As if on cue, a voice bellowed from down the hallway, “Dammit, girl, I need to take a piss! Where the hell are you?”
“I see where you got your accent from,” Alexei said, hearing a much stronger version of Bethany’s light Scottish burr. “Not to mention some of your vocabulary.”
Bethany rolled her eyes and pointed him toward the kitchen, then hurried in the direction of the bellow. Not quite sure why he did it, Alexei ignored the caffeine he so desperately needed and followed her.
The man sitting up in the bed glowering at the doorway didn’t look much like Bethany, other than his fading red hair and the cleft in his squared-off jaw. Bushy eyebrows shadowed bloodshot hazel eyes, and his pajama top strained over a barrel chest and once-muscular arms. Bethany had moved a wheelchair next to the bed and was working to shift her father’s legs, with him cursing at her to go faster.
Alexei shook his head. “Let me,” he said, pushing Bethany out of the way with a nearly gentle nudge. He scooped the older man up in his arms and carried him effortlessly into the bathroom, then waited until he was done and carried him back to prop him on the edge of the bed. Bethany was strong enough, but what was an effort for her was nothing to him. “Clothes,” he said, holding out one hand. Bethany raised one eyebrow, but wordlessly handed him a pair of gray sweats, a blue tee shirt, and a zip-up hooded sweatshirt.
“Who the hell is this?” Calum asked, as he let himself be helped into the pants. The rest he managed on his own well enough. The change from pajamas to shirt revealed a thatch of gray hair on his chest and a colorful tattoo on each arm. “The agency is hiring giants now?”
Bethany sighed. “Alexei isn’t from the agency, Dad. They won’t be able to send us anyone new for at least a few days. I met him at the bar yesterday and he didn’t have a place to stay, so he slept in the guesthouse last night.”
Calum snorted. “Oh great, another stray. As if that huge dog wasn’t bad enough. I hope you’re not expecting me to feed this one too.”
Alexei ignored the man’s rudeness, which didn’t faze him in the least. He once taken care of a Baba Yaga in the last stages of her life, and she’d been even grumpier than Bethany’s father, not to mention being able to turn him into a toad if she was having a really bad day.
Most Baba Yagas chose to live out the end of their long lives in the comfort of the Otherworld, where they would have servants and luxury provided by a grateful queen if they so desired, but old Berta hadn’t wanted to leave the deep woods of Russia where she’d spent her entire existence, and Alexei had quietly started spending more and more time with her, until in the last year he was there all the time except when he needed to be off helping her replacement. Taking care of a crippled old Human was no big deal, comparatively speaking.
“Breakfast,” he said cheerfully. “Good idea. I believe somebody promised me a cup of coffee.” He placed Calum into his chair and wheeled him in the direction of the kitchen with Bethany trailed behind looking somewhat bemused.
Once in the kitchen, however, she put mugs down in front of both men and started filling the kitchen with the welcome aroma of frying bacon and eggs. Alexei poured a generous dollop of cream into his coffee, then dug into the huge heap of food Bethany set down in front of him. In contrast, Calum’s single egg on a piece of toast seemed like meager fare. The older man pushed the plate away with a grimace.
“Not going to eat that?” Alexei asked. “Shame. Your daughter is a good cook.” He grinned up at Bethany as she put another pile of buttered toast near his elbow.
“Not hungry,” Calum grunted.
Alexei lifted an eyebrow. “Huh. I thought Bethany said you were Scottish.”
“Of course I’m Scottish, ye big oaf. Do ye not hear the way I speak?”
“Well, sure,” Alexei said. “But I’d always heard that the Scots are hearty eaters. Almost as much as Russians, who can eat more than three people from any other country. But here you sit, not even able to nibble on a piece of egg. Seems like I’ve heard it wrong.” He folded two pieces of bacon in half and stuffed them in his mouth, as if to emphasize his statement.
“Any Scotsman worth his salt could eat a Russian out of house and home,” Calum muttered, picking up his fork. “Put some of that cream in my coffee, will you? I’m sick of drinking it black.” He scowled up at Bethany. “Are you saving all that bacon for this stranger you dragged home, or is there a piece left for your poor father?”
Bethany walked over and put some on his plate, mouthing the words “thank you” at Alexei as she went back to the stove to get her own food. He winked at her when Calum wasn’t looking, and enjoyed the slight blush that colored her cheeks pink in response. He’d had worse mornings, and worse sights to look at over the breakfast table, that much was sure.
*
After breakfast, Bethany loaded the dishwasher while Alexei wheeled her father back into the living room. She couldn’t believe the man had actually gotten Calum to eat a real meal. Without a five-round knock-down drag-out fight, either, which was the only way she ever got him to do it.
When she was done, she paused in the doorway to listen to the conversation, eavesdropping shamelessly once she realized what she was hearing.
“Now then,” Alexei was saying, “what’s this I heard about these exercises you’re supposed to be doing?”
“I’m stuck in this damned chair,” Calum said with a growl. “It’s not as though I’m ever going to be hauling in another load of fish or carrying a keg of ale. Those exercises are a stupid waste of time and I don’t see the point.”
“Well, maybe the point is to get yourself strong enough to be able to get in and out of bed and onto the toilet without the help of that pint-sized daughter of yours,” Alexei said in a mild tone. “Nothing wrong with your arms and shoulders is there?”
“What the hell business is it of yours, anyway?”
“Oh, none at all, none at all,” Alexei said. “I couldn’t care less. It’s just, well, that Scotsman thing again. I’d always heard about how tough your people are supposed to be, and I’m kind of disappointed to find out it isn’t true.”
“The hell it isn’t,” Calum roared. “A Scot is more man than some damned Russian any day of the week, and twice on Sunday.”
“Is that so?”
In the kitchen doorway, Bethany had to put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.
“That it is.”
There was a moment of silence, then Alexei said thoughtfully, “Care to have a wager on it? I’ll bet you can’t finish your exercises before I can do three hundred pushups.”
“Away and boil your head,” Calum said, his thick accent making it sound like “Awa’ an bile yer heid.” “You can never do three hundred pushups. Yer just having me on.”