I didn’t quite understand what Clint was saying. Why, if the man was a loner, did he opt to have so many foster kids? And why all of a sudden? But I didn’t think it was the right time to ask. The fondness and love Clint held for the man was evident.
“I take it he was a good man, then?”
“The best.”
It was then that a realization sank in. Here I was feeling sick over the loss of Bertha and Hannah, yet Clint had recently lost a man who was a father figure to him. My eyes filled with tears. My heart filled with guilt. I was mired so deeply in my own issues, my own grief, I hadn’t even bothered to notice that Clint, too, was in mourning, not for creatures he’d only known a week, but for a man he’d considered a parent and whom he’d known since he was a young child.
“Oh, Clint, I am so sorry for your loss.” The words were nothing more than a choked whisper, and before I knew what I was doing, my arms were wrapped around Clint’s broad body, and I was hugging him tightly. “I wish I could have met him. He sounds as though he was a wonderful man. You must miss him.”
Clint seemed taken aback for a moment. Then slowly, his arms rose and he hugged me back.
“He could be ornery as a polecat sometimes. But, yeah, I miss him.” I pretended not to notice the heaviness in his voice. It wasn’t until I felt the hardness of his growing erection digging into my stomach that I gasped, dropped my arms, and took several steps back.
What the hell was I doing taking advantage of a man’s grief like that, by copping a feel?
My eyes flitted nervously here and there as I hugged myself and rocked back and forth trying to think of what to do or say to ease my shame and embarrassment.
I opted for babbling like a lunatic.
“Um…I switched bedrooms with you, gave you the larger room since, you know, you’re much bigger, and put fresh towels in the bedroom for you. They just came in off the line yesterday. They smell sunshine fresh. You know, when I got here, I had to learn how to wash laundry the old-fashioned way. In my apartment back in DC, we had a laundry room on level one. Coin-operated machines. One time, after a bad storm, the building lost power for four days. I found a laundromat across town to launder my essentials, but since a quarter of the city power grid was out, all the laundromats were packed. I ended up using only the washing machine then bringing back the wet clothes to hang dry over my bathtub…”
As my voice tapered, I managed a nervous laugh and a sheepish smile.
But Clint didn’t look at me as though I was crazy for rambling on, not like he looked at me this morning. This time his gaze held equal parts admiration, gratitude…and heat. He stepped forward, cupped my chin, and stared down into my eyes.
Chewing on my lip, I looked away.
He landed a quick kiss on my forehead. “Get some rest, Sam. You and I have a list of ranch chores to tend to tomorrow. It’ll be a mighty long day.”
I frowned. “Don’t you need to go to work and do sheriff-y things?”
“I’ll be working here tomorrow.” His finger trailed ever so gently down the chord of my neck to the hollow at the base of my throat—a whisper-soft touch that he held for a second before dropping his hand to his side. I broke out with a case of goose bumps.
He nodded in the direction of the bedrooms. “G’won now.”
I hurried to my room and shut myself in before I did something stupid like hurl myself at him and latch onto him as human cling wrap.
I couldn’t trust this uber-attraction I had to Clint. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was exhausted, my nerves were frayed, and I had anxiety about the safety of my animals. Was it any wonder I craved comfort?
After a good night’s sleep, maybe my conviction that this marriage remain platonic would be back, because right now I had difficulty remembering why…
Oh, yeah, because he’s the law around here, and you’re a wanted fugitive. Yeah, that.
I slipped into the bathroom to brush my teeth, then climbed under the heavy quilt. The mattress was firmer than I was used to, but comfortable enough. The silence was another story. Instead of the sirens, loud conversations, traffic, and bickering neighbors that normally lulled me to sleep, there was a rural silence—crickets. Literally.
The silence peppered with chirpy stridulations was such a far cry from the city sounds I was used to that it kept me awake.
Since I’d arrived, I’d kept the record player going while I fell asleep, but now I had Clint to think about. The impression I’d made on him so far was already questionable. I didn’t want to add to it by blasting another of Pappy’s vinyl country collection.
So I stared at the ceiling.
I listened to Clint pad into the bathroom. I heard the toilet flush, then the sink ran for a minute. The bed springs creaked. I pictured Clint’s hard physique sinking into the mattress. He groaned and I heard him shifting around, trying to get comfortable, no doubt. I’d done the same thing the first night in the house, so I understood, but it still made me giggle.
The sounds from the other room stopped, and a deep chuckle filled the house. “I forgot how thin these mattresses were. Pappy was no slave to comfort.”
I smiled into my pillow and held it tighter. “And how paper thin the walls are?”
He chuckled.
“I’m still trying to imagine how fourteen of you fit into this little three-bedroom place. Where did you all sleep?”
The sound of the bed springs creaking as he shifted started up again, and Clint answered a few seconds later. “Four or five of us to a bedroom. Pappy took the couch. There were more beds in the house back then. As we got older, hell, sometimes we just kind of spread out a bedroll anywhere at night.”
Without warning, a huge yawn overtook me.
