Chapter Eleven
Okay, maybe it wasn’t such a great idea after all. What moron gets up at five o’clock in the morning to go hunting? Me, that’s who. And I only did it to get Jake’s goat. If I was smart, I would’ve let him keep his damn goat and gone back to bed.
“That’s not camouflage,” Jake said.
I looked down at the T-shirt I got from Junior’s daughter. “What do you mean?”
“It’s pink.”
“So. It still has the same pattern as your shirt does.”
“Yeah, but mine is the color of dirt and leaves. Only thing you’re going to blend in with is a piece of bubble gum. Here, wear this.” Jake peeled off the long sleeve camouflage shirt he wore over a black T-shirt. He put it on me as his uncle came out of the house.
I pointed to Hank’s bright orange hat. “Why does he get to wear color, and I don’t?”
Jake glanced over at his uncle and shook his head. “Because his hat is that color for safety reasons. He won’t get mistaken for an animal and accidentally shot walking through the woods.”
I slid Jake’s shirt off and tossed it back to him. “Well, unless someone is hunting bubble gum, then I should be fairly safe.”
Jake grunted, glaring at Hank. “You said she could come; you get to deal with her.” Then he grabbed a flashlight and stomped off toward the back of the property.
“Who crapped in his oatmeal this morning?” Hank asked.
“I guess that would be me.”
Hank grinned and turned on his own flashlight. “Let’s go.”
We caught up to Jake on the back side of the pasture near the barbed wire fence. Jake pushed the bottom wires down with the weight of his boot and picked up the top wire to create an opening. Hank went through first and I followed, before turning to watch Hank do the same for Jake.
Jake led the way on the walking trail with his rifle leaned over his left shoulder as we followed. Hank kept his rifle in his left hand, opposite of me, and pointed to the ground. “You need to keep watch for wild hogs,” Hank warned me. “They hang out near the deer feeders usually, but we sometimes cross them on the trails. They’re dangerous.”
“A pig, dangerous? You’re kidding, right?”
“These aren’t domesticated pigs. They’re wild hogs. Mean little bastards. They’ll rip you open with their tusks if they get a chance. I’m not kidding about that. I’ve got an eight-inch long scar on my calf to prove it.”
“I thought we were supposed to be the hunters. Now you’re telling me the animals can attack us?”
Hank chuckled. “Anytime you corner an animal, you run the risk of it turning on you.” He shot a look at Jake’s back. “Same goes for people.”
“Another pearl of wisdom?”
“An observation,” Hank corrected.
“Good eyes.”
The trail ended, and we walked through the long, deep grass until the sticky ground got mushier where it had rained earlier in the night. Hank told Jake to cut through the scrub brush to avoid the mud, then sandwiched me in between them. I followed Jake’s flashlight as he cleared the path ahead.
After a few minutes, Hank tapped me on the shoulder. “Emily, do you know what they call a bunch of deer?”
“Herd.”
“Heard what?” Hank said, grinning at his dumb joke. “You know what you call a deer with no eyes?” Hank asked, pushing through the brush behind me as I shrugged. “No-eye deer,” he said in a corny voice and then chuckled.
I laughed at that one, and Jake shot us an ugly look. “If you two don’t zip it, you’re going to scare off everything within a ten mile radius.”
“Put a lid on it, Jake.” Authority colored Hank’s tone, and Jake wasn’t dumb enough to push the issue. We walked in silence the rest of the way.
The deer blind—a green wooden structure with rectangles cut out for windows—was elevated off the ground and had a ladder attached. Jake climbed up, opened the door, and shined his flashlight inside.
“All clear,” he said, knocking a cobweb away from the door.
“You two go on in,” Hank said. “My neighbor isn’t hunting this morning. I’m going to go over and sit in his deer blind. Bubba said he didn’t mind.”
“When did you talk to Bubba?” Jake asked.
“Last night.” Hank grinned and turned to walk away. “I’ll be back for you two around nine o’clock.”
Jake shook his head with disgust and motioned for me to climb up the ladder. Silently, I did as asked. Once inside, Jake slid an upside down milk crate over to me and plopped down on one himself. He leaned the rifle in the corner and propped open two of the hinged windows, letting in the slight breeze and a small amount of blue morning light.
“What’s the deal with Hank?” I asked.
“The old man doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone. I guess he thought we needed some alone time.”
“What kind of alone time?”
“The kind when there isn’t another person around,” Jake said, unable to keep from smirking.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Hard to believe Hank considered a shoddy, musty-smelling box in the middle of the woods romantic.
“If you keep talking, we won’t see anything. Sound carries, and the deer spook easily.” Jake checked his watch. “The feeder’s on a timer. We’ve got twenty minutes before it starts throwing corn.”
