He inserted one long glorious finger inside of me and just when he reached the point that made me shudder it was gone and Preppy was righting my skirt and maneuvering me so that I was standing in front of him. Presumably to hide the massive erection prodding me in my ass because Bo and Oscar came racing through the door. Bo pointed to the pig and jumped up and down, his face red with excitement. Oscar pushed Bo, nuzzling him in the arm until Bo fell over onto his butt. The smile never leaving his face.
“You know. That’s not just any pig, Bo,” I said, leaning down to pet Oscar who was actually wagging his curly tail when he saw me. “Hey there, boy.”
“No. He’s a super pig,” Preppy added.
“Yep, he’s a super pig,” I agreed.
We spent the next couple of hours playing with Oscar who was still as active as ever in his old age and seemed happier than a...well, happier than a pig in shit, to be home again although I did find him lingering in the doorway of Mirna’s room at one point. He looked sad when I scratched him on the head and told him that she wasn’t coming back. But when Bo came skipping down the hallway, Oscar squealed and happily followed him back out into the yard.
When I turned around from the door Preppy was staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face. “This was a great surprise. Thank you so much,” I said as he cornered me in the hall, pressing my back up against the bathroom door.
He pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose and dropped his forehead to mine. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Doc.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dre
For the next few weeks our little family settled into a comfortable routine. The bikers continued to stick around the house to watch over things, but they’d been reduced from over six of them in the yard at a time to only two. We hadn’t figured out who or why I was a target that night but Preppy told me it was being handled and I trusted him with his word. I didn’t ask about the details, the where, how’s, and why’s, because I know he’d tell me, and sometimes ignorant bliss is just that.
Bliss.
Kevin and Preppy were spending more time together. Preppy even started taking him to the granny houses to teach him how to set up a grow room and schmooze the grannies.
We enrolled Bo in a special private school, and although it was summer he was attending their summer school program part time so they could evaluate his needs. There were no records of him ever attending school and he hadn’t spoken another word since he’d yelled for me that night. We didn’t know what exactly he’d suffered at the hands of his mother and stepdad, so Preppy, drawing on his own childhood traumas, thought it best Bo saw a professional to make sure he didn’t suffer any more emotionally than he already had, so he was seeing a counselor who specialized in child abuse twice a week.
If everything went well, which so far it seemed like it was, then Bo would officially be attending kindergarten in the fall. Preppy also hired a private tutor to help Bo learn to communicate better through sign language. The tutor would spend an hour with Bo alone, then Preppy and I would join in on the session and we would all learn together. Kevin eventually joined us and the four of us had a pretty good grasp on the basics.
I spent most of my time when Bo was at school making our home feel like a home, refinishing furniture I’d found in the garage, and fixing broken pipes and wiring. It wasn’t a huge space so I painted the walls with a fresh coat of eggshell. The furniture was all white and I’d sanded down the dining room table to give it a worn look. Most importantly I made sure Bo’s room was everything a little boy could ever want. When Preppy had asked Bo what theme he wanted for his bedroom he chose cowboys and Indians. Not the most politically correct choice, but we weren’t about to explain that to a six-year-old.
I painted the walls of his room and his furniture a pale grey. I bought a scrap of white canvas and found some heavy sticks that I sanded down. I painted grey and orange zig-zag stripes on the canvas and attached them to the smooth sticks, making Bo his very own little tee-pee. I hung a branch that I’d spray painted black from the ceiling and layered it with white twinkling lights. I finished the look with a few fun colored throw pillows I’d sewn patches on. One with red cowboy boots, the other with a yellow cowboy hat and matching bandana.
The end result was a contemporary looking kid’s room that was both fun and functional.
I’d just finished setting up a mini table and chairs in the corner of his room to create a little play/work station when I heard a noise that sounded like shuffling feet on the porch.
I walked out into the living room and heard the noise again, this time right on the other side of the door but no one knocked or rang the bell.
It’s probably just Rev or Wolf.
I steeled myself, grabbed the handle, and swung open the door.
I squeaked in surprise to find Preppy standing there with a dazed look on his face, his closed fist in the air like he was about to knock. “I forgot my keys,” he said flatly.
“Oh my God, what’s wrong?” I asked, fear coursing through me. “I thought you were meeting with King.” That’s when I realized Preppy didn’t look dazed at all.
He looked horrified.
“I think they’re trying to kill me,” he whispered.
“Who’s trying to kill you?” I asked, stepping aside to let Preppy in so he could avoid whatever threat was after him. But then, two shrieking little blond blurs zipped past us into the house, my knees buckled as they sideswiped my legs on the way in.
Preppy grunted when the little boy elbowed him in the junk.
“Them,” Preppy groaned, holding the crotch of his khakis. He pointed to the two little kids who were now chasing each other around the island in the kitchen. “Them. They’re the ones trying to kill me.”
“Max and Sammy? KIDS!” I slapped him in the arm. “You gave me a fucking heart attack.”
Preppy straightened himself and followed me into the house. He stood behind the couch and continued to stare at King and Doe’s two oldest kids as they darted down the hallway. Immediately there was a crashing sound like they’d run into the wall followed by giggles and more running.
