The Babysitter

by Gadziala, Jessica

  "He didn't," Finn informed her, rocking back on his heels, seeming to enjoy himself.

  "Well, he is offering you some now," she informed us. "I am going to go wash up," she added, more unexpectedly conscientious than I would expect from someone who hadn't been around Finn before.

  "Coffee?" I asked when Meadow moved between us, going inside, disappearing into the bathroom with Gadget.

  "Your woman did offer."

  "She's not my woman." Though at that admission, there was a sour feeling in my stomach.

  See, it didn't stop.

  My body reacting to her.

  Each time she came out of that shower smelling like the soap I made. Each time I saw her in one of my shirts, or walked out into the living room finding her curled up on the couch with my dog for a blanket, and a goat clutched to her chest like a favorite teddy bear.

  It was more than that, though, more than that knee-jerk attraction.

  It was the way there was a warmth inside when she smiled, when she laughed at something Gadget did, when she sighed contentedly in her sleep finally, when she stood at my counter making me dinner, when she looked proud when I told her it turned out good, when she chased fucking Red around the yard just to put him in his place every day.

  Warmth.

  There was no denying it.

  Not when I was generally polar fucking cold inside.

  Having her here, it was having an impact.

  Which should have unsettled me.

  But, somehow, all I could seem to do was worry about the day when she might no longer be here, when she would take that warmth away with her, leave me icy inside again.

  "What's with the goat?" Finn asked, standing in the middle of the kitchen, carefully not touching anything. It was killing him not to get to it, get rid of all of that dog hair that always found itself under tables and in corners despite how often Meadow or I swept.

  "Anya died having him. She, ah, promised her that she would look after her baby."

  "She promised a goat," Finn mumbled, running a hand down his beard.

  "Think the animals are a sort of therapy for her."

  "Makes sense."

  And it did, of course. We'd known many of guys who left the service who had needed therapy dogs afterward just to be able to get through a day, somehow connecting more with their K9 companions than the human beings around them. Maybe because the people needed so much from us whereas the animals just wanted to be there with you - no matter how fucked up your head was.

  It was likely why Meadow took to Cap, took to Gadget. They simply loved her, without having to know what she had gone through, without needing her to recover from it first, to learn how to trust again.

  "How are things at work?" I asked after a long silence. Finn, as a whole, was about as good a conversationalist as I was. Which meant that when we got together, sometimes almost nothing was ever said. But, I found, things were a little different this time. Maybe because of Meadow, because of her constant presence, because of my desire to get to know the person I was sharing a home with, sharing a life with, I was getting more used to talking again.

  "Fucking Bellamy," was his response.

  Fucking Bellamy.

  "What'd he do now?"

  Quin had been wanting Bellamy for years. As a whole, our jobs, our clientele usually stayed on the right side of the law. Or, maybe it was fair to say we skirted that line, not usually jumping right over it, save for a few very special cases.

  Covering up a murder comes to mind. Though that bastard was a wife-beater and had it coming, so no one was sweating that job.

  And, sure, sometimes shit happened on a job when you were dealing with some real criminals. Sometimes fights happened. Sometimes lives were lost. In the heat of a moment.

  It was never calculated and cold-blooded.

  But trying to coerce Bellamy onto our team meant jumping right over that line, planning to take lives.

  Bellamy, when it came to nicknames like everyone on the team got, was The Executioner.

  You wouldn't know that by meeting him, of course.

  If you met Bellamy in one of his expensive suits and with all his abundance of easy-going charm, you would take him for some carefree child of some oil magnate or some shit, someone who just flew around the world, partying, not having a single worry in this empty head.

  And there were times when Bellamy did just fly around the world, having fun, meeting everyone, leaving impressions, but getting out before anyone formed any kind of attachment.

  But there was a dark side to him, something he made it his job never to show anyone, a secret he kept, only a few people in the know having any knowledge about it.

  Like Quin.

  He'd resisted for years from what I understood, not wanting to have to answer to anyone, maybe. But, more likely, not liking the idea of everyone knowing about his skeletons - in both the literal and the figurative way.

  But he'd finally caved.

  And now Quin had what he wanted.

  And a fuckuva lot more.

  "Trying to keep him from messing with someone is like trying to stop a toddler from getting into trouble," Finn said, shaking his head. "The shorter answer would be What hasn't he done? He and Nia... they're oil and water."

  I hadn't met Nia.

  The one time I'd been to Navesink Bank since she joined up, she'd been at home. I had no idea what she was like. But from the stories, she was a force to be reckoned with, sure of herself, opinionated, and smart enough to make anyone who dared argue with her feel like a moron for attempting to do so.

  I could see the two not mixing.

  "Hey Ranger?" Meadow called, coming around the corner of the kitchen, her hair darker when wet, clad in another of my shirts, having not seen the pile of things for her near the fireplace.

  And I wasn't going to remind her.

  "Yeah?"

  "You know that thing in the animal pen? That thing they climb all over. It's silver," she specified since the pen was full of makeshift climbing equipment for the goats for enrichment.

  "The stock tank."

  "Yeah, that. Is that completely necessary? Can I borrow it?"

