***
Brenda sat on the floor of her little bedroom, her back wedged into a corner, settled far down into the space between the mattress and the wall. Arms wrapped tightly around her bent legs, her forehead rested against her knees. She was trying not to listen, waiting for the shouting to stop. Her aunt and uncle had started earlier than normal tonight, right after dinner, and as she always tried to do, she retreated as soon as the first voice was raised.
It wasn't an unusual occurrence. After she’d moved in, she’d found that unlike her mother and father, her aunt and uncle seldom went long without fighting. Recently, their arguments had gotten more frequent, shouted words turning mean in a way they had never been before. At ten years old, Brenda had lived with them for the past four years, ever since the accident on a Kentucky mountain road stripped her of her family.
Sitting quietly, waiting, she turned her head and looked up and out the window, watching as the last colors bled from the sky. It’s so pretty at night here, she thought. She had few memories from before, didn't remember much other than living with her aunt and uncle, but even so, she still thought it was beautiful.
Her only real memories from before were unfocused, hard to hold. One was of her mother’s face hovering over her, soft words threading echoes together in a lullaby. Brenda Bug, called in her sweet mother’s voice. Another memory, more a feeling than a picture, was the way it felt when her father lifted her up over his head, tickling and shaking her gently, bringing her down and arranging it so her cheek rested on his strong shoulder. The scent of his aftershave, spicy and fragrant. Loved. Protected.
A final memory was tied up in pain and the overwhelming stench of burning plastic, the shrill whine of hot air escaping from captivity, the deadening silence of the woods after their car had crashed into the trees. A stranger’s voice saying, “Oh, God,” over and over. That memory most often came to visit in her dreams. From her position on the floor, she reached up, slipped her hand between the mattress and pillow, and allowed her fingertips to gently wander among the treasures there: a crow’s feather, a pink-dyed rabbit’s foot, and her mother’s locket. Her dreamcatchers.
She heard a noise and rocked up on her knees, balancing with her palms on the windowsill to look outside. Shapes moved through the darkness beside the horse barn, and fear trilled through her veins, making everything tingle. If the horses had gotten out of the barn, Uncle Albert would be even angrier than he was now.
Brenda couldn’t imagine how bad things could be if that happened, and instantly, she decided to see if she could fix whatever this was, hopefully even before he knew anything was wrong. She quickly pulled jeans and a sweatshirt from her dresser, changing from her nightgown to the clothes, dressing as rapidly as possible.
Sliding the window open, she levered herself headfirst over the sill, balancing for a moment on her belly and reaching down to break her fall to the ground. Once outside, she heard the unmistakable pounding of horse hooves. They were measured, controlled, holding a steady pace, not accompanied by sounds of distress she would expect if the horses were running loose. Crouching beside a bush near the outside wall of the house, she took a moment to survey the area around the barn.
From the movement and shadows cast by the security light on the far corner of the barn, it looked to be just a single horse. The animal wasn't running free, but galloping easily, being worked on a long line. She frowned. There was no easy way she could see anything from her position beside the house. She needed to get closer.
Darting from the sheltering shadows, she ran across the open space to one corner of the wooden corral. Flinging herself at a post, she quickly climbed the weathered boards, one bare foot wedged into place on either side of the sturdy support. From this fresh vantage point, she got the impression the person in the center of the circle, the one controlling the massive horse, was a kid not much older than she was.
The boy’s calm voice spoke ceaselessly to the horse, encouraging him, soothing him. Almost hypnotic in nature, the tone he used was far more important than what his words meant. Peace. Through the minutes, as the horse made circuit after circuit around that anchoring pivot in the center of his world, the words came. Promises. Soft and sweet, he spoke gently, making her shiver in the still-hot night air. Comfort. That thrill of fear or something like it was back, washing over her, making her throat tighten with an unnamed emotion.
The outside lights came on, shining from poles around the house and barn, startling her and the horse. The bright glare illuminated the boy, revealing he was solidly built, topped with an unruly shock of thick, dark hair. Immediately, she knew it was Reuben. Cute Reuben Nelms.
