by Casey Lane
The auger had stopped and Rod’s question interrupted my thoughts. “Who was that?”
T-bone kept shoveling, but all the other men had stopped working and were waiting for my answer with inquiring, concerned faces.
“Who that was,” I snottily curled my lip, “is none of your concern, Football.”
Chapter Fifteen
“The most valuable of all talents is never using two words when one will do.” -Thomas Jefferson
After putting Rod in his place so neatly, I started back to the Cadillac. I appreciated that he’d kept the guys from tangling with the bikers, but I could not give him an inch.
I waited for a comeback from Rod, but it was Ray Dean who called out, “Acadia King, that ain’t a very nice way to talk to your bodyguard!”
I swung around. Ray Dean had his hands on his hips, but Rod was leaning on his shovel with both hands. He was staring at my ass again and smiling. So much for crushing Rod with my put down; did the man have no pride?
“Maybe I’d care if I had a bodyguard, but I don’t! Anyway, who appointed you the politeness police, Ray Dean?” I then threw up my hands and threw the cat amongst the pigeons. “And why is T-bone the only one doing all the work?”
I twirled around and grinned when T-bone immediately started harassing Ray Dean, Rod, and the brothers for being lazy white boys and not pullin’ their loads.
Barbara got out of the Cadillac and came to meet me, face full of questions and worry.
This time I quietly answered, “Tryg’s a guy I went out with for less than a couple of months way back in high school when I was very young and very stupid. He’s now the president, or whatever they’re called, of a biker gang called the Iron Fists.”
Barbara grimaced in surprise. “No offense, but he seemed scary.”
“None taken. He’s no friend of mine and he’s very scary.”
“Do you think they’ll come back here?”
I met her anxious eyes and told her the truth. “Him, or men like him, are going to be a big problem in the not too distant future.”
She pushed back her blonde hair and visibly swallowed. “Will you teach me how to shoot a gun?”
“Your first gun lesson will be today after the supply runs.” I smiled reassuringly, and then looked down at my phone to check the time while saying, “You’ll be the new Annie Oakley.” It was almost 8:00 AM. “Let’s go have a look at the trench really quick before I have to leave on the supply run.”
Barbara was still frowning. “I don’t have sunglasses, especially not that expensive brand, but we can probably buy some today, can’t we?”
Nonplussed, I said, “Ah, sure.”
Her blue eyes got round and voice rose tremulously in distress, “But what if the stores don’t have them? I can still learn how to shoot today without them, can’t I?”
My mind raced over our conversation to see what I’d missed that would cause her to start freaking out about sunglasses. I said aloud, “I was talking about Annie Oakley, a famous woman sharpshooter.”
“Oh!” Barbara’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank God! You were mumbling and I thought I heard you say I needed new Oakley’s to shoot a gun!”
I shook my head, suddenly not so sure about the gun lessons as we parted to get into the SUV. Buckling in, I glanced over when Barbara giggled.
She looked up from her seat belt. “Honestly, I’ve never heard of Annie Oakley, so it probably wouldn’t have mattered even if you hadn’t mumbled.”
Chuckling, I started to turn the key, but hesitated. Barbara was a sweet girl, and she’d never seemed younger to me or more vulnerable. It had to be tough to be on your own, to throw your lot in with a bunch of strangers under such terrifying conditions. I may have chosen to be alone, but I was actually surrounded by people who knew me and cared about me. So far, this younger woman had been helpful and done amazingly well.
I reached across for her hand and squeezed it gently. “I invited you to stay on King Farm and you decided to stay. That makes us family now, Babs. So as your new family, I’m giving you my word that I will do everything in my power to protect you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Good! The way I see it, the best protection I can give you is the ability to protect yourself. God willing, we will all be spending a lot of our time becoming a team of sharpshooting, guerilla fighting badasses.”
“Thank you so much!” Barbara used her free hand to swipe at her cheek, but her grin was saucy. “Do I get to call you Mommy?”
“Please do. And then I will get to slap you for being my smart-mouthed daughter, just like in a real family.”