“Where is Bo?” Preppy asked.
“Taking a nap in our room, but something tells me that with those two racing around he won’t be napping for much longer,” I said.
“I don’t know where they get all that fucking energy from. Bo’s not like that. He plays hard but I never get the feeling that he’s out to fucking kill me. These two don’t slow down. They don’t even breathe. Plus, they keep telling me they’re hungry, but they won’t eat a damn thing I give them, which was fucking everything,” Preppy said, leaning his elbows on the counter and looking up at me through his lashes which were ridiculously long for a man.
“Uncle Preppy we want mac and cheese!” Max said. “And I think Sammy broke your lamp thingy.”
“No, we want burgers. Aunt Dre can we have burgers?” Sammy chimed in. “And Maxy broke your lamp, not me. I was being good.”
“No Sammy, I want mac and cheeeeeeese,” Max argued with her brother, elbowing him in the ribs.
Preppy leaned toward me while the kids continued to argue. “Is it possible for kids to be bi-polar?” he asked as the twosome once again started laughing and chasing each other around the house. “Seriously,” Preppy said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “I think they need A.D.D. meds. Or lithium. We got any lithium?” He opened and closed each of the kitchen cabinets.
I rolled my eyes. “Nope,” I laughed. “Fresh out, I’m afraid.”
Preppy slumped his shoulders in defeat.
I laughed. “They don’t need lithium, Preppy, they just need to burn off some energy.” I put two fingers in my mouth like my dad taught me to do and whistled loud and long. The kids froze.
“Do you guys kiss and hug like Mommy and Daddy?” Sammy suddenly asked. “Because it’s soooooo gross and they do it aaaallllll the time.” The worth gross sounded more like growth with his two missing front teeth.
&nb
sp; “Uhhhhh...” I stammered. I felt Preppy’s eyes on me. My skin broke out into gooseflesh. I was about to change the subject but Max beat me to it.
“You’re real pretty, Aunt Dre,” she said, turning at the waist from side to side with her hands behind her back. “Like my mommy.”
“So are you,” I said, bending down to pull on one of her springy curls. She giggled and my heart seized in my chest. I cleared my throat. “So how about I make you two something to eat while you two go play outside?” I said, opening the sliding glass door. “Don’t leave the yard,” I called out, but I was already talking to their backs because before I finished speaking they’d already darted into the yard and were again a blur of giggles and shrieks. I kept the glass part of the door open, but shut the screen portion.
“They’re such sweet kids,” I said, turning back to Preppy who was looking at me with confusion written all over his face.
“They’re the fucking devil,” Preppy said.
“They’re just kids. Don’t you remember how you were as a kid?” I opened a cabinet and pulled out a blue box of mac and cheese and started boiling some water.
“I don’t think I ever got to be a kid, not like that,” he said, watching through the window as Sammy and Max played leapfrog in the backyard. “I think I went straight from baby to amazing adult with no stops in between in holy terror zone.”
I pushed my index finger against his chest. “And yet...you never really grew up,” I teased.
“Oh you got jokes now?” he asked, tugging on the hem of my shirt.
“Some days.” I was about to turn back to the stove when my eyes landed on the thick scar cutting into his skin, slicing several of his colorful tattoos in half with a jagged white line that used to be crimson.
Preppy lifted his arm to look at what had caught my attention and I felt the embarrassment creep up my cheeks. “I didn’t mean to stare, it’s just that it’s all healed now.”
“You can stare all you want, Doc,” Preppy said, pulling me into his chest. “You can touch all you want too.”
A sizzling sound caught our attention. The pot on the stove was boiling over. Foam spilled over the top, landing on the hot burner with an angry hiss. “Fuck,” I said, grabbing the pot with two oven mitts. I was about to dump out the water and half cooked noodles when Preppy stopped me.
“Wait,” Preppy said. “Set it back down.” He turned the dial to the left, lowering the heat of the stove. “Do we have any olive oil?”
I rummaged through a cupboard and found what he needed, tingles shot up my arm when our fingers brushed as he took the bottle of oil from me but it was hard to deny that I felt anything when my nipples were peaking against my shirt. If he looked over there was no way he wouldn’t be able to see his effect on me.
Preppy poured a bit of the oil into the pot with the noodles and stirred it. Instantly the rising foam fell back down. “All fixed,” he said proudly.
I cleared my throat and wet my dry lips. “Are you going to tell me why you have King and Ray’s kids?” I asked curiously, taking a package of ground chuck out of the fridge. Preppy took the package from me and had already washed his hands and was pressing out hamburger patties before I could protest.
He shrugged. “Beats the fuck out of me. I was with King in his studio and we were going over some business shit. The next minute Doe, I mean RAY, calls King on his phone and then he’s asking me to watch the kids for a while because he has to go meet her.”
“I hope everything is all right,” I said.
“He didn’t tell me what was going on, but he didn’t have that ‘life or death’ look about him, and trust me I’m pretty familiar with that look,” Preppy said. “I’m pretty sure if they’re asking me to watch their kids though, it must be a sign of the zombie apocalypse.”