We sat in silence—boring, painful silence—until we heard the whir of a machine in the distance as the feeder dropped corn. Deer must have a built-in clock because moments later Jake put his fingers to his lips and motioned for me to look out the window.
A small white-tailed buck with a modest rack approached the feeder, peacefully nibbling the corn beneath his feet. A doe trotted up behind him. I watched them for a few minutes, but my legs fell asleep from the way I squatted near the window. I reached for my milk crate and slid it closer, grating it across the wooden floor. The noise was enough to scare off our company.
Jake gave me a stern look, but all I could do was shrug and mouth “sorry” to him. I settled in next to the window and picked dry mud out of my sneakers with a twig. I practically fell asleep leaning against the wall when Jake touched my arm and whispered, “Deer.”
I swept my eyes back and forth over the area. “Where?” I whispered. “I don’t see a deer.”
“To the left of the feeder, standing on the other side of the bushes.”
Either Jake lost his mind or I was gullible. Probably the latter, but I still didn’t see anything. Jake grabbed the rifle and carefully stuck it out the window. He peered through the scope until he found what he was looking for and then held the gun steady for me. “Look through the scope. You’ll see him.”
Seconds later, I caught the movement of brown fur through the thick cover of greenery. A large buck with an impressive display of antlers stepped out from behind the bushes and into the open area beyond the feeder. Alert, he stopped and lifted his large head, turning it back and forth and twitching his ears as he listened for danger. His nostrils flared, taking in the surrounding scents, before he shook his head and went back to grazing.
I pulled my eye back from the scope and tried to give the gun back to Jake, but he shook his head. “He’s all yours.”
“Damn it, Jake. He’s not going to stand still and let me shoot three times before he runs,” I said in a low voice. “You do it.”
“Man up,” Jake whispered, grinning from ear to ear. “Isn’t that what you told me? Now it’s your turn.”
I don’t know why I always felt like I needed to prove something. “Fine, then. Move over,” I whispered back.
I aimed the rifle to the buck and watched him through the scope with a twinge of sorrow. He was divine. Completely unaware of how fragile his life was. How shaky the ground was that he walked on.
It was hard to fathom destroying a majestic creature. Only time I ever thought I’d shoot an animal was when I had a camera in my hands, which of course would be painless for the animal. And for me.
“Aim for the neck, just behind the jawbone, at the base of the ears,” Jake told me in a hushed voice. “It’ll break his neck bone and drop him where he stands.”
“Do I have to keep my eyes open?”
Jake gave me a stern look. “Couldn’t hurt.”
I steadied the rifle against my shoulder, aimed carefully, and let my finger linger over the trigger. When I glimpsed a movement in the nearby brush, I adjusted a little to the left.
A small nimble doe stepped out into the open and walked toward the buck. A fawn, still covered in spots, pranced up alongside her and the two of them joined the aloof buck in eating the corn.
Not only did I feel sorry for the deer, but I felt like a monster for what I was about to do. Maybe it was a biological response. Or maybe it was my conscience swooping in to complicate matters. Either way, I had a hard time tuning out the voices in my head.
“I can’t do it,” I said. “I can’t pull the trigger.”
“Yes, you can. I’ll help you.” Jake put his finger over mine and I froze.
I peered at the three deer and watched the trusting, innocent fawn dance happily around its mother. My pulse quickened as I trained the rifle on the massive buck that was moments away from falling to the ground with nothing left to show for his life except a fresh, bloody wound.
Don’t think about it. Just do it.
But I couldn’t because my hands shook. I broke out in hives over my deep-seated guilt complex brought on by my own mortality and attachments to the people I had lost. My dad. My mom. My policeman. All severed from my life by one thoughtless act carried out by someone else. Now, I was that someone else.
Jake steadied the rifle and tightened his finger over mine. “Take a deep breath and let it out as you pull the trigger,” he whispered into my ear.
A wave of emotion swept over me as my chest involuntarily swelled with air. I held my breath, keeping it inside, knowing when I let it out Jake would coordinate it with one ruthless pull of the trigger.
It felt like senseless killing, but I couldn’t hold my breath any longer. Jake slowly squeezed my finger and the air from my lungs screamed past my lips. The crack of the rifle drowned me out as I felt the power under my hands and against my shoulder. Jake fell backward in shock but recovered in time to see what I was looking at. With a flash of their white tails, the three deer scattered into the forest.
“What happened? Why did you scream?” Jake asked, grabbing the rifle and looking out the window for signs of life. When I didn’t answer him, he grabbed my shoulders and turned me toward him. “Emily…?”
I didn’t want him to know I couldn’t do it. If I could concoct a reason for why I screamed, then maybe…he wouldn’t have to know. But the tears came. Big traitor tears trailed down my traumatized face, tattling on me for my weakness. I was a wreck.
