Her smiling face no longer endearing, I hit the throttle on my four-wheeler and drive across a low point on the stream. Mud kicks up behind me, and a wicked idea crosses my mind. As Frankie nears the edge of the stream, I wait on the other side until she begins to gingerly inch her four-wheeler across the spot I just crossed. Once she’s in the middle, I gun it, splashing a wave of filthy water on her.
She screeches like a crazed person, lifting her hands to her face. I don’t bother to stick around as she sputters and spits. I take off back to the house. Mrs. Jacobson must be delusional if she thinks I can get any damn work done with this girl on my ass, but lately the old woman seems more interested in me making a love connection with Frankie than anything else. Maybe she knows we’re all using tiny buckets to bail out the water on our sinking ship.
But unlike Frankie, I can’t just walk away from obligations. What doesn’t get done today, only piles on top of the long list of things to do tomorrow. There’s no off-time around here. Not when there’s enough work for four people and only two around to get it done. One and a half if you consider how much Dad has been absent lately. The weekends aren’t even an excuse to laze around and relax.
I park the four-wheeler on the back side of the barn, hating myself for listening to make sure that Frankie is returning. I don’t need her smiling at me. I don’t need her thinking that anything has changed. I still hate her, and what I just did should serve as a reminder to her. Eventually, she’ll learn not to let her guard down, but it seems today she’s still uneducated to that fact. She should be more reluctant. Giving me the benefit of the doubt at any point will only cause her pain in the long run.
Once I’m certain she’s made it out of the field, I head to the water hose. Spraying Frankie with mud didn’t mean I made it out untouched. My work boots are covered in mud, and it’s going to suck spending the day with the legs of my pants wet, but suffering with the stench of that dirty water clinging to me isn’t an option.
With my thumb over the end of the hose, I increase the pressure of the spray, knocking as much of the debris away as I can manage.
“You’re the biggest jerk that ever walked the face of this earth!” she snaps as she rounds the end of the barn. “You didn’t have to do that!”
“Afraid of a little mud, City Girl?”
She sneers as I look up to meet her eyes, her top lip curling up in disgust, and the jacked-up part? She’s gorgeous even with her face wrenched up in anger.
The whole left side of her body is covered in filth, but even as much as I want to laugh at how ridiculous she looks, I can also internally admit that I like the sight of her in this less than perfect state.
Guys from school always brag about how their girlfriends love four-wheeling, fishing, and hunting. The girls from school are just as efficient in the woods as they are in the kitchen, but Frankie will never be like that. Country life and all the things that come with it will never be a part of her life.
“It stinks,” she whines as her little button nose scrunches up.
“That’s because it’s like sixty percent shit.” My grin widens when she snaps her eyes from her stained tank top to mine.
“What?”
“Cows eat, drink, and shit. That’s about it. It’s not really mud. It’s cow shit.”
Her throat works on a swallow but it doesn’t stop her neck from flexing as she gags. She’s seconds away from retching right in front of me, and even though getting covered in cow shit doesn’t bother me, I’ll lose my damn man card if she pukes because I’ll double over and do the same if she does. I’ve always been a sympathetic puker.
So, I turn the hose on her, grinning wildly as she screeches from the cold water, stunned as the water drenches her further.
“Why would you do that!” She’s frozen on the spot, palms up as I blast her with the water.
“You can’t go inside covered in mud,” I remind her. “Mrs. Nanette will tan your hide if you track up her kitchen.”
It doesn’t take long for me to realize my mistake. Frankie isn’t flat-chested, or at least I’m realizing that now as the mud clears from her white tank top leaving the practically see-through fabric clinging to her skin. She’s not wearing a bra and her small, yet pert breasts are easily visible now, and like the asshole that I am, I don’t disclose this information right away.