“Work first, treats later.” He gave Gilbert a final pat before sliding off his heavy backpack and unloading the travois. Gilbert strolled around him as he worked, but Belinda hung back, peering at him with her odd yellow eyes. She had never warmed to Lance like Gilbert had. As a result, he hadn’t grown attached to her like he had to Gilbert. But she would produce for him, and in return he would take care of her.
He stacked the food items inside the cabin and grabbed the small harness from a peg near the door. Retracing his steps to the road, Gilbert following, Lance dragged the empty travois down for the last load. He threw back the netting and pulled the bales and feed from the back of the truck and loaded it onto the travois. Gilbert pried a mouthful of alfalfa from the bale, giving Lance a sneaky look as she did so.
“I saw that,” he told her with mock sternness. She gave her head a nonchalant toss, and stood still while he harnessed her to the loaded travois. He covered Old Reliable with the netting once again. It wasn’t a perfect camouflage, but she would be difficult to spot if a person wasn’t specifically looking for her. A light mist fell as Lance finished tying his purchases down; the pressure in the air swelled uneasily. He took a deep satisfied breath, drawing the tangy ozone smell into his lungs. Mountain thunderstorms always rocked his senses with their deep rolling booms, like massive explosions, so close it felt like he was standing in the heavens between warring clouds. The sense of anticipation worked on him like a drug as the earth prepared to be pounded, waiting impatiently for its thirst to be quenched. The scent of the trees and plants reached toward the coming rain as pheromones to a lover. For Lance, it was a full-body sensation when Mother Nature yanked up her stormy skirts and danced her brazen jig across the land. He could never get enough.
With a sound like a thousand wild horses thundering through a high pass, the storm arrived. Lance delighted in the rumbles, felt them reverberate in his bones, and thought of God. Gilbert seemed unimpressed with nature’s outburst, but she picked up her pace and they almost made it back to the cabin before the rain fell in sweeping sheets.
Lance unhitched Gilbert at the door of the shed. Pulling the candy bar from his pocket, he quickly peeled away the wrapper, and gave her the sweet treat. He could swear she smiled as she took it from his hand. Chewing, she ambled into the shed. Belinda was already inside and gave him a baleful glare as if to admonish him for being silly enough to stand out in the rain. Her bossy attitude made him grin, even as the icy water ran down his face and inside his jacket. He tugged the bales and feed into the other side of the shed and filled the goats’ trough through the slot he had built into the structure for just that purpose. Before heading to his cabin, he tucked the travois inside the shed and shut the doors, protecting the feed on one side, and safely enclosing the goats on the other side. They could wander tomorrow, but tonight they would be sheltered and cozy.
On his way back to the cabin, he closed the door on the small poultry shed and secured it against predators. He heard the soft rustling of wings, and a hen scolded him for the disturbance with a few quiet clucks. The ducks were hopefully ensconced with the chickens, but it was too dark to tell.
His muscles ached pleasantly, the result of honest hard work. He was tired, and that’s the way he liked to end his days. Tired, too tired to think. Too tired to remember. Tomorrow he would take Old Reliable into town and retrieve his bike. For tonight, he wanted only dry clothes, a hot meal, a book to make him drowsy, and his soft warm bed.
Chapter 9
Morning arrived. Its weak light barely penetrated the grimy window glass, leaving the room dim and cold. Brook slowly became aware of the sounds of a waking household. Someone said they needed coffee. Someone else swore, telling them to make it themselves. Brook remembered where she was and cowered deeper under the mattress. A sour smell filled her nostrils, and with a shock of embarrassment, she realized it was coming from her own body.
She could hear kitchen noises; pots and pans were banging against each other and cabinet doors opened and shut. Obviously, breakfast was being taken. Brook's stomach growled its willingness to eat, but she suppressed the need. Food wasn’t what she needed right now. What she needed was to escape from this hell.
The door to the room crashed open and heavy footfalls crossed the threshold. "What the fuck!” Jase’s voice blared. “Where the hell did the bitch go?”
“What?” Benny asked, drawing nearer. "Hey, where did she go?”
“That’s what I asked you, dumbfuck!” Jase retorted.
Brook held her breath; maybe they wouldn’t find her. Maybe they would think she escaped and go looking for her; then, she could sneak away.
“Hold on,” Benny said. “What’s that lump by the wall?”
An instant later, Brook felt the mattress pulled from her. She remained still, huddled beneath the blanket. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, like a child hoping they wouldn’t see her if she couldn’t see them. But, of course, she wasn’t a child, and she knew full well they could see her.
“Jesus Christ,” Jase exclaimed. “I thought the bitch was gone.” He laughed. “I thought there for a minute I was gonna have to fuck you.” He punched Benny in the arm.
“What the fuck ever,” Benny grouched. “I’m gonna get something to eat.” He left the room.
Jase pulled the blankets from Brook and backed up a step. “Holy-hell! You look like shit warmed over.” He waved his hand in front of his nose. “And you stink! Gina,” he yelled over his shoulder.
After a minute, Gina, poked her head through the door, nibbling on a piece of buttered toast. “What the fuck do you want now?”
“Clean this bitch up,” Jase commanded.
“You clean her up,” Gina said and turned away.
“Pete!” Jase bellowed.
Pete entered the room and glanced at Brook. “Shit,” he commented. “She don’t look so good today. Look at her fuckin’ eye!”
“Get your old lady to clean her up and tell her not to backtalk me no more,” Jase said in a tone that left no room for argument. “I’m sick of her balking at orders. Her ass shouldn’t be here anyway.”
Pete ducked out the door and Brook could hear a muffled conversation coming from the hallway. A few minutes later Gina returned, her face flushed with anger. With a scornful look, she turned her eyes to Brook. “Get your ass up and into the can.”
Brook crawled to the wooden chair in the corner and used it to get to her feet. She dragged the sheet up and attempted to cover herself as she moved to the door, but Jase yanked it away.
"What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You ain’t got nothing to hide. Shit! You don’t need to cover up. We already seen everything you have.” He laughed uproariously and walked away.
Gina wadded the remainder of her toast into a ball and hurled it at Jase’s retreating back, but missed. She followed Brook into the restroom and slammed the door behind them. “I ain’t cleaning your ass up; you can do it yourself. She sat on the side of the tub to wait.
Brook lowered herself onto the stool. As she urinated, pain flared between her legs, burning like acid. She finished and wiped herself, noting the blood on the tissue as she did so. Brook groaned and stood. “What do I use to clean myself?” she asked.
“God damn,” Gina grumbled as she got to her feet, opened a cabinet, and tossed Brook a tattered washcloth. “Hurry the fuck up.”