Jake knew why. “You gotta be shittin’ me. Jesus Christ. You’re such a girl.” He slammed his hand against the plywood wall as he opened the door and jumped out, letting the door swing shut behind him.
I watched from the window as he threw a dead branch and kicked into the air, blowing off steam. It was an inappropriately handled and irrational display of male arrogance, but I had predicted this reaction.
Jake was a man’s man, one accustomed to being the master of his domain. He wanted control—to be the one in the driver’s seat—but I pulled relentlessly at his wheel. Even while he patiently colored inside the lines, I consistently scribbled outside them. He needed rules to keep his life balanced, but my reckless, unpredictable behavior constantly tipped the scales.
When the door opened, I wiped at my runny nose and tried to stop the sniffling, but a dry heave shivered across my shoulders. Jake kneeled beside me, but I couldn’t look at him.
“Emily…?”
Shit. I knew this was coming.
“Look at me.”
“No.”
I stayed put, but Jake touched his hand to my cheek and turned my face toward his. He took in the sight of me, which was probably pretty rough. “Oh, hell. I’d like to choke you.”
“Why don’t you, then?”
“Because I’d rather do this,” he said, placing his mouth over mine.
The potency of his kiss threw my senses off, making me tingle from head to toe as my breath bottomed out. He was kindling for me—one tiny spark and I was on fire. His tongue explored my mouth, feeding the flames growing inside me, burning me from the inside out.
Jake pulled off my pink camouflage shirt, tossed it aside, and his gaze fixated on my breasts as if surprised by my lack of bra. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he touched my neck and ran his hand slowly down my chest, making my breath catch in my throat. He stripped off his open camo shirt and laid it on the ground before maneuvering me onto my back. His shirt separated my soft skin from the hard wooden floor.
Wandering eyes and hands feasted on my exposed skin, taunting me with every touch until I was limp and pliable. The torture was too much. I reached down and unsnapped my jeans, inviting him to go further. He stripped off his black T-shirt, revealing his tanned muscular physique. Making quick work of it, Jake yanked the jeans from my hips and slid them off, along with my shoes. It left me completely nude.
“I’d swear you planned this,” he said, grinning.
I shrugged. “It’s laundry day.” And I never saw much point in wearing only half my underwear. After all, isn’t that why they make matching bras and panties?
Jake leaned over me and put his mouth on my neck while I traced my fingers over the muscles on his back, feeling them bulge and tighten under my grip. He moved up my throat, kissed my chin, then trailed his tongue back into my mouth where the sexual tension between us exploded.
Without words, he kneed my thighs apart and fumbled with the button on his jeans. Then he stopped. A pained expression seized his face. “Damn it,” he whispered, looking at his watch. “Hank’s back early.”
“How do you know?”
“I can hear him whistling in the distance.” Jake shoved my clothes at me. “Hurry and get dressed.”
We slithered back into our clothes as quickly as possible and made it outside as Hank walked up. We were both still rearranging and smoothing, making sure our clothing was in order. I could imagine how bad it looked.
“I heard the gun shot. You two get any action?”
Hank caught the uncomfortable look Jake and I exchanged, and although he didn’t say anything, he barely kept a straight face. I’d swear he’d done it on purpose.
“Don’t ask,” Jake grumbled.
…
At dinner, Floss announced she’d invited some of the neighbors for a barbecue the next afternoon. The idea of being around new people excited me, like a prisoner allowed her first visitors. Or maybe it was more like I was given privileges after serving time with good behavior. Okay, that was pushing it.
It was supposed to be potluck, but Floss still had a list of foods she wanted to prepare. Ox and Judd volunteered to set up tables and chairs downstairs, Cowboy offered to clean the pool, Jake would mow using the tractor, and Hank would fire up the large barrel smoker he had proudly welded himself.
“Well, what about me? What can I do to help?”
Floss smiled. “You can pitch in anywhere you see fit.”
It was barely a step above “stand around and look pretty,” but I accepted it. No one thought I could do anything right. I may not be a country girl, but at least I tried to help. Floss wasn’t trying to hurt my feelings, but I still wanted an E for effort.
I swallowed another bite of my dinner and smiled. “I’ve never been one for stew, but this chicken is great, Floss.” All three of them looked up from their bowls and stared. “What? Do I have food on my face or something?”
“Never seen a chicken with four legs before,” Hank said.
A surge of panic shot through me. “What the hell am I eating, then?”
They chuckled as Jake wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Rabbit stew. It’s good, right? Want some more?”
I pushed my bowl away. “I’m full, thank you.” My legs shook as I weakly stumbled toward the front door.
Jake yelled out after me. “Mind over matter, Emily! If you don’t mind, it don’t matter.” And the three of them laughed some more.
