by Casey Lane
Liz frowned. “Laverne who?”
“Oh, you’re too funny.”
She laughed. “Acadia, you little nodcock, have you conveniently forgotten you were twenty-five years younger than Law?”
“Nodcock? Seriously?” I demanded, “Have you been hitting the historical romances again?”
Liz laughed again before she went outside.
I didn’t glance in Rod’s direction while he spoke briefly to Uncle Coop. Not that it mattered. He didn’t look in my direction either, before he left the kitchen.
Coop, Sean, and I went outside to see everybody off. My last words to the shopping teams were to caution everyone to watch the four from the hotel. If they presented symptoms of the infection, my pragmatic advice was to shoot them in the legs and then run like hell. Almost forgetting, I added as an afterthought that they shouldn’t immediately shoot Rod if he started convulsing because it could be an epileptic fit.
Liz shook her head sadly at me while Rod’s fellow shoppers eyed him dubiously. Ray Dean told me not to worry one minute because he fervently pledged to personally take Ram down, either way. Climbing into Salty’s pick up, Rod paused to raise a surprised brow at his teammate’s alarming gusto. He then shot me a glance full of suppressed laughter.
As the trucks drove off, I frowned to realize I was smiling again at Rod’s irrepressible sense of humor.
Robert barked out that he was leaving to go home. “The two trucks will be here in the morning at 8:30 sharp like you ordered.” Brushing off my thanks, he added facetiously, “I’m sure you’ll let me know what else you need.”
“Oh, thanks for reminding me,” I replied cheerfully. “I want you to arrange for motor homes to be delivered here tomorrow. Use my name.”
Caught off guard, Robert brows lowered at me suspiciously. “Motor homes?”
“Yeah, you know--recreational vehicles like I mentioned earlier. Speak with any dealer that sells or rent them that you can find, although,” I suggested with a helpful smile, “if I were you, I’d stay out of The Cities. Now, I want 2011 or newer Type A motorhomes, twenty-one to forty feet long, in perfect condition, and fully gassed up.”
I kept talking over his curses and ladled on the honey, “There’s a sizable cash bonus for you, say two thousand for every motor home, if you get them here by tomorrow.” I motioned with a negligent hand. “I don’t care how you do it; whether it’s renting them or saying we want to test drive them to buy --whatever. Just get them delivered here tomorrow no later than 3:00 PM.”
“It wouldn’t be worth my time for less than ten thousand each,” Robert stonewalled, but the avarice was already glittering in his eyes.
“Two thousand each,” I reiterated firmly, “but there will be an added bonus of five thousand for each motor home after the first ten arrive.”
Robert stewed, his mouth working while he stared at me. “Fine.”
“Fine.”
“What are you going to do with all the RVs?” Robert asked, but more by rote rather than any real interest. He was too distracted by calculating how to make an easy buck.
“They’re for people,” I answered vaguely.
Without another word, he stomped off to his truck and drove off in a spray of gravel.
The three of us remaining outside walked over to the burn pit. It wasn’t as scary with Coop and Sean on either side of me, and my gun back in my pocket.
Uncle Coop flicked his lighter to start a fire on the end of tightly rolled cone of old newspapers. He waited a few seconds, and then threw it onto the pile of trash bags.
He said mildly, “You know he’s going to somehow try to fuck you four ways from Sunday.”
My cousin Sean whistled. “That’s putting it mildly. What have you got up your sleeve wanting so many RVs, Cadie?”
I hooked an arm through each of theirs, the men in my family, my trusted flesh and blood. Feeling strangely content and more alive than I had in a long time, I stared at the flames and watched the fire start to build in the pit. From either side, Uncle Coop and Sean gazed down at me with fond amusement. Their sharp, questioning smiles were very alike in the flickering light.