Tears still leaked, but Babs laughed and exclaimed that I was totally mean like Ray Dean said. I dug in the outside pocket of my cargo pants and handed over the travel pack of Kleenex I always carried because, on a farm this size, a bathroom wasn’t always handy.
“Geez, Cupcake, not only do you booze it up with football jocks, you sure do cry a lot. We’ll have to think of a way to turn that faucet into your secret weapon.”
“I hate that I cry so much, but I can’t help it!” Barbara cried out, but gratefully accepted the tissues. “I’ve never thought of turning crying into a secret weapon.” Her glassy blue eyes were innocent. “Do you think I should practice crying to lure men like Bobby or Hugh into my arms and then I could pretend to shoot them?”
I started the SUV and hit the button to roll down my window. “Hmm, lure, cuddle, and kill. That’s the oldest kind of secret weapon. Let me know how that works for you and the zombies.”
“Muth-er!” Barbara complained, and I laughed because she nailed Quinn’s whine.
Four motor homes followed by a car turned from the highway onto 180th. The lead RV was the Martin’s. They slowed down and I saw Rod’s wide grin before he made a motion towards us in the Cadillac.
“Him and that damn grin of his,” I muttered in disgust.
Barbara’s eyes were on Rod, too, and her sigh was wistful. “Irresistible. You have all the luck, Acadia.”
I couldn’t very well lie; since she’d been at the bar and witnessed me pick up Rod. “Oh, that was nothing,” But I certainly didn’t have to bare my soul. “I mean, he’s kind of cute and all, but it was a bar thing that doesn’t matter now.”
Her head whipped around. “What?” She was scandalized at my heresy. “Did you just call Rod Ramaldi ‘kind of cute’? He was announced last week as People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive! He’s rich and famous--my God, I almost came the first time he smiled at me last night! That man is totally fuckable from every angle.”
“Barb-ra!” I intoned sternly, making light, but actually a little shocked at her frankness.
She laughed, and it wasn’t a girlish sound. Nor was the detached expression in her big, blue eyes that of a sweet, vulnerable young woman when she looked me over in speculative appraisal. “Ray Dean told me all the guys think Rod is God’s gift when it comes to football, but he’s got a reputation for being really strange where women are concerned.”
“Strange how?” I asked, eagerly. I couldn’t wait to hear about Rod’s fatal flaw. I only hoped it was some freakish fetish that grossed me out.
Her voice lowered conspiratorially. “I guess super models, famous actresses, and even a princess have tried to get Rod to go to bed with them. Ray Dean says Rod always grins and flirts because that’s what Rod does,” Barbara nodded knowingly, as if she was privy to Rod’s personality quirks after meeting him only last night, “but ultimately, Rod Ramaldi goes home alone.”
I smirked to myself and thought that if Rod, the man who has had nothing but sex on the brain since I laid eyes on him, went home alone, it was probably because he’d already done all those women in the elevator.
Barbara’s expression became baffled when she said, “Yet, it’s plain to us all who Rod wants. He’s been eye-fucking you since last night.” Her tone was also unflatteringly mystified that she didn’t understand why. “No offe
nse, Acadia, because you’re pretty attractive and…nice, but Quinn told me that you’re forty-five or something insane like that!”
“Hey! What …” I spluttered, sitting up straight.
Barbara kept going, “I don’t get it. I mean, can you even still have kids safely because my mom had a lot of problems in her late thirties having babies.” She whistled soundlessly. “She was so fat and swollen during that last pregnancy, I was seriously afraid she’d burst like a water balloon!” Barbara shuddered, but giggled a little, too. “Oh well, I guess that’s what we women have to do to keep a man happy--pop out a baby or two, even if it kills us!”
Not sure where to begin being offended, Barbara’s dirty, little laugh distracted me from the list. “If I didn’t like you so much, I’d strip and give Rod a lap dance he’d never forget to get him interested in me!” She flounced back in her seat. “You are so lucky and I am so jealous!”