“Must be,” I giggled, loving the interesting places his mind went.
“Seriously, zombie apocalypse is seriously the only reason I could think of why they would want me to look after their little sex trophies when they’ve got lots of other people to call on.”
“First of all, they’ve seen how great you are with Bo, so that’s Bullshit. Second of all, sex trophies?” I asked.
“Yeah, you know, cause they’re a product of...”
“Uh, I get it. I know how that works, Preppy.”
“Oh DO you?” he asked, wagging an eyebrow.
“Shit,” I said, as a realization kicked in. “The grill doesn’t work. It’s ancient so I put it to the curb with the trash last week. Should we make the burgers in a pan or bake them in the oven?”
“Blasphemy!” Preppy shouted, gasping and looking around like he was making sure no one else heard me. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You do realize you’re in the south, right?”
“Uh, yeah, but what does that mean? That doesn’t automatically give us a working grill.” I jumped up to sit on the counter, my legs dangling against the cabinet as I watched Preppy move around the kitchen with ease.
“That means that us southern boys can pretty much make a grill out of anything,” Preppy said, plating the last burger. “I’m like a redneck MacGyver.”
“Oh yeah? Prove it,” I said, teasingly.
“What do you want to bet?” Preppy stalked across the kitchen, getting as close as he could to me with only the tray of burgers between us. My body zinged and hummed like a light being turned on for the first time in a long time.
“What do you got? I asked, suggestively.
Bo appeared in the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with the ball of his hand and yawning. “Bo, my man! Just in time. You must come with me so we can do man things!” Preppy said with as deep a voice as he could muster. He beat his closed fists on his chest.
Bo smiled and was instantly awake as he followed Preppy out into the back yard. “Man the mac and cheese, woman! We will be right back,” he said, shutting the sliding glass door.
As crazy and silly as that man could be, I wouldn’t have it any other way. It took a lot of crazy to put up with me and Samuel Clearwater was my kind of crazy.
I finished up the mac and cheese and put it in the oven to warm while Preppy took all three kids through the back gate into the open field. They were gone for about twenty minutes when they’d come back carrying a clay pot and an old shopping cart.
“Why do people always dump their garbage next to the tracks?” I asked as Preppy set the cart sideways over the clay pot.
“What garbage?” Preppy asked, taking a step back. “This is a state of the art cooking machine, right kids?” All three kids nodded or cheered enthusiastically as they watched Preppy turn junk into a grill. A half an hour later the four of us sat on the steps in the back yard as the sun set, eating mac and cheese, and burgers cooked on a shopping cart.
The kids finished their food and started a squealing game of tag in which Oscar decided he wanted to be a part of, bumping between kids and practically hopping around as they ran from one side of the yard to the other.
Preppy shifted next to me so that our thighs were touching. He took my hand in his and the warmth of his palm ran up my arm straight into my heart. “You know,” he said, caressing my hand with his thumb. “You’ve done a really, really great job with the place.” Preppy pointed through the sliders into the living room of the house. “I know you were talking about getting a job as a counselor, but personally I think this is what you should be doing. Building stuff. Designing stuff. Making old shit look new again. You’re amazing at it.”
“I’ve been thinking about it,” I admitted, blushing at his compliment. “But it’s not as noble as being a drug counselor but I do love it.” I chewed on my bottom lip.
“Noble isn’t really a thing where I come from,” Preppy laughed. “You don’t have to have a noble profession, Dre. You just have to be happy. Shit, you don’t have to have a profession at all. But if you’re really great at all this. And you should do more than furniture. Fuck, do a whole house. When you’re done fixing it up do the design of the in
side, furniture and all. I’m sure people would snap that up real quick and there’s no shortage of houses that need fixin’ round town after the real estate market crashed.”
“That’s a great idea in theory, Preppy. But houses are a lot more expensive than furniture,” I pointed out. “And you already managed to buy this one without me knowing.”
Preppy tipped my chin up so our eyes met. “You leave that up to me, okay? Let me take care of you,” he said with sincerity in his sparkling amber eyes.
I grinned like a schoolgirl. My stomach flipped. “Okay,” I whispered, because there was no arguing with Preppy. There never was. Even if his side of the argument bordered on the ridiculous, he would still win.
Every. Single. Time.
Even with a possible threat looming over our heads, I was still thinking how lucky I was up until the gate on the side of the yard squeaked open. Preppy and I stood and walked over to stand in the way of where the kids were sitting in a circle playing with ladybugs in the grass. The three of them were completely unaware of the bloodied man being carried by his shoulders into the yard by two of Bear’s bikers. His one eye swollen shut, his cheek split open, his hair coated in sticky red. His clothes tattered and stained. The bikers set him down on his knees on the grass.
Preppy was the first to recognize him. He took a step forward.
“Kevin?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Preppy
“What the fuck happened?” I asked, glancing between Wolf and Rev. “You two?”
Wolf held up his hands defensively. “Not us, brother. The kid came limping up the driveway bleeding and beat to shit. Someone got him good, but it wasn’t us.”
Preppy, Part Three, The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater (King, #7) Page 6