The oldest son of a neighboring rancher, Reuben was tall and strong for his age, nearly four years older than Brenda. More than good looking, he was sweet and kind. Like most of the girls in town, she’d noticed him, her gaze silently following him between each class as he walked the hallways of the school. Unaware of her interest, unaware of her…surrounded by his gang of friends.
His brother was good looking too, but everyone knew Ray held an edge of mean. She’d never seen him do anything bad, but he watched her sometimes, and that watching made her uneasy. He was the kind of boy she instinctively knew would pull wings off flies, kick dogs for walking too close, or grab a girl’s arm tightly just to watch pain cross her features.
She could see Reuben’s face in the lights. See well enough to recognize he knew things were about to hit the fan because fear was deeply branded there, but he didn’t abandon the animal. Instead of running, he called the horse to him, securely gripping one side of the halter he stroked the horse’s neck with long, slow sweeps of his hand. She watched the horse settle, head dropping as it relaxed. She imagined for a moment it was her Reuben was holding, that touch telling her she was protected, certainty washing through her that his strength and confidence would make her safe.
Her uncle strode into view, and it was clear from his scowling face Reuben's fear was warranted. He snatched the lead rope from the boy, growling at him not to move. He was to stay put and wait. Uncle Albert turned to lead the horse into the barn, and Brenda pressed herself into the corner of the corral, hiding as best she could behind the post. She watched Reuben and saw he was waiting, standing tall even as her uncle stalked back towards him.
"Boy," her uncle shouted, "what in the hell did you think you were doing, taking my horse out of my barn in the middle of the dadgum night?" He reached out a hand to grasp Reuben's shirt collar, but the boy jerked backwards, staying just out of reach, the motion to avoid capture clearly one he frequently practiced. Her uncle froze at the motion, and she wondered what Reuben’s home life was like, if he hid too, maybe to avoid more than raised voices.
"Daddy said he forgot to come work your colt," Reuben told her uncle. "I didn't want you to be mad at him, and I knew the horse needed the work. I thought I would put a half session into him tonight. Then I could come back tomorrow morning for another half session. Then he would be back on track."
"How long have you been out here, boy?" Her uncle’s tone was different, much calmer when he asked this question.
"Only about a half hour." When he spoke, Reuben’s head made a move as if he was going to turn and look at her, but then his neck twisted and he faced her uncle again. "I was about ready to cool him off and put him up."
Her uncle breathed out a heavy sigh and shook his head. "Boy," he said, and then paused. He seemed to be considering his words. "Don't let me catch you back out here working my animals without telling somebody. You come to the house and knock, no matter the time of day. It’s light enough here by the barn so we can work horses after dark if need be, but it ain’t safe to do that all by yourself. You find me, or my wife; we’ll come outside and sit with you while you do your work."
Reuben's head turned again, face shadowed as he turned her way and she was sure he’d seen her, that he was aware she was there. Later, she would realize this was when she’d fallen in love with him, when he’d
kept her secret and didn't tell, simply responding to her uncle with a muttered, “Yes, sir.”
Brenda rose to consciousness slowly. Drifting awake, the dream still wrapped around her made those long ago days of uncertainty seem not far behind her. She hadn’t dreamed of that young Reuben in forever, and thought she barely remembered those days and nights spent watching him work her uncle’s horses. Eyes barely cracked, she saw the bedroom was dark, only a little light coming in through the curtains over the window. The house was silent in a way which spoke to being filled with sleeping occupants, attesting to the late hour.
She was hot. So incredibly hot, all wound up in the sheets and blankets. She wanted to cool off, but when she tried to toss the covers off, she found they were weighted, held in place. Tilting her head, her gaze fell on a massive, brown arm curving around her waist, muscles bulging even at rest. With a shiver, it all came back to her. Everything came back, and she remembered.
Remembered him touching her, loving her, making love to her…everything they had done in her bed. Then, her brain flashed to what he had said and her core clenched, a soft, gentle ache blooming between her legs. Comfortable and welcome, the pain was a quiet, private reminder of their lovemaking.
