Page 37 of Cabin Fever

The other, she might get freaked out and stop helping me take care of the animals.

These past two days since I'd been home from the hospital—much to my surprise—had been great. Olivia took to being a farmer like Kitty took to my potato hash.

"You want to learn how to shear? The first thing that has to get done is remove the soiled part on the back of the sheep."

She frowned. I hated causing her smile to disappear, but I knew it was necessary for what was to come. I was going to torture her.

"Like the tips of the wool that have dirt on it?" She pointed to several sheep wandering around.

"No, that can be washed off. I'm talking about the rear of the animal. If we don't remove that part, flies get to it and leave eggs." I watched a pale green color wash over her face but that only encouraged me to continue, "Then the eggs hatch and you get maggots."

I stood there as my words sunk in, causing the green of her cheeks to turn colorless. The frown deepened, her shoulders curved forward, and slowly, she raised her hand to her mouth.

Placing the razor on the hook on the wall, I bent down and grabbed sheep poop. I smeared it on the fake ewe.

"Oh, gah . . ." She turned her body and swiftly walked out of the barn.

"Wait . . . Where are you going?" I yelled, trying to hold back a chuckle. "We haven't even started yet!"

That was better than I thought it would be. Olivia was so squeamish and yet, she earnestly wanted to learn how to raise sheep. I admired her determination, but a person needed a strong stomach to deal with animals.

I didn't want to torture her. Okay, that's not true. I enjoyed watching her delicate nature crumble with each stomach-churning adventure.

My friendship with Olivia withstood these farming lessons. I was surprised. Yesterday when I began teaching her what she would need to do for me, I thought by lunch she would give up and call her sister, telling her she was coming home.

That too was shocking. Back at the diner, Olivia treated the letter and credit card her sister left her as if it was the Holy Grail. But since then, she hadn't called her sister.

I grabbed a rag and wiped off what I could of the crap on my hand and went out to find her. She was leaning against the back wall of the cabin, bent over.

"You going to puke? Again?" I called to her.

Raising her arm, she gave me a thumbs-up. I held my arms wide. "Come here."

Olivia turned and zeroed in on my poop-covered hand. She clutched her neck, shaking her head, looking like she belonged in a 1940s horror flick.

"You stay away from me."

"But I love your hugs." I smiled. It was large and devilish. Maybe she would think twice about constantly hugging people.

When the vet showed up yesterday, she hugged him when he came into the barn and then embraced him again before he left. Normally, her unusual need for physical touch was annoying, but yesterday it was disturbing.

To be clear, she wasn't disturbed, I was. I wanted to pull her off Dr. Ferguson and punch him. It wasn't rational, I knew that, but it's what I felt.

With wide eyes, she quickly kicked off her boots and raced into the house, slamming the door behind her. I laughed and walked over to the water hose. I kept some soap and a scrub brush in a wooden box near the hose.

After a few minutes of cleaning my hands, I grabbed the doorknob to the back door. It was locked.

"Olivia, let me in!" I banged on the door.

"No. You'll infect me." Her voice was close, and I knew she was just on the other side.

"You were so friendly to Dr. Ferguson yesterday. Where's my hug?" It came out more bitter than I had planned.

Olivia and I were only friends. If she wanted to hug other men, she was more than welcome. I wasn't used to being social like her. Perhaps in time I'd become accustomed to that way of interacting with people.

Maybe I'd turn into a hugger.

"I was just being nice. He had been so helpful to me."

---