by Law, Adriana
Not a big deal, you can just call your mother and have her send some of your things, ASAP. No, you can’t. One day here and you already need help.
“I knew I was going to hate this place.” She lifted her luggage filled with expensive shoes with no clothes to wear with them and stumbled along sidestepping stagnant puddles. Her nose wrinkled. “What is that smell? Please don’t tell me there’s already a sewage problem.”
“Manure,” a husky voice supplied.
Startled, Megan released the handle of her luggage and whirled around to find a guy leaning against the split rail fence that encased the pasture. A piece of straw dangled between his teeth. He was a cowboy cliché, studying her from under his cowboy hat. Tattered jeans rode low on his hips. His chest was bare, hard and rippled accentuated by a perfect tan six pack. He spit the piece of straw to the ground. “Shit. Cow shit. You do know what that is, don’t you?” a slow smile made an appearance.
“I know what manure is you stupid hick!”
Mouth…watch the mouth.
Silence sparked between them. He devoured her with his raunchy gaze making her suddenly feel naked and in the wrong place at the wrong time. Brown eyes dipped down to the swell of her breast visible in her low cut tank top, his eyes traveled down even further to her shorts, ending on her stilettos. He shook his head, the slow smile transforming into a full fledge chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” she snapped.
“Nothing, I take it you’re Megan?” he came forward, removed his hat and extended a hand.
She imagined him spitting—or worse—in that hand at some point of the day and eyed his palm with distain. He smelled too. Not musky like sweat, which she’d never understood why any woman would find that appealing. No this smell was something different. Megan leaned in a smidge closer and took a deep breath knowing it would aggravate her until she pegged the familiar odor.
Leather.
New leather and spice. That thought only lead into other things that were leather.... whips, straps one could use to tie someone to a bed.
“No thanks,” she replied dismissively to the hand. He took his place back over by the fence and sat his hat low on his head resembling someone who was minutes away from a nap.
Megan continued. So what if she hurt his feelings? Who cared? He was insignificant. All she had to do was follow the yellow brick road to her new happy home. Well, her home until it sold. Crap, she’d almost forgotten…. “I’m supposed to meet Robbie here. Do you know where I can find him?” She glanced further down the dirt drive at the little white “speck” on the horizon. The house wasn’t much to look at, was it? Knee high grass rustled in the rolling fields surrounding the home, yellows and gold’s under a blue, cloudless sky. The only thing she could see that had been maintained was the split rail fence running the length of the fields, as far as her eyes could see there was fencing. Someone had gone through the extra trouble of making sure the fence didn’t suffer the same fate as everything else turning to… well, shit. “Paul assured me Robbie will whip this place back into shape in no time. It’s going to need some extensive repairs… that much is obvious.”
His eyes squinted following the same path as hers, “Yeah, I think I can do something with this place. Might take a little work, but I’m pretty good at what I do.”
Megan remembered her stepfathers exact words. “I have a guy coming out tomorrow to inspect the place. He’s the best, in huge demand, and doing this only as a favor to me. Take good care of him. Make sure he has everything he needs.”
Her eyes slowly combed over the guy. She frowned, displeased. “You’re Robbie? You’re not at all what I expected.”
Okay, twice now her mouth had already gotten her in trouble.
Only now did he unglue himself from his propped position on the fence. His grin was devilish; surely he had every intention of making her eat her words. “I know I might not look like your standard college preppy.” He came forward, closer, and closer. She winced as his hands came up to her face stopping just shy of her wide eyes. His fingers were long, strong, impressive, but by no means were his hands perfect: thin gashes slathered his battered knuckles, and a new callus showed in his palm.
“My skill is in my hands,” he leaned in and she felt his breath lightly caress her neck, “these babies can work magic. Want a demonstration now or later?”
The heat in the air spiked. Megan gulped hard breaking out in a sweat suddenly feeling a little threatened. Or propositioned. Surely her stepfather ran a criminal background check on the guy before hiring him. She cast an anxious glance down the road at the house. How long would it take to sprint there in heels? “If you’re speaking of repairing my ranch so it will sell. Now is preferred. Anything else you can do with your hands… doesn’t interest me.”
He raised an eyebrow, “Megan, you have a filthy mind. Hard work was all I was offering.” He took a step back, and finally she could breathe again. His expression suddenly turned serious. His face took on the appearance of someone who had just been punched in the gut by a bully. “Did you say you’re selling the ranch?”
His question confirmed her suspicions. “You’re not Robbie are you?”
Her answer turned into the drive in a red, extended cab pickup truck. The truck crawled to a stop where they stood, a cloud of dust whipping through the air in its wake. She saw work boots, and then a leg appeared out of the cab. As the driver’s door slammed closed the whole man took shape, and he was jaw dropping gorgeous. He defied the laws of reality. Only men that sexy were conjured up in sexually repressed women’s dreams. He was like taking a dangerous, brooding assassin donning him in holey, worn out jeans, and a black, skintight T-shirt, strapping a tool belt around his fine hips and dropping the man in the middle of a country western.