She had evidently gone to sleep after he'd finished with her. After they'd finished with each other, he'd settled in, lying curved around her, spooning. It wasn’t until then that she’d realized they hadn’t used protection, quickly counting days in her head as she felt the wetness between her legs. Safe as it can be, I guess, she remembered thinking.
Not able to help herself, not even really trying, she flattened her palm, slowly smoothing down the soft skin of his arm, extending the touch and curling her fingers around one large wrist. When he was standing or moving, working or even just leaning against the counter in the kitchen, it could be hard to remember he was so big and fit, but she remembered the view as he covered her last night. The muscles in his stomach and chest moving fluidly underneath his dark skin as his hips rolled, that exotic coloring courtesy of his mother.
She let her eyelids sink closed again at the heat rising with the memory and then jerked partially upright, waking Reuben. “Oh, shit. I didn’t do supper,” she blurted, wiggling to free herself from underneath his arm.
“Nu-huh, Bee. ‘S okay,” he reassured her sleepily, words coming slowly. “I got Essa to take care of it. She made sure Eli got home from Gill’s, too.” He tightened his arm, pulling her back down into the bed and against him with a contented sigh. “I told them you weren’t feeling well; went to bed early.” He nuzzled into the back of her neck, pressing his lips against her skin, soft and warm. “Go back to sleep. Rest, darlin’,” he whispered, already more than halfway there himself from the sound of things.
She relaxed into his hold, feeling him wrap himself around her a little tighter, slide a little closer. Tommy would never have done that, made it so she had time to sleep. He would have woken her, and then been pissed he had to do even that much. She’d never had someone to make it easy for her. All that he is, and then he does something like this, making him so much more. Then, just before she dropped off into sleep, she heard his whispered words, “Sleep, baby. Love you, my Little Bee.”
***
Hands on his hips, Reuben looked at the sagging roof over the porch, mentally reviewing what needed to be done. Nail a header board into place along the eaves; wedge a support post under that header. Remove the warped board, replacing any others that needed it; put in the new permanent header. Remove the temporary pieces and then paint the whole shebang. No problemo, he thought with a grin.
“Need any help?” Eli’s question came from behind, startling him because he hadn’t heard the boy walk up. He grinned, amused. Over the past week the kid had started emulating Reuben’s way of moving, and Eli slipping up on him now was a far cry from his loud running the first day.
“Can always use a hand,” he responded. “We’re going to fix the porch first, and then see about that dang chicken coop. Smells like it needs shoveling out.” Turning, he laughed when he saw Eli’s face scrunch up. “Yeah, that’s gonna be a stinky job. Nothing for it, though. Just another job that’s gotta be gotten through.”
“Porch first?” Eli asked cheerfully, and Reuben saw he already had a hammer in hand. Good boy, he thought, came prepared to back up his words with actions.
“Yeah, I picked up the boards from town. They’re in the back of the truck.” Before he was even finished speaking, Eli had set his hammer on the edge of the porch, showing he had common sense by placing it next to a post where it was unlikely to trip anyone, and was trotting towards the truck. His eagerness to please shone through the boy, and Reuben wondered for a moment about Eli’s relationship with his deceased father. Had it been good? Did he miss Tommy, miss the man? Shaking his head, Reuben followed towards the truck, trying to hide a grin as he watched Eli wrestling with the longest and heaviest of the wood pieces stacked in the bed.
Four hours later, Reuben declared, “Lunchtime.” Straightening his back with a wince, he leaned his forearms on the handle of his shovel, gloved hands dangling. “I think we’ve got enough chicken shit cleared out. I’ll get Gill to drop some shavings in here this afternoon. Eli, my boy, good work. Nice job. Hard job, but well done.”
Eli looked up at him, brown eyes dancing as they peered over the bandana tied around the bottom of his face, dirt and sweat streaking his forehead. “Finally,” he muttered, a joking tone in his voice. The boy had done a hell of a lot of work, turning his hand to anything asked of him, including helping to shovel what looked to be nearly a half-ton of chicken manure, the smell of ammonia thick in the air around them, stinky dust settling on their sweaty bodies.