I pulled us back from the small blaze and used the toe of my boot to stamp out a burning ember. “Don’t worry; I know Robert can’t be trusted. My main goal was to keep him busy so that he’s not out causing trouble.” I glanced up with a grimace at their chuckles. “But you never know, his greed may be greater than his desire to thwart me. The motor homes are an answer to the housing issue like we just discussed with everyone in the kitchen, but they’re also great for defensive measures, too. If you guys agree, we should get as many as we can onto the farm over the next few days. We could use them as an extra defense perimeter out in the yard around the house, and as mobile command centers, moveable gates, and redoubts.” Uncle Coop nodded thoughtfully and I added, “Coach buses would be great, as well, but I haven’t had a chance to find any yet.”
Uncle Coop began to chuckle louder. “Redoubts, huh?”
“How come I wasn’t born a girl like her?” Sean said plaintively to the stars. “What the heck is a redoubt?”
“Good question,” Coop replied, and at Sean’s surprised look that our uncle had admitted to not knowing something, he added with a grin, “Why weren’t you born a girl?”
“Sean would make a lovely woman,” I agreed, tongue-in-cheek, and poked him in the ribs.
My cousin was the opposite of feminine. He was sleekly masculine with stylish black hair, strong features, and the Evans’ smoldering black eyes. He often fooled women’s gaydar, and much to his embarrassment, was hit on constantly.
Coop answered, “A redoubt is a military term for a safe place that protects soldiers under attack.”
“Yeah, Sean. Didn’t you listen to Uncle Coop’s war stories when we were growing up?”
Sean shuddered. “Hardly. I was too busy playing dirty dolls with your old G.I. Joes and my Kens.”
I chuckled and leaned my head on Sean’s shoulder while musing, “Except for missing the General and two Colonels, those G.I. Joes were built.”
“You two ladies are sorry excuses for my only relatives,” Coop stated dourly while Sean and I laughed. “Let’s spring Rex from the barn and get to work.”
Sean and I trailed after Coop through the open gates of the wrought iron fence that surrounded the large yard and car park area of King House. Exchanging grins, Sean made devil horns at our uncle’s back like he’d done since we were kids.
“Aren’t you a little old for that, Nephew?” Coop asked, without turning.
“Aren’t you getting too old to always catch me in the act, Uncle?” Sean shot back in complaint.
I was still laughing when I opened the single door in the back of the barn. A joyous Rex raced out to run circles around us. The dog performed gravity-defying twirls and jumps on the walk back to King House while I praised his tricks. I also filled in my uncle and cousin on what I ordered when I called various local business contacts to help build our defenses or supplement our stores. If all went well, we should get many deliveries first thing in the morning before people started freaking out.
Coop listened with interest, but Sean griped, “Come on, Ms. Redoubt, quit talking soldier talk. I’ve heard of concertina wire, but you lost me at the ‘gassed up single puppies getting mounted’.”
I laughed. “You mean gasoline fuel mount trucks with super singles on a quad pup?” At his disgusted frown, I laughed again. “That’s not soldier talk, but a type of truck Jay Larsen sells down on Hwy 52 at Polar Services. You know, a semi-truck pulling double tankers that you fill from the top.”
Sean exclaimed, “Well, there you go, you little show-off! Why didn’t you just speak English from the beginning?”
Smiling slightly, Uncle Coop said to my dog, “Come on, boy. No uncle should have to witness his niece beating up his grown nephew. Let’s go find out what the brothers have cooked up.”
Coop promised to lecture the brothers about ke
eping their mouths shut to their local friends, and he and Rex went off to the dining room. Sean and I settled at the kitchen table and got to work on dismantling the Fall Festival. To that end, we worked the phones and all avenues of social media to get the word out. Too many people didn’t listen or pay attention to the news regularly, me included.
Our intent was to prevent hordes of clueless, uninfected people from attempting to reach the farm on Friday and Saturday. A few years ago, we’d converted a small pasture into a permanent campsite. That reserved space usually filled up each year with a couple hundred vendors by Friday evening, but the first of them started trickling in early Friday morning—a mere thirty hours away. Our first priority would be to stop those vendors from arriving, although Sean argued a convincing case for the Mini-Donut food truck.
Not that there was a good time, but it was a stroke of particularly bad luck that this infection had descended on us the weekend of the Fall Festival. There was, however, one good thing as a result. The public restroom area was set up with twenty satellite toilets already delivered and installed yesterday—complete with toilet paper and little hand sanitizer gizmos.