Clint huffed a soft laugh. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
I rolled onto my back. “I’m tired but it’s hard to sleep. There were always background noises in the city. I didn’t even notice then, but now that there’s such quiet out here, my body has a hard time adjusting to it. It’s weird that it’s the silence that keeps me awake.”
The bed springs shifted again, and I heard Clint’s footsteps crossing the living room. Then, the scratch of a needle on vinyl before the baritone voice of Johnny Cash drifted through the house. “Better?”
A wide smile stretched my face. “Much better.”
As I heard Clint climb back into bed, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe I should have held out for a toothless, pot-bellied, long-toenailed down-and-outer. At least then I wouldn’t have to worry about fighting my own libido.
Clint called out one last time from the other room.
“Sweet dreams, wife.”
I squeezed my pillow tightly.
“Sweet dreams, husband.”
Chapter 12
Shay
I awoke to clattering in the kitchen. I stretched and used the bathroom before going out to see what Clint was doing.
He greeted me with an intense frown. “What in tarnation have you been eating?”
I frowned back at him. “There are shelves stocked full of canned goods. I’ve barely made a dent.”
He took in the wall of shallow shelves that held the vegetables, fruits, jams, and jellies—all jarred, sealed, and put up. There was a decent variety, and I’d been happy so far.
Clint didn’t look happy, though.
“You’ve been subsisting on these canned goods? Lord above, who even knows how old these things are? I don’t see any meat in the fridge or freezer.”
I opened the refrigerator and pointed to the half-empty jars I’d already opened and sampled. “Look, chokecherry preserves, muscadine jelly, and persimmons. I’m not exactly sure what any of them are, but they taste good. Plus, I don’t eat meat.”
He stood gaping at me. “Come again? You don’t what?”
I opened the freezer, pulled out a loaf of bread I’d made a few days ago, and showed it to him. “There was plenty of stuff to make bread, so I’ve been eating lots of toast with preserves.”
“Hold up. Did you say you don’t eat meat? Like any meat?” Clint leaned against the counter and watched me slice the frozen bread before I popped it into the toaster on the counter. The appliance looked like it had been purchased brand new—in the 1960s.
“Nope.”
“So, let me get this straight. When you say you don’t eat meat, you mean not for breakfast, not for lunch, and not for dinner? Not at all?”
I scowled. “That’s correct.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Not beef? Or pork? Or even venison?
“Nope.”
“How ‘bout chicken?”
“No.”
“Turkey? Bison?”
“No, and no.”
“Lamb?”
“No.”
“Pheasant?”
“No.”
“Squirrel? ‘Possum? Rabbit?”
“Ew, no! Stop acting like it’s weird.”
“It is!”
“It’s called veganism, and it’s not that unusual where I come from.”
He grunted and then shook his head. “We’ll go grocery shopping soon.” He grunted again and began mumbling to himself. “Never in all my days.”
I made the three of us—me, Clint, and Gilligan—thick slices of toast with quince jam. Clint and I ate in silence. Across the kitchen, Gilligan noisily munched his toast. The scene felt oddly domestic, and I kept having to stifle the urge to giggle.
I was slaphappy, for whatever dumb reason.
It was a bright morning. I felt safer than I had in a long time here on the ranch, and I had a handsome husband to help me.
I knew this house of cards I was building could all come crashing down around me at any time, but right then, for just that moment, the world felt right.
My contentedness was short lived.
Twenty minutes later, I was outside in the stifling heat dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and both were already soaked with perspiration. If I’d ever been worried that Clint would go easy on me or that he wouldn’t teach me everything and expect me to work right alongside him, I’d have been wrong. The vote of confidence would’ve been nice if it hadn’t come at the cost of pain in my arms, back, and every other nook and cranny of my body.
We moved fences and let the cows roam the rest of the pasture. Then we moved the fence pieces to the barn to be stored up in the corner of the loft. We fed the animals, cleaned the pens, walked through the barley fields, and checked the artesian wells that fed them water.
Clint brought out something that I would have bet money was an old-fashioned torture device, until he showed me how to use it. Turned out it was for cutting the grass. Who knew? He did a few swaths with ease and then handed the thing over to me with a sly smile on his face and a warning to not chop my feet off at the ankles.
Nice. Thanks. I’ll try to avoid that.
Clint worked with a sharp focus and steady determination. When we came in for lunch, he glanced at the canned-goods wall with disdain before helping me make more toast and jam. Then, it was straight back to work.
By the end of the workday, I was exhausted. My body was so beaten up, I felt as though I’d been in a car accident.
Amid a backdrop of the setting sun, I said a weary goodnight to the animals before heading inside.
Clint was in the kitchen, cooking something and humming along to the record player. I wanted to appreciate the sight. A part of me did. A bigger part of me was too exhausted to care about anything but a hot shower.
I stumbled into the shower and scrubbed what felt like an inch-thick layer of dirt, grime, and dust from my body and hair and then stumbled to my room with a towel wrapped around me. I fell back on the bed and curled up on my side, fully planning to get up in a second, get dressed, and eat dinner with my husband.
Instead, I fell fast asleep and didn’t wake until daybreak.