After putting up all the tools, they were walking side-by-side back towards the house when Reuben stopped for a moment and cocked his head, looking at the cattle tank. He had some good memories from the ranch, helping to balance out the bad, at least a little. A lot of those memories were tied up in the horses, because they gave him something to focus on, take him out of himself. The other ones surrounded water. Swimming hole or cattle tank, water had provided an escape that wasn’t present elsewhere. A slow grin spread across his face as he stared down at the boy and asked, “You got any stuff in your pockets? Paper, phone, that kind of thing?”
Scoffing, Elias laughed. “Uh, no, sir. I don’t got no phone.”
Nodding, Reuben rubbed across his chin with the palm of one hand, covering up his smile. “You sure?”
“Yes, sir, I’m sure. I should know if I got a phone, shouldn’t I?” Eli grinned up at him.
“Good,” he said as he swooped Elias up in one arm and stripped off the boy’s boots before he tossed him, screaming, into the large, round cattle tank, filled to the brim with water pumped out of the deep aquifer by the windmill. Fresh, cold water. Frigid. The water cut off the sound mid-yell and Reuben grinned at the sudden silence. He kicked off his own boots and cleared his pockets of things that wouldn’t be best pleased with a drenching, tossing his phone and wallet to the side before he leaped in himself, splashing a just-surfacing Eli, making him sputter in surprise.
The cold water closed over his head, washing away the sweat and grime of their day, isolating him in near silence. As a kid, he’d spent some of nearly every summer day in the water, either swimming the creek or a tank like this, so for him, it was another moment of coming home, this time in a good way.
“I was hot,” he explained when he surfaced, seeing the shock still in place on Eli’s features change to a pleased grin. “Thought you probably were, too.” He reached out a long arm, settled his hand on top of Eli’s head and pushed, dunking him under the water. An again sputtering Eli surfaced and kicked towards him, climbing Reuben’s shoulders like a monkey in an attempt to return the favor. He failed, and went sailing over Reuben’s head to land in the water, fingers pinching his nose closed, delight on his face.
They played in the water for twenty minutes, feet sliding on the
slick metal bottom of the tank as they pretended to fight. Dunking each other under the water again and again until the laughter of the ranch hands registered. Gathered nearby on their way in for the midday meal, the men were standing close, but out of the splash zone. Reuben stood, the water nearly reaching his waist, feeling the liquid sluicing from his body. He turned to see Brenda standing on the newly repaired and painted porch, a broad smile on her face.
“Watch this,” he mock-whispered to Eli as he climbed over the edge of the trough, saturated socks slapping against the dusty path leading to the porch. Taking the steps two at a time, he reached out and grabbed Brenda before she realized what he was about to do, throwing her over his shoulder and walking back towards the tank. Her pounding fists against his back were far from painful, and he was aware of her rounded ass right beside his head. “Bee,” he called, making sure she could hear him over her protests. “You got anything in your pockets that can’t get wet?”
“Don’t you dare. No! You put me down, Reuben. Don’t do this!” she yelled at him, and he turned his head, nipping at her ass and drawing an indignant-sounding squeak from her. “Don’t!”
“Last chance to salvage anything that can’t get wet,” he warned her, bringing her down from his shoulder and into his arms as he stood next to the tank. Glancing down, looking her over, he didn’t see any bulges in her pockets, and fortunately, her feet were already bare. “You ain’t got anything on ya, do ya, Bee?” While he waited for her response, he used his heels, alternately trapping the toes of his muddy socks, tugging the encasing cotton from his feet, leaving the soiled proof of his travels lying in the dirt.
“Don’t,” she said again, twisting to try and free herself but he tightened down, holding her firmly in place against his chest. He hiked up his ass, putting it on the edge of the tank, balancing there for a moment. She yelled at him, her voice rising an octave. “Don’t, Reuben! I’m warning you!”
Swinging his legs into the tank, he walked one slow step at a time through the water and over to where Eli was floating on his back. The boy’s eyes were closed, face upturned, ears riding just below the surface blocking out most of the noises. Reuben grinned, this way the boy could always claim ignorance later if he caught grief for not helping his momma out.
Duck (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 8) Page 10
