by Shaye Marlow
Then somebody fell on me. Ow.
Lucky for me, before I could drown in the mud, the guy was lifted away. A big hand latched onto my arm, and flipped me onto my back.
My heart stuttered. Oh man, Zack was gorgeous in the rain. Those gray clouds seemed to gather around his head and reflect in his eyes. His short blond hair was dark with water, and flat against his skull. I watched a drop of water roll down his dirty cheek and traverse the rugged stubble on his jaw. Lucky, lucky drop.
He put his hand on my throat, and I really expected him to squeeze. But instead, his mouth opened, and the strangest thing popped out. “Are you okay?”
No more than ten pounds, the little dog latched onto the folds of Zack’s jeans, and worried the material with vigor. Zack was still trying to pry the little bastard off when someone else stumbled over us, kicking me in the ribs. Zack threw him off before he could fall on me. Then he leaned forward and planted his fists in the mud, his body becoming a protective cage around mine as the fight raged all around.
He jerked, and I knew something had hit him, and the whole situation was so fucking hot…
I dragged him down to me. And I kissed him, because in this crazy situation, how could I not? I kissed the mud right off his face, and we both grunted when the next combatant sprawled across us.
But then he was gone, and Zack’s tongue was in my mouth. My whole body lit up on a raging wave of heat, and I wrapped my arms and legs around him.
He was hard. I could feel it pressing hot and unyielding between my legs. I was soaking wet and shouldn’t have been warm, but I was burning up. I basked in the heat of him, his hard strength.
Our tongues dueled, and my teeth scraped, and his growl poured into my ears like some other-worldly mixture of honey and gasoline. God, he was fine.
The excitement coursing through me demanded an outlet, and so, I bit him. His body jerked against mine, and he growled, louder, kissed me, harder. The hard bulge of his crotch ground into me.
I met him grind for grind, rub for rub. I grasped at him, scraping my hand over his wet shirt, then lower, to his hard ass, pulling him against me. My nipples were achingly tight, the heat between us impossible to resist. I wanted him right there, spectators be damned.
“What the hell is going on?” The voice cut through the hubbub, making everybody freeze in their tracks.
“Shit.” Zack sprang off of me like a cat in water.
I lay there breathing hard for a few moments, then craned my neck.
Unassuming dark-haired man, beard, flannel shirt… Ed had arrived. He swept his gaze across the combatants, pausing for a moment on Dotty. She pointed at us.
I rolled to my feet as Zack protested. “That’s not fair,” he said. “She’s the one that challenged me to a duel. And only after she refused to stop fucking with my painting.”
Ed approached. “This wasn’t a duel, it was a brawl.”
Zack glanced over, but he didn’t rat me out.
But Ed was no dummy. He followed Zack’s gaze, and his eyes narrowed on me.
It’d been a long time since I’d seen him, a decade maybe, so I figured it was worth a shot. “Hi, I’m Farrah. Their new house girlfriend.”
“No, you’re not. You’re Frances, George’s daughter.”
I glanced toward the docks as my veins flooded with adrenaline.
“I’m not the one perpetuating this ridiculous feud,” Ed continued. “But if I find out you’re up to something, there’ll be hell to pay. Got it?”
I made a noise somewhere in the realm of agreement.
“As for the rest of you, no more brawling, not in front of the damn bar.”
“But she—” several people started, all looking at me.
“I. Do. Not. Care. Group fights are on Wednesdays. Control yourselves until then. Now clear out!”
They did—all but Dotty. She walked over. “Zack and Frances aren’t entirely to blame. I might’ve flown off the handle a bit when he scrubbed out my violets.”
“Dotty, you know that I know you’re not an innocent. I’d just appreciate it if you wouldn’t obstruct that painting. I want it done by the wedding. You hear that?” Ed said to Zack. “You have six days.”
Zack nodded.
“And you,” Ed said to me. “Stay out of trouble.”
I just stared at him.
He stared right back, his expression threatening. Finally, after several seconds and not having even vaguely cowed me, he laughed. “You’re just like your dad,” he said, and patted my shoulder as he walked by.