Two productive hours passed in a blink, and then Coop and the brothers joined us to discuss their first phase ideas of a defense plan to be implemented at dawn.
After that, Coop touched base with Salty. All was well with the shoppers, no crazies or suspicious persons in sight, and they were rapidly filling up the trucks. I did a little dance for joy at that report. I did a bigger dance when Coop informed me that he and Salty had appointments to meet with some private gun dealers they knew early in the morning. Coop went downstairs to the gun room to do an inventory and prepare a shopping list.
While Coop was busy, the brothers proudly presented me with their prioritized supply list they’d worked up to order online. As I skimmed down the long list, three sets of tired brown eyes watched me anxiously.
Ian said helpfully, “Umm, the ammunition and gun supplies are based off Coop’s orders. He also gave us a gun list to order online at Gander Mountain over in Lakeville.”
“Well, that’s a relief. I know just enough about guns to be dangerous.”
Ian smiled, cheeks turning a bit pink. “Yeah, that’s what Coop said.”
I snickered while Kevin put a friendly arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “Unlike my brothers, I didn’t believe Coop for one minute because you’re the brainiest pretty woman I know.”
Hugh and Ian rolled their eyes. Kevin may be the youngest, but he was definitely the brother with game.
“Ah, Kev, thanks.” I patted his cheek. “You say the sweetest lines a woman could ever want to hear.” I stopped patting to give his cheek a little pinch. “Do they really work for you?”
He smiled and wiggled his brows suggestively. “You tell me?”
Hugh tried to cuff the back of Kevin’s head for getting fresh with the boss lady, but we all laughed when Kevin did some complicated martial arts moves to escape, complete with sound effects and chopping hands.
I sternly ordered them back to work, got them set up with my credit card info, and left them typing orders like madmen.
It was near three o’clock in the morning when Sean and I were done with the festival work in the kitchen. I was feeling enormous relief at our progress when my phone dinged I had a voicemail.
Sean saw my frown. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just don’t recognize this 651 number.”
I listened to the garbled message and the confused distaste must have shown clearly on my face because Sean perked up and asked, “Who is it? What are they saying?”
Ending the voicemail, I shook my head. “Speak of the devil. Did you hear tonight when Liz said I was too busy with guys on Harleys to pay attention in high school?” At Sean’s nod, I went on, “That was him drunk dialing me.” I shivered at sudden chill. “What a loser.”
“Tryg Johnson?” Sean’s voice rose with incredulity.
I stared in amazement at my cousin. “You remember his name?”
“Hell yes, I do.” Sean leaned back and put his arms behind his head to stare up at the kitchen ceiling. He smiled dreamily. “I was ten when I first saw Tryg Johnson in his leathers straddling that big, shiny bike.”
I kicked his chair leg as I laughed. “Perv!”
Sean sat forward with a thud, grinning while protesting, “Hey, a boy never forgets his first man in tight jeans and leather chaps. The sight changed the course of my life. I didn’t sleep for a week.”
“At ten?” I was somewhat appalled. My memories of Sean at ten did not include him being a little horn dog, but a cuddly, skinny boy with a mop of black hair and a devilish smile.
Sean’s smile hadn’t changed over the years. “What can I say? I was an early bloomer. Whatever happened with him, anyway?”
I shook off the images his words had conjured. “I never should have gone out with him, but he pursued me like you wouldn’t believe.” I rolled my eyes. “Tryg was convinced I was his soul mate, so it was pretty exciting for about five minutes to have this twenty-year-old, hot biker dude swearing his undying love when I was not even seventeen.” I got up to refill my coffee at the counter while saying, “His dad, Lars Johnson, had started this bike club called the Iron Fists. Lars was a seriously bad guy--a real mean bastard, but charismatic.” I stared down at the cup in my hand, thinking of that couple of months with all the angst and drama. “At first, I thought Tryg was different than his dad, but it turned out he was bad news.”
“Christ, I’ve heard of the Iron Fists bikers.” Now Sean was really incredulous. “That was Tryg and his father? How come I didn’t know this?”