Chapter 13
Clint
I jerked awake to the sound of Sam’s blood-curdling scream. I was out of bed and in her bedroom in a fraction of a second.
It was empty.
I’d tucked her in last night before I went to bed myself, so I knew she had been there. The sun was just coming up. I did a quick scan of the house.
No Sam.
Another barrage of screams and I was out of the house in a lick, darting across the yard in my bare feet and boxer briefs. I almost changed forms, until I spotted her. What I saw made my blood run cold.
Sam was scooping up hens left and right, apparently trying to hold as many as she could in her arms as she attempted to save them from an angry rattlesnake in the corner of the hen house.
Between random shrill screams, she was shouting at the hens to run and at the rattler to leave her chickens alone before she made herself a snakeskin belt. The hens, startled by all the ruckus, were pecking at her ankles and feet. Why the hell was she wearing flip-flops?
“You get out of here, you nasty freeloader! Don’t you even think about attacking my chickens!” She screamed again when the very agitated snake shook its rattle at her.
Growling under my breath, I flew into the henhouse placing myself between Sam and the snake. “Get out!”
When she didn’t listen, I wrapped an arm around her waist, hauled her and her armload of hens up, and deposited them behind me.
She stumbled and looked angered by my actions or the harsh tone of my voice, or maybe it was my command that pissed her off, but I’d be damned if I would risk her being bit by a rattler. For Variants like me, it was no big deal. Their venom had little effect on us. I knew that wasn’t the case with Norms.
For Norms, they were toxic, even deadly on occasion.
I inched toward the angry snake and snapped my arm out as it lashed up at me. As I caught it by the head, it sank its fangs into my palm, but the effect was nothing more than a mild sting. Adjusting my grip, I carried the snake out of the coop and threw it so hard it landed somewhere beyond the edge of the pasture, then I turned to find Sam right behind me.
She threw her arms around me and stretched up to press a kiss against my cheek. “Thank you, Clint. You saved the chickens!”
My anger and frustration mixed with a carnal awareness that her body was pressed against mine.
“What are you doing out here? What was your plan in there? Scream the damn thing into submission? You’re going to goddamn hurt yourself. Aw, Jesus. Look at your legs. You’re bleeding. You can’t do stupid shit like that. Call me to help. That snake could’ve killed you!”
She stumbled backward and wrapped her arms around herself. “I-I wanted to get started on the day’s work.”
“How much you gonna get done if you’re dead?”
She bit her lip, but it still wobbled with emotion. She glared at me then turned and stomped away.
“Sam,” I called after her, not quite sure why I was feeling so guilty for trying to protect her. I was angry and cranky, and I spoke to her with the same bluntness and tone of voice that I’d have used with any of my sisters growing up. Sam had to learn how to be more careful.
She didn’t look back at me as I followed. She just held up her hand and walked faster. “I’m going inside to…do…something.”
I heard the tears in her voice and squeezed my eyes shut. Damn me and my big mouth. I’d been too harsh again. She’d scared the tar out of me, though. She was my wife now. The woman I intended to spend the rest of my life with.
Once Variants chose spouses, we committed mind, body, and spirit. I was committed to Sam in every sense of the word, and if anything happened to her, it would gut me. But I supposed I needed to use a gentler approach when it came to my wife.
I followed her into the house and stood outside her bedroom door, feeling uncertain. “Sam?”
I heard sniffles, but she didn’t answer.
I retreated to the kitchen table where I sat feeling like an ass and not knowing what to do about it. I was used to the blunt straightforwardness of Variant women.
My wife was not a Variant.
Sam was sensitive. Delicate. And here I was acting like a moose in a china shop with her.
I thought of how tired she’d been the night before. She passed out without eating dinner, and I’d seen the blisters on her hands when I came into her room to tuck her in. I’d worked her too hard, but she hadn’t raised a single complaint.
She was weaker physically than Variant women, and evidently more sensitive, but based on what I’d seen so far, she had her own brand of strength. A strength of will. In that way, she was strong as an ox. She’d given her all to every chore. She’d worked right alongside me yesterday, and even though it had been twice as hard for her—three times as hard, probably, maybe more—she hadn’t complained a bit.
Her spirit was tough as nails, but her body wasn’t. Norms were different than Variants. I had to remember that.
I rubbed my hands down my face, angry as hell at myself for hurting her with my sharp tongue. Married a day and already I needed to apologize for being a big-mouthed jackass. My heartrate still hadn’t slowed down after seeing that snake strike out at Sam, though. I was too keyed up. I could also still smell the scent of strawberries and her nervous perspiration on my chest from when she pressed herself against me.
When Sam finally joined me in the kitchen, she was cleaned up and wearing tennis shoes. She didn’t talk to me right away. Instead, she gave me a wide berth as she stepped around me and made her staple, toast and jam. We needed to get some fresh groceries.
“Sam?”
She didn’t answer me, but when I called her name louder, she jumped and turned to face me with a guilty look on her face. “Sorry. What’d you say?”
I frowned. “I just called your name. Are you okay?”
She stuttered and nodded. “Um, yeah. Sorry. I just didn’t hear you.”
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