Somehow, even though he’d technically lost the staring match, I felt he’d won.
“I’m sorry about what I did to your violets,” Zack said to Dotty.
She looked up from cleaning off her sword on her elastic-waist pants to inspect his face.
“And now seems like a shitty time to ask,” Zack said, “but since I have your attention… Rory and I were wanting to make a deal with you.”
“A deal? What kind of deal?”
Zack glanced over at me. “A deal concerning your powers of gossip, and improving our reputation in the community.”
“Ah,” Dotty said. “I’m busy this afternoon. Why don’t you come by tomorrow morning, early. And bring Rory. It’d be nice to see him again.”
Clearing his throat, Zack nodded. “We’ll be there.”
Chapter Twelve
ZACK
“Frances! Dinner!” I yelled, setting the roast that Rory’d thrown in the oven while we were gone on the table.
Upon our return, Frances hadn’t even waited till her room to strip out of her muddy clothes, leaving Rory and I both with jaws dropped in her wake. She’d ducked into the bathroom, used up all the hot water, and now she emerged from her bedroom wearing a T-shirt that drooped off one shoulder, obviously braless, and in the tiniest shorts I’d ever seen.
She stood at the edge of the table, surveying the contents. “That’s it? Just a roast? No sides?”
“You didn’t make any,” Rory said, setting a plate and a couple water-spotted utensils in front of her.
She sat.
Rory reached for the meat.
“We should pray,” she said.
Rory hesitated, then plopped back into his seat with a sigh.
Frances reached out, and wiggled her fingers until he gave her his hand. I surrendered mine much more quickly, and then she bowed her head. “Heavenly father, we thank you for this day, and for this food—”
“Amen,” Rory said, reaching again. He jumped, yelped, and with a bewildered look, fell back into his chair. I really hoped she’d kicked him. That’d just be too fucking perfect.
“—and for the company, and a roof over our heads—”
Rory leaned again, and Frances speared him with a look.
“—and for all the beauty in this world, like art and nature. And the clean air that we breathe, and the water. And we thank you for this table that we eat at, and the gravity that holds it down. And the sun, and the stars, and—”
“Son of a bitch!” Rory cried.
I tried to shoot Rory a killing glance, but it was intercepted by a pair of beady black eyes. Ernie was crouched on our roast, making eye contact as he—she—chewed on it.
“Ernie, no! Bad ermine!” I jabbed at her with my fork.
Ernie hissed, and batted my fork away. I tried to prod her again, and the feral little beast bit the tines. Rory must’ve gotten a jab in with his own fork, because the tiny weasel spun. Instead of the casual disdain she’d showed me, the ermine launched straight for his eyes.
With the little weasel distracted, I grabbed the platter and shoved back from the table, trying to save the roast.
Ernie quickly tired of making Rory shriek, and returned to find nothing but a warm spot on the table’s surface. Her triangular little head swung, and her glittering eyes locked on the roast I held. Slowly, menacingly, she slunk forward.
“Ernie,” I said, “this is our roast. Not yours. Yours is over there. On the floor.”
Ernie leapt, and turning away did me absolutely no good. The little bugger jumped onto me, and her little claws dug in as she ran up my back.
I screamed. The roast flew.
She’d bit me! Pain radiated from the nape of my neck, where the little weasel was still… friggin… biting! Still screaming, and spinning, and flailing, I finally managed to fling her off.
Ernie flew to the floor, skittered over to the juicy, undoubtedly amazing roast I’d dropped, and crouched atop it, giving me the stink eye.
“Well… fucking hell,” Rory said. “We lost another one.”
“You know, that ermine could have rabies,” Frances said. She’d kicked back, one foot propped on the corner of the table as she watched the show.
Rory fetched the broom from the corner, and prodded at the ermine with it.
“What’s even the point?” Frances asked. “You can’t eat it now.”
“Like hell I can’t. I am at the top of the food chain,” Rory answered. “And I didn’t claw my way up here to be usurped by an elongated rat. Zack, help me here.”