Nauseated, I could’ve easily crawled into bed and gone to sleep, but I had to check something first. I was tired, but there was no way I’d be able to go to sleep without knowing. I grabbed a flashlight and headed for the backside of the barn.
Halfway there, I heard the front door open on the main house. Jake was probably heading to the cottage. He’d be surprised when he realized I wasn’t there and hadn’t told him where I went. Good. I smiled, thinking how it served him right. Let him worry for five minutes. It won’t kill him.
Approaching the cage, Jack hopped around gleefully at the sight of me, hoping for a carrot. Twitcher stayed in the back corner, sizing me up and growling like a guard dog. I was relieved Jack was okay, though Twitcher stew wouldn’t have bothered me much.
Jake’s voice came from behind me. “I knew you’d be out here.”
I shone my flashlight on his face on purpose as he shielded his eyes with his hand. “Congratulations, Scooby. I guess you solved the mystery.”
“You’re mad?”
I sighed. “I’m too tired to be mad. And it was good stew, before I realized we were eating bunnies.”
Back at the cottage, we stepped over the lifeless dog on the porch and went inside. I collapsed onto the edge of the bed and pulled off my shoes. Jake stood at the door, watching. As soon as my shoes hit the floor, he moved forward and leaned over me, as if his body were willing mine to lie back on the bed.
Jake’s eyes were expressive, his face intense. “We have unfinished business,” he said, crawling onto the bed and overwhelming me with his presence. I moved farther back, but he followed. “So how tired are you?” he asked in a hushed voice, his face close to mine.
My brain turned to mush. “W-who said I was tired?”
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. He leaned into my hair and nibbled my ear. “You did,” he said, breathing on my neck.
Chills ran over my skin. “Well, I was wrong.”
Jake stopped kissing my neck. “So far, that’s the sexiest thing I’ve heard you say.”
Jake placed his mouth over mine. His warm hands worked their way under the edge of my T-shirt. He trailed them to my breasts, molding and cupping them in his palms. I was practically purring by the time he pulled away and told me to lift my arms, snatching the shirt from my body. He held my wrists above my head.
I leaned up slightly and kissed his neck, trailing my tongue softly along his throat and kissing down his jawbone.
He grunted at first and squeezed my wrists tighter, but then got quieter. “Uh…Emily…”
I groaned. “If you stop this now, I’m never going to forgive you.” He closed his eyes, and I got the hint. “Jake, you’ve got to be kidding me. Let me guess. You don’t have a condom.”
“No, that’s not the problem.”
God only knew what was going through his mind. “Then what?”
“You aren’t going to freak out, are you?”
“Why would I freak out?”
“Because you have a tick embedded into your armpit.”
“What?” I jumped up, screaming. “Get it off me! Oh God, get it off!”
Jake chased me around the room until I stopped moving. Then I did the gross-out dance, where your feet run in place and you shake your hands constantly. As if it does any good.
He ran into the bathroom and got some tweezers. “Hold still, Emily. The head is still inside you. I have to pull it out carefully.”
Once he removed it, he threw it in the toilet and flushed it, while I gagged.
“Thought you said you didn’t have a gag reflex?” Jake said, laughing.
“I lied,” I said, dry heaving again. “That’s sooo disgusting!”
Someone knocked on the cottage door. “Hey, Jake?”
Jake went to the door while I pulled out some alcohol and sterilized my armpit. But I overheard the conversation at the front door. “Yeah, Hank,” Jake said, opening the door.
“Is everything okay? I was lugging some trash down to the burn pit and heard Emily screaming.”
“She’s fine. She had a—”
“That’s okay, son. I don’t want to know what the two of you were doing. Some things are better left unsaid.”
Jake chuckled as he shut the door. He stepped back into the room where I lay curled on the bed in my robe, holding my stomach. “You okay?”
“No. I don’t feel good. I feel…contaminated.”
Jake smiled. “Didn’t you check yourself for ticks when you took a shower after hunting this morning?”
“I didn’t know I was supposed to.”
Jake rubbed at his face and sat on the bed. “Come here and put your head in my lap. I want to check your scalp to be sure you don’t have any more on you.”
“Oh God. You think there’re more?” My stomach churned as I crawled across the bed and placed my head on his leg, resisting the urge to puke. “Why couldn’t I just have carpet burns or something? I’m going to need therapy after this.”
Jake poked through my hair, lifting and moving a section at a time. “Stop whining and being melodramatic. You won’t need therapy.”
“Oh, you don’t think so? I had a waxing once that left me needing post-traumatic stress counseling afterward.”
Jake laughed and ran his fingers through my hair again, showing off his fine motor skills and making my scalp tingle. His touch was heaven. Soft. Soothing. Sleep inducing.
I slipped out of consciousness and could do nothing to stop it.