  "Borrow it for what?" I asked, pouring the water into the press.

  "For Gadget. I don't know why it hasn't occurred to me before. It would make a safe little pen when I need my hands free. And it will contain messes better. And be easier to clean up."

  More accommodating for Finn.

  There was the goddamn warm feeling again.

  A small part of me wanted to tamp it down, chill it out, but the larger part just couldn't get enough.

  "Good idea. I can haul..."

  "I got it," she cut me off, shrugging, as she reached for a pair of my work gloves that looked comically large on her small hands.

  "I like her."

  "You don't even know her," I shot back, feeling a strange, uncomfortable sensation rise up. Something I was almost ready to label as jealousy. But that was simply ridiculous.

  "You think she's gonna be he..."

  "Oh, you bastard!" Meadow's voice carried from outside, making a low chuckle move through me, my lips curving upward as I turned toward Finn.

  "Red," I told him, leaning back against the counter. "The two of them aren't fans of each other."

  "You better run," she called, voice getting closer, a dragging sound accompanying her. "I mean, being here has cured me over ever being able to eat chicken again, but I swear I am half ready to cull and pluck him myself," she grumbled as she came in the door. "It's been a long time since I've had chicken noodle soup!" she called out the door before closing it behind her.

  "He won this round, huh?" I asked, seeing the little trail of blood down her ankle.

  "He won't be strutting around all proud of himself if he's boiling in veggie broth."

  It was all bluster.

  She wasn't lying about not wanting to eat chicken again. After having spent some time with the hens, seeing how sweet and curious they co
uld be, she told me over dinner that the idea of eating chicken again turned her stomach.

  "So, Finn, did you bring it?" she asked, pulling the tank into the corner near the fireplace.

  "Did I bring what?" he asked, brows furrowed. Worried. He was worried. That he might not have brought the right thing. Finn had a quirk - the origins of it none of us knew - where he had this overwhelming need to please women, often giving little unexpected gifts. Like when he worked on a case for Quin's woman back before she was his, redecorating her room for her after he cleaned the scene. Little shit like that. Just to make them happy. I suspected Meadow would find something in the pile of things he got for her that no one had asked him to get. It was just how he was. So the idea of forgetting something that would please her filled him with dread.

  "Spaghetti," I clarified. "She's been dying for spaghetti. Don't worry, he brought you enough to feed you every week for the next year," I told her, thinking of the rearranging I'd needed to do in the pantry to make room for it - and the few jars of sauce he'd brought even though I'd told him we could make our own.

  "Guess what we're having for dinner tonight? Whether the two of you like it or not," she added, turning with her hands on her hips, waiting for an argument, ready to shoot it down.

  "There's no protein in it," I told her, just curious at what she might say.

  "Boil yourself an egg," she shot back, rolling her eyes as she snagged Gadget, tucking him into his tank.

  I didn't even realize I was smiling dumbly at her until Finn cleared his throat, drawing my attention over to him where he was smirking at me, eyes dancing a bit.

  "Don't."

  Hours later, after dinner - Meadow pretty much eating her body weight in spaghetti, something that was both endearing and necessary since she still needed to put a little weight on - Finn made coffee then stopped Meadow when she went to reach for the plates.

  "You cooked. I'll clean," he told her, handing us each coffee.

  It was a dismissal, one I understood well.

  So I grabbed Gadget, and suggested Meadow take him outside to let him stretch out his legs.

  "What?" she asked when we were out of earshot.

  "We got to leave him alone for a while," I told her as we walked over toward the pen where she shooed Gadget in to go be with the other goats, wanting him to take to them since she knew that he wouldn't be a baby forever, that he would need to be with his own kind at some point.

  "He needs to clean," she guessed.

  "Yeah. And, as much as possible, he doesn't want anyone looking over him like he's some kind of freak."

  "He's not a freak," she insisted, leaning on the fence rail. "It's a quirk. I think it's endearing. Don't be side-eyeing me you beak-nosed butthead."

  As far as insults go, beak-nosed-butthead was pretty low on the burn level, but I was grinning at her like a fucking idiot over it regardless.

  "So how long?"

  "Hm?" I asked, too distracted by her to remember what we were talking about.

  "How long until everything is cleaned?"

  "Couple hours, maybe."

  "Do you think..." she started, then shook her head at herself like her thoughts were silly.

  "Do I think what?"

  "That we could take a walk down to that little abandoned town you talked about? I mean I know it is getting late, but we could get there before dark, right? It's staying bright so much later and..."

  "We can go," I interrupted her. I didn't particularly want to. I found the towns somewhat sad. But I wasn't going to deny her either. "Let me just grab a flashlight and a gun. Just in case," I said, shaking my head when she stiffened. "It's early, just in case on the way back, we run across anything unsavory," I explained.

  "Do you think Gadget will be okay here? It's warmer today, but..."

  "Goats are herd animals, they pack together if they get chilly to share heat. He'll be fine."

  With that, we were off, a pack of dogs at our heels, happy to be able to wander off, smell new smells, mark new trees, and in Duggie's case, chase rats wherever they dared to try to live.

