Reece (Stud Ranch)

“If you don’t mind tackling the kitchen,” he said, “I’ll go wrestle the plumbing in the back.” He grimaced. “It’s not pretty back there.”

“Oh my God, I’ll take your word for it.”

“Smart woman. Here, I’ve got some thick rubber gloves if you’re gonna dig in here.”

“I hope you have some industrial cleaning supplies too.”

He laughed at that, but pointed to a bucket on the floor beside the disgusting kitchen counter. There were all sorts of bottles and sprays in the bucket, along with the rubber gloves he’d mentioned.

“Sorry I don’t have a gas mask, but we can open the windows to at least get some fresh air in here. Cold, but fresh.”

I didn’t even wait for him, I just immediately went to the windows and started opening them.

“What kinda tunes you want?” he asked, holding up his phone. “Country or 70’s rock?”

I thought of my long truck ride with Rick yesterday and scrunched my nose. “Anything but country.”

He grinned. “Lynyrd Skynyrd and Kansas it is.” He thumbed through his phone and then “Highway to Hell” started blaring more loudly than I would have expected from the small device.

He left it on a shelf in the living room between the back bathroom and the kitchen where I was. Then I snapped on the rubber gloves and got to work.

It was surprisingly cathartic to clean a really dirty room while rocking out to the classics. By the time “Hotel California” came on, I was swinging my hips and dancing along while I shoved item after item into the first of what would be many big black trash bags.

Song by song, bag by bag, order came from chaos and space began to open up from the disgusting clutter.

Occasionally I’d hear noises or Reece cursing from the back room where he worked on the plumbing.

If I stopped and thought about it, it should be shocking to me that I was in an enclosed space with a man and not freaking the hell out.

I was in the middle of nowhere with a guy who was all but a stranger to me. Ruth was asleep in her bed in another building and Jeremiah was God knows where.

But I… wasn’t afraid.

I paused scrubbing the counter in shock when that realization hit me. In fact, dancing along to the music while I cleaned—something I never would have dared at home—was almost fun.

And this feeling I was feeling right now… this was what it felt like to not feel afraid. Holy crap.

I stumbled back, bumping against the counter at the thought. Sometimes it would happen at home, but only while Jeff was gone at work, and even then, there was always the underlying anxiety knowing he’d be coming home soon and wondering what sort of mood he’d be in.

I could never really… unclench.

But here I was, dancing around this strange bunkhouse, cleaning, doing whatever the hell I wanted, about to leave tomorrow and go somewhere completely new still and—

No one had a hold of me or a say on what I did.

I put down the rag I’d been scrubbing so diligently and let my head fall back as Aerosmith hit the high notes in “Dream On.” I threw my arms out and then drew them dramatically back to my chest along with the lyrics.

Dream on, dream on, dream on.

I spun around, ready to throw my arms out again when I saw Reece standing in the hallway, arm leaned against the doorway, watching me.

“Oh!” I yelped, reaching out and steadying myself against the counter.

He was smiling. “Sorry to interrupt. Just wanted to know if you wanted any lunch? I’m gonna go grab some and feed Bessie her midday bottle.”

“Oh!” I picked up the cleaning rag, feeling my cheeks flushed pink. “Oh. Um. Shouldn’t it be me getting you the lunch?”

He frowned and laughed, then gestured around at all the bags of trash. “Looks like you’re getting more done in here than I am back there wrestling with those pipes. But feel free to take a break for lunch.” Then he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, “Or however long you want, obviously. I had no idea you’d get so much done, frankly.”

“Oh, I haven’t even really gotten to the kitchen yet,” I said. “There’s about a decade’s worth of grime to get off that stove.”

He just paused and smiled a little quizzically at me. “Where on earth did you come from, Charlotte…” He trailed off at the end, like he was waiting for me to fill in my last name, but I didn’t.

I just held up my now-brown-formerly-yellow sponge. “Well, I guess I better get back to it. I’ll have whatever you’re having for lunch if you wanna bring me back a sandwich.”

He nodded. “Sure thing,” he said, but for another long moment he just stood there, watching me with his head tilted like he was trying to figure me out. It was a little unnerving.