Oh yes, he appeared very capable. Megan guessed he was near thirty, which also made him appealing, since he’d past his immature stage.
“You might want to close the mouth, before a fly lands in it.” Mr. No Name elbowed her side.
Her attention slid to her right. Some of the arrogance had left the guys stance. He no longer seemed so at ease.
“Go suck an egg. You tricked me,” she muttered. Her pressed lips transformed into a dazzling smile, which she offered to the guy coming towards them. She extended a hand, “Hi, I’m Megan. You must be Robbie?”
“Pleasure to finally meet you, Megan.” Mr. Dangerous assassin’s gaze travel down the length of her and back up, completely checking every inch of her out, in fact she’d never felt so thoroughly check out in her life. A smile played on his gourgeous mouth as he went on, “Paul has done nothing, but say good things about you, and now I see why.” His deep voice resonated like a sexy lullaby. Chills swamped her flesh as their hands held a few seconds longer than necessary. But then the guy stepped back taking his warmth with him. His hand reluctantly went to the guy next to her. “Drew, how you been? Heard you....”
Drew interrupted, “So, the ranch is up for sale? When did Stratford decide to sell?”
“Right before he signed the ranch over to me. I’m the one in charge now.”
His heavy glare turned to Megan. Whoa, the guy could shift from flirtatious riff raff to downright frigid in the matter of a heartbeat. “What about the people who live here. Most of them have been in residence for more than thirty years….Birdie, Ms. Susan, Emma, Tink…where are they all supposed to go? Tink doesn’t even have the full use of his hands anymore! And Griffin? Who’s going to take in a boy that doesn’t talk?”
Megan’s mouth opened, and then snapped closed. Shit, she had a lot of hicks to toss out. More than anticipated—and she assumed Drew had failed to mention himself as one of the residences. That brought the total to six. Six people living on a rundown ranch. By the looks of the place they’d been freeloading off of Paul for… well, ever since his brother’s death. Her chin came up as she resolved to feel no guilt over tossing the freeloaders out on their ass’s. She was about to tell Drew he could be the first one pack
ing when Robbie spoke up. “I’m sure Stratford plans on giving everyone adequate time to find a new place, and compensate you all well.”
Compensation! What the hell for! Nobody had done a damn thing to the place as far as Megan could tell.
Drew’s eyes narrowed on her. What did he want? Reassurance? Bitches rarely impressed men, at least not real men, and Megan happened to be attracted to the only “man” standing there, so she did what any girl wanting to make a lasting first impression would do… she bullshitted her way through a reply. “Of course! No one’s going anywhere until I have a serious buyer. You’ll all have as long as you need.” She placed her hand in the crook of Robbie’s arm, and smiled graciously up at him. “Speaking of selling, would you like to take a look at the ranch? See what you recommend being done before we put it on the market?”
“Yeah, sure. Just let me put your luggage in the back of my truck, and I’ll drive us up to the house.” Robbie glanced around. “Where’s the rest of it?” he said, studying her one bag with a confused expression on his face.
“That’s it,” Megan returned. No need to tell him about the whole cabby incident.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl go anywhere without dragging her entire closet along with her. I’m impressed.”
“It’s the country… how much does a girl need?” She pulled herself up in the cab of the truck. She could sense the invisible darts being aimed at the bull’s-eye in the center of her back, but she could care less. Drew was out on his tight rump in two weeks, whether he liked it or not.
****
Megan waved one last time at Robbie as he backed out of the drive. She held her smile. Behind her posthole diggers pulverized the ground, rammed deep and hard.
Muscles flared.
Chunk. Chunk. Ching!
Grunts.
Sweat.
Her stomach gurgled. He was disgusting! Bronze, filthy—and irritating!
“So Filly, did you get it all figured out? Did Robster agree to all your demands? I bet you had a hefty little list.” Drew’s voice took on a female quality as he mocked her, his head bobbed as he started on a new hole. “I don’t like the toilet being in front of the window. Think you could rip it up and put me in a gold, shiny new one? I don’t like not having my own room… could you be a dear Robbie and build me on a master suite with a canopy bed? Oh, and while you’re at it could you throw in some monogrammed, white fluffy, towels?”
As soon as Robbie’s truck was out of sight she whirled around. “As a matter of fact… I would like my own room, but instead of building on a new one…. I’ve decided to just take yours. And yes… A toilet in front of a window is the most idiotic thing I’ve ever seen. I’m guessing since you’re the handyman around here—it was your brilliant idea to ever put it there in the first place. And no, I won’t ask for a “gold, shiny new one” because you’d only piss on it.” She stopped, took a breath, and waved a dismissive hand at him. “And I’d never ask for white towels for you to put your stink all over!”
Drew crossed his legs, leaned on the post hole diggers, his chin resting on his folded hands. His lip twitched.
She continued, “What are you doing anyway?”
“Work.” He bent, scooped up the discarded shirt off the ground, and blotted his damp, sticky flesh with it. “You do know what that is, or do you need a demonstration?”