  It wasn't a long walk, nor one of the biggest towns there were to explore if you were curious enough, if you saw the articles in Weird NJ or some shit.

  Forty minutes later, we were walking through the old sawmill, Meadow's hand exploring what was left inside - nothing to speak of really, just things bolted down, too heavy to take out.

  "It's kind of sad, isn't it?" she asked, shaking her head. "I mean, I know they wanted to shut down the logging to preserve the land, but it's sad that people had to leave their homes behind. Oh! Oh, no. Oh, God. What is that? Get it out," she shrieked, batting at the giant spider web she had just walked straight into.

  "Relax," I murmured as she frantically pulled the wispy web out of her hair. "Here. I got it," I told her, stepping close, reaching up to carefully sift the strings out, flicking them to the sides over and over until it was all gone.

  It wasn't until then that I realized how close we were. Her back was against the wall. The tips of my feet were between her legs. Her breathing was fast, hard, her chest rising and falling quickly, brushing against the wall of my chest each time.

  I don't know where the compulsion came from, why I hadn't been able to fight it like I usually would. The yearning I felt toward the warmth in my chest, to the source of it.

  But my hand, still raised over her head, lowered again, this time gliding down the silky strands framing her face, a touch that had her head lifting, her gaze holding mine.

  My fingers continued downward, slipping the hair backward, tucking it gently behind her ear, hearing the surprised intake of breath as my fingertip grazed her earlobe.

  The sound - and the hazy look in her green eyes - seemed to do something to me, seemed to make the control I generally kept over myself break free.

  My hand moved, stroking a path down the side of her neck, pausing there.

  "Tell me to stop," I demanded, barely recognizing my own voice - low, quiet almost, not something anyone would usually accuse me of being in terms of tone.

  "I..." she started, mouth opening and closing. "I don't want you to stop," she told me.

  And that was it.

  That was the last thread of control I was holding onto.

  Ripped away, my thumb moved under her chin, tilting it up as my head shifted downward.

  My heart hammered in my chest as my lips pressed to hers.

  There was a low, throaty whimper at the contact, something that was nearly drowned out by the rumble that came from deep in my own chest.

  Soft.

  It had been so fucking long since I knew anything close to it. But that was exactly what she was. The feel of her hair, her skin, her lips as they moved with mine, accepting, and demanding more.

  Her back arched, pressing her breasts into my chest as her hand rose, fingers sinking into my upper arm, holding on as my tongue moved inside to claim hers.

  It took everything I had not to take her right there when I felt her body shudder against mine, as a moan escaped her lips, muffled by my own.

  It was the feel of her other arm looping around my neck that stripped me of the hesitance, gentleness. My hands fell, sinking into her hips, pulling up, lifting her off her feet, pinning her against the wall. Her legs dangled for all of a breath before pulling up, wrapping around my lower back, opening her up to me.

  The shirt had shifted up at the motion, and when my hands slipped down, they met the bare skin of her ass. Softer still than I could have imagined. I could feel the heat of her pressing against my pelvis, knew I could shift back slightly, press my hand there, feel her need.

  Desire was an all-consuming thing in my system, my lips pressing harder, demanding more, a rough assault she happily agreed to.

  But that thought was an ice bath to my system.

  Assault.

  Fuck.

  Goddamnit.

  What was wrong with me?

  It didn't matter that I'd wanted her
more intensely than I could have anticipated.

  It didn't mean I could touch her.

  Expose a weakness, her need for comfort, connectedness.

  It was too soon.

  She'd barely had time to process what had happened to her. And here I was, fucking pawing at her like an animal.

  "Fuck," I hissed, lips ripping from hers, hands sliding back up to touch only the material, easing her back down onto her own feet. "Fuck," I snapped again, pulling against her hold, turning away, storming outside. "Goddamnit," I growled to myself, slamming my hand into a tree, feeling the pain slice through the overpowering need coursing through my system.

  I don't know how long I was out there alone. It felt like ages. Yet not long enough to pull myself fully together.

  But I heard footsteps, slow, tentative.

  "Ranger..."

  "We need to go. It's getting dark."

  I couldn't see, but I imagined she cringed backward at the sharpness of my tone, the borderline brutality of it.

  What she didn't know as she followed a safe distance behind me with Captain at her side was that it had nothing to do with her, it was directly linked to the battle going on inside me - the part of me that wanted to turn back, take whatever she wanted to give me, and the part that knew it was wrong, too soon. It was a fight between lesser and better angels.

  Had we not made it home when we did, I didn't know who would have won.

  Meadow rushed to the side, snagging Gadget who ran out to greet her, then storming into the house several feet ahead of me, stopping at the fireplace to grab a pile of things, then sealing herself into the bathroom, the door closing with a loud slam.

  It was then that I realized that it wasn't that she hadn't noticed the clothes before, but that she had chosen to wear just my shirt instead.

  It had been a while since I made a beeline for the liquor stashed in a cabinet over the fridge, but I did so then, pouring three fingers as Finn paused from his scrubbing of the inside of the sink to raise his brows at me.

  "I'm such a fuck," I told him, tipping back the glass.

  And I was.

  EIGHT