“You really want me to go there?” Sean laughed at my dry tone. “When I dated Tryg, his dad was getting the club heavily into dealing drugs.” I sat back down at the kitchen table. “I wanted nothing to do with the Iron Fists, but especially not with that pig, Lars. The drugs were bad enough, but one night when we were out, Tryg’s best friend, Joey let it slip how Lars treated all the club’s women as his personal bitches. Lars had sex with any of the girls he wanted, regardless if they were unattached or the property, as they called it, of one his men.” I hadn’t talked in years of that short, anxious period of time when I was Tryg’s girlfriend. Telling Sean about that part of my life brought it all rushing back. “Lars used to have sex with the women while all his men watched, even Tryg.”
“Ew, his own kid? He was a pig.” Sean sat up suddenly from his sprawl. “Oh my God, did Lars try to have sex with you?”
I shook my head and laughed shortly. “Did you visit me in jail for manslaughter?”
Sean relaxed and chuckled.
“Lars never got the chance with me because I only went to that clubhouse once, and I didn’t stay for long.” I sighed. “Lars did rape Joey’s poor girlfriend, though. I’ll never forget when Joey had a few beers too many and told me that if Lars wanted a girl, the choices she had were getting fucked right then, or getting beat first then fucked.”
Sean sat stunned while he regarded me with his mouth open. We were definitely related.
“I found out my first and only night at the club that Tryg was his father’s son, all right. We were hanging out with Joey and that same girlfriend, I can’t remember her name. One minute we were all laughing and arguing about a movie we’d just seen, and then the next thing I knew, BAM!” I smacked the table with my fist and Sean jumped. “Tryg backhanded that poor girl and knocked her to the floor.”
“What the…!”
“Tell me about it.” I grimaced at the disturbing memory. “He had broken her nose flatter than a pancake and blood splattered everywhere. I was in total shock, but I remember helping her up off the floor and taking her to the bathroom while Tryg stood there drinking a beer, calm as you please. He said she needed to learn a lesson about disrespecting Joey. We had been discussing a freaking movie!” I snapped my fingers. “Her name was Darlene. I tried to convince Darlene to leave. I had my dad’s truck
and offered to take her to the hospital or home with me, but you know what she said?”
“Oh, let me guess,” Sean replied sarcastically, “she loved Joey? It was all her fault?”
I nodded sadly. “Yeah, something like if she only tried harder, then Tryg wouldn’t get so mad.” I shook my head to clear away the images. “Anyway, I walked out and never looked back.”
Sean’s brows came together. “Tryg let you walk that easy?”
“Uh, no. I’d just started working here at King Farm. Um, I never did the dirty deed with Tryg while we went out.” Sean snickered at that quaint phrase, and I had to smile. I didn’t usually talk seriously about my sex life with my cousin and it was a little awkward. “The next day, Tryg cornered me in the barn. He didn’t want to believe we were done or take no for an answer.” I scowled, still recalling the fury in Tryg’s eyes when I insisted we were over and my own anger at being caught by surprise. He’d grabbed me so hard; my upper arms carried the bruised imprints of his fingers for weeks. “I was super-pissed, but also getting worried Tryg had gone psycho and was going to rape me when Law walked into the barn.”
Sean shot a fist in the air. “Yes! And then Law kicked Tryg’s crazy ass all over the barn, right?”
I laughed softly. “Uh, no again. It was very anticlimactic, and believe me, that was a relief. Law was tough, but Tryg was, is nuts. He carried a knife and was in fights all the time back then. No, Law simply gave Tryg this significant look and said that he’d better never come near me again because it would make Lars very unhappy.” I met my cousin’s fascinated gaze. “Go figure, but above all in Tryg’s life, nothing mattered more to him than Lars’ respect. I found out later that Lars Johnson and Law went to school together. They had a history. Rumor was Law did something for Lars when they were boys that made Lars swear he owed Law for life.” I lifted a shoulder. “I never did get Law to tell me the details of that good deed. At the time, I was just enormously grateful that Tryg left after Law’s threat to tell his dad.”
