t want to say it, but she needed to hear it. “What’s going to happen in ten years, sweetness? Fifteen? Twenty? What’s gonna happen when he’s not here anymore?”
Too much. She nearly leapt out of the truck. I held her in place, ensuring she didn’t fuck up her ankle any worse.
Her voice wavered. “I’m not thinking about that.”
“It’s time you did. You need to start living your own life. That’s why you wanted this baby. Let this be an opportunity to have something of your own.” My voice lowered. “You can’t watch over your dad forever. You can’t shield him from these mistakes. And you have to be willing to take that chance and find something for yourself. Last thing you want is to look up ten years down the line and realize life passed you by because you were too scared to take that step.”