“Crapola,” I mumble.
“Get up, you’re getting off my property now,” he growls. He reaches out to grab my hand and I yelp in surprise. That’s when Bogo starts barking—well as best he can—and snarling at the stranger—which is nice, since the traitor has been quiet since the man showed up.
“What’s that?” the man asks, and I give him a mean look, while taking a shaking Bogo in my arms.
“That’s my dog.”
“That’s not a dog,” he argues, and I roll my eyes.
“It’s okay Bogo, the mean man didn’t mean it.”
“Mean it?” the man asks, incredulously.
“You hurt his feelings. Bogo is very sensitive.”
“He’s also a pig.”
Bogo curls against my body, clearly not happy and whimpering in his way. I cuddle him as best I can, giving the stranger a dirty look.
“Can you be nice, please? Bogo is complicated.”
“He’s also a pig.”
“You don’t have to—” I break off as suddenly the sky opens up with rain. I wasn’t watching the black cloud move over us, the behemoth of a man standing over me got all of my attention. Now, however, I can see it’s getting darker. Worse, I can feel the rain falling down, as it drenches me. “Oh great,” I whine.
“You need to leave,” the man says again, turning around. My vision is blurry from the rain, but he’s clearly walking away.
“Are you just going to leave me here?” I ask, not believing he could be so… rude.
“I didn’t bring you up my mountain, lady,” he reminds me, not bothering to turn around.
“But, I’m lost!” I cry out admitting what I’ve refused to until this point. Bogo looks up at me and I swear he has judgment written all over his face. I should take his beloved fake mink coat off of him that he’s wearing. It would suit him right.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” he growls, but he does it turning back around. I have to believe that’s encouraging.
Either that or he wants to kill me…
“I have a vehicle at the shelter parking lot,” I explain, debating on whether I should ask this guy to take me there.
“The shelter parking lot?” he asks, and I didn’t think it was possible, but now he sounds more annoyed.
“Well, yeah.”
“Lady, how long have you been walking?”
“An hour,” I mutter. Then, because I know I’m lying, and I don’t lie well—the guilt nags at me—I add under my breath. “Maybe two or three…”
“Christ,” he says, clearly disgusted.
“Get up. I’ll drive you off the mountain, but you better not come back.”
“Well that’s not very nice,” I huff, wiping the water out of my face.
“I’m warning you. That’s nice.”
“Warning me?”
“Yeah, because if you come back, I’ll have you arrested.”
“For hiking?” I sputter.
“For trespassing. Are you going to sit there and let the rain drown you and that damn pig, or are you going to get up?”
I cover Bogo’s ears and hiss up at the big jerk. “We don’t use the P word!”
“The P…,” he shakes his head, clearly disgusted. “Lady, get up off your ass,” he snaps.
I’ve been dreading it, because my ankle hurts, but I put Bogo down on the ground and wallow around on the muddy ground. I’ve never been graceful, but with the rain pouring down, my hurt leg and a scared Bogo trying to stay close to me, I’m even less so now. As I move on all fours and lift myself up, pain shoots through my ankle and I cry out, falling back down on the ground, my face plowing into the mud.
“Damn it,” the man growls. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I hurt my foot,” I mumble, trying to get back up—only to fall again, and this time barely missing squishing Bogo.
“Jesus Christ,” the man barks and then before I can catch my breath, he’s picking up and cradling me against his chest.
I must be in shock, because all I can think is… how can he be so warm in the middle of a thunderstorm?2BradenIt feels weird.
Carrying a woman in my arms was the last thing I ever expected when I walked down to my apple orchard that I’d run into another person. Most everyone in Thickwood know to stay away from me. The few that have tried to be friendly, stopped quickly—which is exactly how I like it. Now, I limit my interaction to two people. Holt, who owns the supply store in town and Elliot Shepherd, the town sheriff. I may know other people in town, but I don’t invite interaction with them. The lone exception to that is Judd Wellington, but I avoid him if necessary too. He brings memories I don’t want. He saved my life, but I wish he had just let me die…
That’s a shit thing to say, but it’s the truth. I’m not the same man any longer. Hell, the woman I’m holding barely weighs anything, and yet I can feel the skin on my arms stretch where the scars are. The skin might be dead there, but the biggest problem is the lack of flexibility, the loss of strength. The fact that I am weak in ways that I never thought I could ever be.