“No, I don’t need a demonstration. I thought you were further up the road earlier, and now all of a sudden you’re up here beside the house. Are you spying?”
“Hell no, I’m working.”
“You have enough fences already. Too many! What you need to be working on is the house.”
“I thought that’s what you hired Robbie for? Don’t tell me he’s already having difficulty meeting your needs.” He shook his head in mock exasperation, “I could’ve told you. His girlfriend keeps him on a pretty short leash. I hear he has trouble meeting her needs too. Sad really, a hot woman like her not being serviced properly. Hell, I considered offering my help, but thought I might spoil her to the finer things in life.” He went back to digging. “Yep, I should have warned you.”
“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“Sometimes.”
Lip twitch.
Muscles flared.
Chunk. Chunk. Ching!
Grunts.
Sweat.
She yelled and pointed a white-tipped nail in his direction as he circled the hole, taping and piling clumps of dirt by the side. “Annoying is what you are! You have sat here mooching off Paul, while not doing a damn thing to earn your room and board! It ends today! You’ll sleep on the couch…do whatever Robbie instructs you to do…and when you slink away, which will be soon, you can take that good-for-nothing Tink with you!”
“You met him?”
“Yes. He was in the kitchen doing what I assume he always does, since he looks like he could squirt out a baby any day now!”
He flung the post hole diggers to the ground and took five determined steps looking every bit of a man fixing to whop a woman. She flinched, clamped her eyes shut waiting for him to do it. As soon as he touched her, he was out, not in two weeks, but today.
He stopped, sucked in a couple deep calming breaths. “Don’t talk shit about Tink!”
Would she dare?
One second. Two second. Three second. Oh yes, she would. “Just because he’s a cripple doesn’t mean I have to support him for the rest of his life. That’s not the way the world works… at least not where I’m from.” She waited. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not singling the man out. You’re ALL out in two weeks. Unless the new owner thinks any of you are worth keeping around, which I don’t see happening.”
“Tink…” he shook his head attempting to reign in some of the anger. “Tink built this damn ranch, like he built most of the homes in Logan County! He’s a hard ass worker!”
“Used to be a worker, past tense! He is not my responsibility… you care for him so much, you find somewhere for him to go!”
Reasoning with her was useless. Drew said nothing more.
****
“It’s really not as bad as I expected. I guess it could be worse….the house I mean, on the inside.” Megan said as Birdie moved around the kitchen with purpose. Megan sat at the kitchen table. Her fingertips spread the frost on the glass of Lemonade in her hand. Ice clinked as she took a sip, the tartness of the drink making her shiver.
Why they called the woman birdie was a mystery. Like everything else, she was opposite of what Megan expected. She was a plump, big breasted woman in an apron, with rosy cherub cheeks that constantly stayed chapped from the heat of the gas stove. And was the only one so far, who had been kind to Megan.
“At least Ms. Susan and Emma have managed to keep the house clean with those three lazy guys around. I don’t know how, since I’m sure Drew alone makes a horrible mess.”
“Drew’s not so bad. He’s a real charmer, wouldn’t have minded meeting him when I was a tad bit younger though, he would have already been spoken for if I had. ” The women pricked the crust of her impressive apple pie with a fork, putting on the finishing touches before it went into the oven. “Makes my body heat just thinking about the skills the boy’s bound to have in the bedroom.”
Megan sucked her lemonade down the wrong way. She sputtered and coughed wiping dribbles of lemonade from her chin. “Well, you are definitely out of the loop if you find him appealing. Does he ever wear a shirt?”
Birdie—pie in hand—stopped deep in thought. “Too often I believe so. Don’t you dare tell me you’re not interested….the color in your cheeks at the mention of the boy’s name says you feel more than you're letting on. ” The oven door squeaked as she opened it and slid in the pie. She turned offering Megan the warmest smile cleaning her hands on her apron. “Drew is a good boy, just give him some time….you’ll see.”
“Doubt it,” Megan wanted to say more, how Birdie seemed like an intelligent woman but had the who
le Drew thing completely mixed up. If Megan’s face heated at the mention of his name, it was because he got on her nerves. She decided the best thing she could do was change the subject. “Are you making a salad to go with dinner?”
Birdie clutched at her apron with laughter and waved a dismissive hand as she went to sit down in the chair across from Megan. “Heavens no, this is a meat and potatoes bunch.” seeing the disappointment on Megan’s face Birdie’s round bottom never made it to the chair, “but I don’t mind making you one.”
“Thanks. Do you hate me… like the others?” Megan asked.
Crisp lettuce, ripe tomatoes, pickling cucumbers, and radishes went into the cast iron sink under a steady stream of water. Birdie spoke as she diced all the ingredients arranging them creatively in a bowl. “They all know you’re right. It’s time to pass this place on to a new owner, someone that will make it a home. Hopefully a nice, young couple with children. I don’t suspect they’ll need a cook?”
Megan shrugged, “Maybe.” She shouldn’t feel guilt over informing everyone they needed to make arrangements to move. It wasn’t her fault they’d laid around expecting to stay indefinitely. They had to know this day was coming.