Now it was my turn to whip my head around, but the other way. I looked out my open window and welcomed the Martin’s. I hardly knew what was said before I sent them on to King House to get situated.
I was flustered by Barbara’s words. Was I disappointed or happy to hear that Ray Dean’s version of being strange about other women meant that Rod had some discrimination? Part of me agreed with Barbara’s jealous bewilderment. Rod should be lusting after a fertile young woman like Barbara, not a dried-up, old lady in her forties. What was wrong with him?
My mind flickered to when Barbara ran up the aisle after Betsy to throw herself at James Franco’s evil twin. Okay, Rod seemed to be somewhat intelligent, so maybe he deserved someone a little more mature than Babs, plus Deb may be right--she was a little whore. I thought only strippers knew how to do lap dances! Was lap dancing what young women learned how to do these days to get men while old married women like me were out toiling in their gardens and up to their elbows in dirt? Or had Deb lap danced for Lawson in the kitchen late at night when I was asleep to get his interest, too?
I smacked my forehead to quit thinking like such a bitch just because I could picture the young, dewy fresh Barbara and her big boobs undulating over that damn grinning Sexiest Man Alive! What did I care what princesses the man screwed? Why was I wasting a minute of my time even thinking about him? And if I found out Deb had ever lap danced for Lawson, that holier-than-thou whore would be the first person thrown in the deep trench and set on fire!
The lead driver of the next three motor homes pulled up and called out a friendly greeting. His smile faltered when I demanded that he tell me who the fuck he was and to state his business on my property--pronto! The other two drivers leaned out their windows while he stuttered over his report that Robert Winters had sent them to deliver the RVs and the car trailing them was their ride back home.
I smiled grimly that Robert was working that promised bonus like the greedy bastard he was, and shouted out to the motor home drivers to put them in park and exit the RVs.
Rod jogged up to my window with Ray Dean and T-bone huffing and puffing right behind him.
Rod peered in and raised his brows. “Ladies, is there a problem?”
Barbara giggled, but not taking my eyes off the drivers, I brusquely explained in a low voice, “I don’t know these guys, but you can’t trust a weasel prick, so we’re searching these motor homes.”
Rod immediately took control of the situation. He smiled and made a “come here” gesture with his hand to the first driver who was nervously watching us from the step of the motor home. “Ray Dean and T-bone, will you escort these three gentlemen over to their car while we search the RVs?”
The big men nodded and walked away with the skinny, young driver. He almost fell into the deep ditch in his effort to detour widely around me.
As he opened my truck door and I climbed down, Rod’s voice quivered with humor, “He seemed harmless, so what did that little weasel prick say to get you all fired up, Mary-Acadia? Did he wish you a good morning? Compliment your pretty eyes?”
Barbara giggled again and I felt bad I’d scared the kid. “Nothing so terrible. I meant Robert is a weasel prick.”
Rod laughed. “Ah, now that makes more sense.”
I started for the steps of the first motor home, but Rod stopped me with a hand on the shoulder. “Tut, tut--you know the drill, girl. Beauty before age.”
“Oh, please save me, big bad alpha man.” I pretended to swoon, but he only looked amused at my taunt as he set me firmly behind him.
Drawing his gun, Rod stepped up into the first motor home. I stared at the muscular butt and thighs outlined in tight jeans that were mere inches from my face. Barbara was right about Rod being totally fuckable from any angle. The man had no physical flaws.
Without looking back, Rod murmured, “Quit looking at my ass, Boudicca. You’re hurting my feelings by treating me like a sex object all the time.”
“The only object I’m looking at is the complete ass that is in my way and won’t stop gabbing!” I was glad he laughed and moved inside because my checks were red hot.
Rod and I silently searched each RV for any unpleasant surprises, but they were clean. Actually, the motor homes were exceedingly spacious and luxurious. I could live in one no problem. I could also see how useful they would be out on the roads, once they were armored up with a little welding by Coop and Sean for more protection against the crazies or any bad guys.
