Research Notes: you can always count on a cowboy to save the day.
grayson
. . .
FOUR
Gettingthe blood out of my carpet is going to be a bitch and a half. I slam my front door open, my bloody knuckles still somehow weeping through their bandages. The bright red spots speckled across my light carpet is the cherry on top of tonight's activities.
I unwrap my hands, shoving them under the running water of my kitchen sink. I welcome the sting, watching the water turn from deep red, to pink, then clear. They shake as I wrap them in fresh bandages, my head hung low as exhaustion takes hold of me.
I stay like that for a while, my life choices playing out in my head. I keep telling myself this will be the last time, but it’s not that simple. I show up, I do what I have to, and then I come home to my people. Some days, it feels like it will never be over, this endless cycle of running myself into the ground. I would do it all over again, though, because that’s what you do for the people you love, and I will always protect what’s mine.
Gravel crunches in the distance, drawing my attention. The sun is starting to set, but it’s still bright enough to make out the people passing. The laughter comes next, carrying in through the open window, one deep and familiar, the other foreign butsmooth as whiskey. That one laugh makes all the pain melt away. I can’t explain it, but that laugh has healing powers, as if an angel was sent for me after a night like tonight.
I strain my neck, peering out for just a taste of that heavenly sound, to see who that angelic laugh belongs to and why she’s here in bumfuck nowhere during off season.
Headlights light up the trees just beyond my property, Ches’ side-by-side screaming by. The fucker loves to drive that thing like a maniac. I swear, he’s just a kid in a giant's body.
Long, wild, strawberry red locks catch my attention first. Life plays out in slow motion, her eyes connect with mine, and it’s like I've been sucker punched all over again. I couldn’t tear my eyes away even if I wanted to, and God, it's the last thing I want. I’m hooked with just one look.
Dripping honey is the only way to describe her left eye. But her right eye, it’s like an ember of fire, a vibrant molten lava that knocks the breath straight from my lungs. I’ve never seen eyes like hers, and now, I have the urge to chase her down, demand her name and entire life story. I need to know her, to memorize her laugh so pain may never touch me again.
Just as fast as the moment starts, it fizzles out like a woken dream as she races off with Chesney. I saw Ches cleaning up one of the guest houses earlier, but I thought nothing of it. Now, a little bubble of hope inflates in my chest that maybe she has something to do with it. I don’t even know if she’s single, but for a woman to be out here alone during off season screams she’s running from something, orsomeone. I would bet my money she’s here for a fresh start, whatever that looks like for her.
I quickly shower, rinsing the blood and sweat from my battered body. The simple black cotton tee and Wranglers I put on after my fight will do for dinner, luckily clean of any blood from the drive home. Roxy hates dirty shoes in her house, but all my shoes are made for working in the cold dirt, so there aren’t many options. I choose the cleanest pair, so maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get off without a smack to the back of my head.
I know I shouldn’t be excited about that little flicker of life back in my heart. I’ve spent so long pushing everyone away to keep them safe. I know better than to let anyone in. I have three hard rules I don’t break under any circumstances.
One: keep my family safe and happy.Two: show up, get the job done, and don’t ask questions. Andthree: never, under any circumstances, obtain any weaknesses. Weakness means leverage, and leverage means they can pin me further under their thumb.
This new honey-eyed angel screams weakness, the type of woman who would have a man like me down on his knees begging in seconds. Under other circumstances, I would gladly fall to my knees at my rightful place, but those aren’t the cards I’ve been dealt.
I keep those three rules at the forefront of my mind as I head to The Den, but one thought comes out stronger among the rest.
Just because I have to keep my distance doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view.
maisie
. . .
FIVE
“Stupid fucking treesall look the same!” I swat a branch that jumps out of nowhere and attacks me. I swear, these things have a vendetta against me. So much for my phone flashlight helping lead the way. This thing is pointless out here.
I may have overestimated my directional awareness from memory. It’s been many years since I was last here. Add on the fact that you could probably find my name in the Guinness World Record Book under the title ‘most directionally challenged human’. So yeah, maybe this wasn’t my brightest idea to date.
It’s a goal of mine to be more independent, and I’m learning, but maybe this wasn’t the exact moment to be balls to the walls with these newfound goals. As long as there are no snakes out here, I should be fine...mostly. I’m sure if I keep walking long enough, I’m bound to run into The Den. It’s like physics or something. I was never great at science, so I could totally be pulling that from my ass.
On cue, another branch jumps from the shadows, this time catching me right in my left tit. Fucking bitch tits hurt more than my face. I stop for a breather, tipping my head to the sky. “If there’s a god out there listening, next time, can you please avoid hitting the girls? They are small enough, and I really don’t needthem to deflate any further. I’ll beg if I need to; it’s that serious. And if you could point me in the right direction, I would be forever indebted to you.”
“Are you done talking to the trees,ma'am'?" a rugged, southern accent rasps from behind me.
I jump so high, one of my boots flies right off, my phone along with it. “For the love of all things evil, give a girl a warning next time.” My palm clutches my racing heart, like it could do anything to slow its rapid ascent. I drop to my knees, wet soil seeping through my jeans, and pat around for my lost shoe. I’m sure I look straight out of an episode ofScooby Doo, crawling around like Velma for her lost glasses.
“A little to your left, no, slightly right…almost,” the mystery man barks orders from behind me. His chuckle reaches me next, all rich and deep, and now I’ve gone blind for other reasons. I think my eyes may have crossed from the noises coming out of this man. My thighs definitely did.
My palm connects with my boot, my phone next to it, flashlight still on, muted by the dirt. I glare over my shoulder at him. “Something funny,ma’am?” I seethe after pulling my shit together, because damn it, this man is laughing at me, not with me.