Keeping the pressure up on my bleeding neck, I stepped back.
“Dammit, Zack.” Just then, Ernie made a run up the broom, and Rory shrieked and dropped it. Panting, he stared at the ermine holding court on our roast.
“You could kill it,” Frances suggested.
“What? No. Not Ernie. He’s—she’s—our pet.”
“She’s vicious. And I’m pretty sure she doesn’t give a fuck about either of you.”
I shook my head, also not wanting to help the little gal from this world. She brought such joy into our lives… “We can find something else to eat.”
“Let me see your neck,” Frances said, standing.
Ernie made a terrible sound of warning, the fur on her back sticking straight up as she scoped out Frances’s ankles.
Frances stopped and seemed to grow a foot in all directions, looming over the ermine, her eyes deep, dark pits of whoop-ass. She stayed like that for several long moments, locked into an epic staring match with the tiny weasel.
Finally, Ernie lowered her head. Her fur flattened, and she quieted.
Frances walked on by, unmolested, and pried my hand away from the injury.
“What are we gonna eat?” Rory asked, sticking his head in the freezer.
“All you have in there is freezer-burned salmon. I already looked,” Frances said. “Do you have some hydrogen peroxide, antibiotic ointment, and a really big Band-Aid?”
“There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom.”
She went to retrieve it while Rory dug around in the pantry. He found a box of graham crackers, but when he bit into one, he gagged. “Fauugh!” he cried, scraping at his tongue. “Stale! Beyond stale!” Going back in, he came up with a handful of coffee creamers and a single can of lima beans, dented and stained.
Frances snagged my elbow. “Sit,” she ordered.
I obeyed. “Don’t eat that,” I said, holding still as Frances dabbed at my neck. It stung like a bitch.
Rory emptied the creamers into his mouth. Then, glaring at us, keeping his body protectively between us and his prize, Rory dug out a can opener.
“Botulism, Rory. It’s not worth it.”
He ignored me as he opened the can, and fished out a bean.
I started to get up, but Frances was faster. She smacked the can out of his hand, sending lima slop all over the kitchen, then wrestled the bean from him.
For one awful moment, he looked like he might dive after it and eat the stuff right off the floor.
Frances got in his way. “No,” she said, holding him at Q-tip-point.
Rory fell to his knees. “Whhhyyy?”
“Oh, hush,” Frances said, returning to me. “You two are so damn melodramatic.”
“Hey, I’m just sitting here, bleeding quietly,” I protested.
“We could pile into the plane and fly to Anchorage for dinner,” Frances suggested.
“That’d take too looonnng,” Rory moaned, thumping his head against a cabinet. Thump, thump, thump.
“Well, don’t you have—I dunno—friends, or family, or neighbors that would spot you a meal?”
Rory froze. “What did you say?”
“Neighbors?”
“Before that.”
“Friends?”
“No, no, we have none of those. That other thing, the thing in the middle.”
“Family.”
Rory gasped, his eyes going bright. “Helly!” He launched himself off the floor and clawed his way to the phone. He stabbed in the numbers with shaking fingers, then waited breathlessly.
“Hello?” I could hear Helly’s voice loud and clear.
“So… hungry,” Rory rasped.
“Rory?”
Rory whimpered. “Food?”
“Zack, you’re supposed to keep him from getting like this!” Helly yelled.
“We ran out of groceries!” I yelled back.
“Dammit, fine. Come on over. We’re barbecuing. There’s pie.”
“But,” I heard, and it had to be Gary speaking, “you will be subjected to a pat-down. Do not bring any guns, knives, explosives, or anything that might even be construed as a weapon.”
Rory had already abandoned the phone, and was crawling toward the door.
“Fine!” I yelled. “Frances is just patching up my ermine bites, and then we’ll be right there.”
There was a pregnant silence, followed by Gary murmuring something.
“Never mind that,” said Helly. “Who’s Frances?”
“My girlfriend,” I called. “Ow!”
