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ChapterThree
It was an odd awakening.
The cabin was dim. The fire had burned down, and my nose was a foot away from the handcrafted planks of the ceiling. There was no way to tell what time of day it was. Moving to my side, I lay there as the wind attacked the cabin and listened to Shep muttering in his sleep. What a fucking odd moment in time this was. Not so much the blizzard as I’d known that was coming. The oddness was that I was sleeping two feet above a McCrary and actually feeling something like sympathy for the bastard. Those two words should never be close together. Sympathy and McCrary. How did that even jibe? Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome. No, that was a captive falling in love with a captor. I hadn’t captured the pretty rich boy mumbling away in his multi-million dollar dreams. He was the last person I’d want to snare. Hateful, bigoted jerk.
A yelp from the bunk below jostled me from my morning/midday/afternoon/evening, whatever the shit time of day it was, mental stroll.
“Motherfucker,” Shep growled. I leaned over the side of the top bunk to grin down at him. The intent had been to aggravate him with my smile and chipper attitude. What happened was I was sucker-punched by the grisly sight that squinted up at me. Fuck but he was a mess. I felt so bad for the guy.
What the hell? No, no feeling bad. Stop it. Squash that sympathy bullshit. This guy has done some pretty heinous things.
But had he really? Sure, I knew Morgan had assaulted a young Native woman. And I knew Clayton was a bigoted swine. But what had Shepherd done over the years to warrant a lack of basic human empathy?
“Must have done something,” I grunted, my cheeky smile fading as he tried to glower and failed.
“My face hurts too much to even glare at you. Someone fucking kill me now,” Shep grumbled as he eased himself up to a sitting position. His full lips flattened. I rolled off the bed, landing on my feet, the floor bitter cold even through my socks. His gaze flickered to my crotch. A strange fizzle raced through me. I spun from the struggling man and went to tend the fire. I felt bad for worrying more about my cock than Shep. This empathy shit was for the birds.
“What time is it?” he asked through gritted teeth as I loaded some split pine logs into the hearth, my fingers coming away tacky and smelling of pine. “Ouch. Fucking hell.”
I threw a look over my shoulder. He was sitting now, feet on the floor, all humped over on himself. Poor bastard.
God dammit, stop it! Go spit in his eye. He’s a McCrary. Blood relative of your sworn enemy. This clan war shall not be sullied by compassion. Freedom!
Clan war. God, how stupid. Although it did feel that way. The men of Blue Ice were my family. And this litter of racist, homophobic curs were all related.
Yeah. Don’t forget that. Go spit in his eye. Or kick him in the shin. Or punch him in the nuts!
“You want some coffee?” I asked instead of kicking him in the balls. Miserable ass was suffering enough.
Jesus H. Christ what the shit?! Coffee?! You loser.
Shep regarded me uneasily. He really did look like hell. “What time is it?”
I glanced at my watch lying on the mantle. “Ten after seven.” We both glanced at the window. The heavy clouds and blowing snow hid the sun from view. “I’ll get the coffee on. Then I’ll tend to Dundee.”
“Argus, you twit.” I snickered to hear the bite in his voice. That was better. It helped me dislike him, which made things correct and well in my little snowy world. “I can feed and water my own horse. I don’t want to…be beholding to you for anything.”
“Seems you already are.” I dropped that on him, then shuffled into the kitchen area to make coffee. I could hear Shep mumbling under his breath, which also added some sugar to a miserably blustery day. Feeding and watering cattle was going to be fun in this shit.
“Fuck my face hurts,” he said from across the room. I filled the old-fashioned coffee pot with icy cold water from the hand pump.
“It’s killing me too,” I replied. He called me a dick. I sniggered. Ah yeah, things were on that even and familiar keel again. The long-range walkie-talkie squawked. Shep cussed. I chuckled, hung the percolator over the hook, and pushed it over the fire. “That’s just Dad calling to check in on me.”
“Like I care.”
I flipped him off and grabbed the handheld unit and hit TALK. “Morning. Think it might snow?” I asked as Shep made a sound of utter disgust. I grinned at the nice hot fire.
“Might at that. How are you doing out there?” Nate asked, static breaking up the usually clear signal. Must be the storm was interfering.
“Oh, things are interesting,” I said as I studied pine pitch bubbling up out of a log. “Had a visitor last night that you—hey!” I barked when Shep slapped the walkie-talkie out of my hand. It hit the mantle, then dropped to the pock-marked rug in front of the fireplace. I twirled to give him hell when he drew back and took a swing. It was a miserable attempt at a punch. Or else he was aiming for my shoulder. He moaned in agony. I sniggered. The glancing blow actually hurt, but I’d be stripped naked, have my dick dipped in honey, and strung up for the bears before I let on that he had caused me pain. “You’re an ungrateful ass, and your aim is for shit. Go sit the fuck down before you faint again.”
“Do not tell him I’m here,” he ground out, his arm tight to his side. I cocked an eyebrow.
“Why not? Don’t you want to let your sidewinder brothers know that you’re safe?”
The call tone filled the room. Shep limped back to the bunk beds, eased himself down to the bed, and laid down on his good side, facing the wall. “Hello? I asked you a question, dickhead.”
“No.” That was his reply. One word. I threw my hands into the air, then bent over to pick up the walkie-talkie. The call tone beeped again. Eyes locked on Shepherd’s ass, I answered my foreman.