We sent the drivers home. T-bone sent me a long-suffering glare at my request before stalking over to the lead motor home painted in a swirling design of browns and beiges. I had asked that he turn it around and park it off to the side of my uncle Coop’s driveway to face the road. Later tonight, the RV could be driven out across the road and used as a second barrier past the new gate. It would work splendidly as a base for the people on gate guard duty, as well as for the people that worked on building the berms further up the road.
We all met over on the side of the road by Bobby’s truck. Staring out across the open fields to the south, I couldn’t see Bobby and Ian, but I could faintly hear the stop and start rumble of the bulldozer’s engine. Shovels and weapons were propped against the side of the truck while the men grabbed cold waters from a cooler in the back. Kevin started casually throwing the football back and forth with Rod while I went over the logistics of our new plan.
No plan made was ever perfect. Details crop up that have to be handled on the spot. I hadn’t considered the drivers of Robert’s motor homes, but we all agreed it was smarter to stop those drivers here on the road like we had, rather than allow them to approach King House.
Ray Dean, Hugh, and Kevin would continue to work while they also watched over the road and the Midwest Fence crew. Rod and T-bone were going on the supply run, so they would drive the other two motor homes. Rod and Barbara would drive one to King House, and T-bone would drive the third motor home to the eastern border of 180th Street. I would follow T-bone in the SUV.
After searching the RVs, I didn’t have time now to see the trench, but this new plan would allow me to check on the progress of the second gate installation and then give T-bone a lift back to King House.
When I finished laying out our duties, everyone nodded but Rod.
He twirled the football on a finger and said, “I’ll be the one driving to the eastern border of the farm and T-bone will drive straight to the house.”
It was said casually but in that ‘don’t mess with me’ voice he’d used outside my bedroom door last night.
T-bone lifted his hands in the air while sending Barbara a suggestive smile. “You don’t hear me arguing, my brother.”
Barbara smiled flirtatiously back, but I felt the slight nudge of her elbow in my side and heard her whisper, “See? You lucky mother!”
I only shook my head as another car zoomed up the road and came to a lurching stop beside our group. Hugh and Kevin called out to the younger guy in the passenger seat. His name was Chip, and I recognized him as an employee at the quarry. They must be the two guys Robert had arra
nged to drive the big trucks for our supply runs this morning.
Chip looked a little green around the gills, and my adrenaline spiked until I recalled they had been out at a bachelor party last night.
Opening his door, Chip said with a sickly smile, “Dudes, share some of that water! I can’t take aspirin without water and I’m dying here!” He looked back at the driver. “Johnny, let’s get out for a minute before you blow chunks in the car!”
Kevin laughed and called Chip a sissy boy while Hugh reached into the cooler. I told the group I was taking off. I didn’t acknowledge Rod’s declaration to take T-bone’s place, but walked around the back end of the car to go over to the Cadillac.
The driver’s door was open and my smiled disappeared into disgust at the sound of the man named Johnny puking off to the side. He stood up and he took a few wobbly steps, but bent over again.
I was turning to get far out of puking range when I heard Rod’s harsh command, “Acadia, duck!”
It was the same tone he’d used at the bar last night, and instantly responding to the authority in Rod’s voice saved my life when the crazy attacked. I dove to the side.
Not learning my lesson as a young girl when I got brained by hail during the tornado, I put my life right back in danger when I did the same thing again today --I dove to the ground, but as my body went flying, I twisted to look up behind me.
My head was jerked painfully upwards by a fisted hand that caught the flying end of my braid. From my awkward position, I screamed when the man that used to be Johnny snapped his jaws full of teeth and just missed my shoulder. In pain, I yelled nonstop while I dug my boots into the graveled road and tried to pull away. The crazy could scalp me and have my braid, at least I’d be alive. Plus, my hair grows really quick.
A brown blur whizzed incredibly fast between us. It drilled the crazy directly in the face with a loud “Whap!” The infected man was hit so hard by the football that his nose exploded. My upturned face was pelted with blood that rained down, as if I had indeed relived that storm of my youth.