“What? What happened?”
“Frances slapped me.”
“Oooo, Frances could you get him once for me, too? Maybe close your fist this time, though. And, oh! You could get a running start, sort of from across the room. And choose a tender target, like his eye.”
FRANCES
We wove through the trees, bumped up over a little rise, and a woman came into view. A blonde woman holding a shotgun.
Zack jammed on the brake.
“I told you,” the blonde yelled, “this is my blueberry patch. Go around!”
Rory rolled his window down and reached out. “We need food!”
Zack stuck his head out. “Where?”
“Directly ahead of you, you numbskull.”
Zack cranked the wheel to the right and started forward.
“Nonono! Stop! Back up,” the woman said. “Go the fuck around!”
“I can’t very well do that, Helly, when I can’t tell where the bushes are,” Zack growled before putting it in reverse.
“Use your goddamn eyes!”
“I am! They just look like bushes!”
“Well, go around the bushes!”
“They’re everywhere!”
Helly swung her gun up, and fired a round past the Jeep.
“Dammit, we’re going,” Zack said, and jammed on the gas.
Helly shrieked. “You’re tearing them up!”
“Might wanna not spin the tires,” I suggested as Helly’s shotgun went click-click.
“So… hungry,” Rory whined.
“For God’s sake,” Zack growled.
I giggled, and since everyone else seemed to be doing it, rolled my window down. Smiling big, I waved at the irate blonde.
We swung wide to the right, and a lake came into view. A sharp left before the beach, and we were pulling onto the lawn of a small two-story cabin.
Zack killed the engine and he and I piled out. On the other side of the vehicle, Rory opened his door, fell to the ground, and started to crawl.
“Dammit, Zack,” Helly said, stepping out of the woods with her eyes on her chubbier brother.
“He’s fine. He’s just being dramatic,” Zack said. “Gary,” he acknowledged with a nod, trying to walk by the dark-haired hunk standing between him and the fire pit.
“Whoa, whoa,” Gary said, stepping in Zack’s path. “You’re getting patt
ed down, remember?”
“Uh, no. I don’t.”
“That was the deal. You get patted down, any knives or guns or weapons of mass destruction get confiscated, and then—and only then—do you get food.”
As I ogled Gary, Rory crawled into my periphery. He was less than a quarter of the way to the fire.
Gary folded his arms, and Zack sighed. “Fine. Make it quick. And don’t touch my junk,” he said, holding out his arms.
The hottie started with Zack’s head, checking his hair. “Keep your junk out of my way,” he responded, then felt behind Zack’s ears and peered in his mouth.
I watched, enjoying the handsome stranger’s ministrations upon the handsome idiot I knew and lo— No. No, that wasn’t right. Knew and tolerated.
Zack winked at me before turning so Gary could pat down his back.
Helly blocked my view. “Who’re you?”
“Frances,” I said, sticking out a hand.
“Helly,” she said, taking it. “And you’re living with my brothers?”
“Just for a month. I’m teaching Zack to fly.”
Helly’s eyes shot wide, and beyond her, Gary said, “Wait, what?” He turned to look at us, his hands overflowing with condoms.
“Zack’s paying me to teach him to fly,” I said, tugging at my hand. “We’ve already done a few lessons. Several hours.”
“Fly? You can’t teach them to fly.”
“Just Zack,” I said. Helly’s grip had become painful, and for a moment I thought I might need to shoot her in the arm to get my hand back.
“And why the hell not?” Zack demanded from behind her.
She released me to turn toward him. Just beside her now, Rory continued to crawl. He was panting, whining pathetically. I really wished he were half the size, so I could drag him several feet back—maybe restart him next to the Jeep—just to see what he’d do.
“You two are destruction personified,” Helly said. “Under no circumstances should you be given wings.”
Zack snorted as Gary reached his feet. “Well, I guess it’s good you’re not the boss of me, then,” he said.
“Besides the wishful thinking in his pockets, he’s clean,” Gary pronounced.
I was already moving to walk with Zack toward the fire.
