Page 2 of Stray

He smirks, though the hard edge to his voice tells me he’s as annoyed with me as I am with him. “This is my house.” He glares down at me, and his jaw tenses behind his short beard. “I’m the one signing your paychecks. So your job performance, as well as your nails, are my concern. Now, if you’re done running that mouth, I’ll show you to your room.”

I glare but say nothing. The truth is, I uprooted my life to come here. If I leave here, I’ll have no job and no place to stay besides Gretchen. I try to take in the house while following him through the spacious, open living space. Everything is bright and airy, and windows are everywhere, allowing the bright sun to light up the area, but it’s the view that stops me in my tracks. It’s unlike anything my city girl ass has ever seen before. The ranch spreads out like a painting. The land seems to go on forever; there’s so much of it, and it’s all so breathtakingly beautiful it doesn’t seem real. As we continue around towards the staircase, I can’t help the small smile when I see horses running and cows grazing in the pasture. I’m living in a place that has cows in a pasture, and it’s not even a big deal.

Tearing myself away from the picturesque view that the massive windows perfectly frame, I notice how the home’s interior is just as beautiful. It’s like something out of a Country Living Magazine. The exposed dark wood beams cross the ceilings, and a gorgeous hardwood floor covers the primary and upper levels. It’s interesting that despite how filthy these men seem to be, the house is spotless. We walk up the steps and make a right at the top. He leads me down the hall with walls covered in family photos of kids at various stages of life, along with ribbons and medals. We stop at a dark wooden door, and he turns to me while twisting the handle.

“This will be your area.” He states, walking in while I follow behind him. The room is nice, spacious, and full of light like the rest of the house. The first part is like a small living area: an oversized loveseat, television, and bookcase with more knick-knacks than actual books. I walk further and have to steady myself with the wall. The bed is facing a wall-to-wall window looking out at the wood line and…

“That’s it, Brumby! Run, run, run!”

My knees buckle as memories of Patrick’s laugh turn my blood to ice, and my hearing becomes muffled. Where are the curtains? Can I be seen from up here? Who could be out there? Out there watching… waiting.

“Guess you ain’t used to the view.” His voice startles me so severely it causes me to fall backwards against the wall and have to force back a cry.

“You… alright?” He asks cautiously, and I try to tamp down the embarrassment as I right myself.

“I’m fine,” I say crisply, turning away from the window. “And no, I haven’t seen a view like that in a while.” I notice a door off to the side and point to it. “Closet?” I ask, trying to change the subject.

“No, there isn’t a closet here anymore.” He states, gesturing to the armoire and dresser. “We converted the old walk-in closet into a private bathroom. It ain’t much, but you don’t have to share it with any of us.” He shrugs before putting my bags next to my bed. “Mama just got your bedding washed last night, so it’s clean. I’m sure she’ll be around here soon to meet you.”

“Is she up often now?” I ask, trying to go into professional mode, mainly to distract myself from the massive window and the feeling of dread trying to wrap its dark arms around me. It’s funny, honestly, how two humans can take up the same space, and one can be drowning while the other has no idea.

“Uh yeah,” His eyes flicker from mine to the window and back. Does he see something? “She still needs a lot of help on the stairs, and you’ll often find her trying to do more than she should, but she’s been sticking with the exercises that Indy and the physical therapist gave her.” I give him a slight nod. Their mother, Dorothy, had been recently bedridden after a broken hip. My friend Indy, who got me this job, and her boyfriend, this man’s brother, came here last month to help since I couldn’t get here any faster. I had to wait to leave the state until after the hearing, until after I knew they’d been put away for good.

“Okay.” I let out a breath before staring up at him. It annoys me that this man is still much taller than I am despite my massive heels. “Well, I’ll get changed, and then get ready to meet your dad.”

“What,” he huffs out a laugh. “That’s not your uniform?” He gestures to my leather leggings and black tank top with a red, long-sleeved fishnet top over it.

“No, I prefer nipple tassels and a g-string. That okay with you, bud?” I snap, getting a little pissed by the way he’s looking down his nose at me. He rolls his blue eyes before shaking his head and turning to leave.

“It’s Jackson. Not bud.”

* * *

My reflection stares back at me, and I have to say, I’m proud of how well I’m hiding the anxiety I’m feeling. “I am a strong person,” I whisper as I run my fingers through my hair to pull my hair up into a messy bun. “I’m resilient, I’m brave, and I’m beautiful.” I recite my therapist’s words while refusing to allow my eyes to trail over my tattooed body. I turn and slip the black long-sleeve shirt on before turning back around. “I’m a survivor. I am a fighter, and my past can’t hurt me anymore.” My voice cracks, and I glance towards the window again. It just had to be facing the fucking wood line.

Walking from the bathroom through the bedroom and into the sitting area, I grab my cotton leggings and slip them on. Sliding into my chucks before taking one more breath and opening the door.

“Oh!” I breathe out, surprising the older woman standing in my doorway.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart!” She gasps out softly. “I was bringing you some clean towels. I’m Dorothy.” I give her a friendly smile.

“Ozzy, I was just coming to introduce myself to you and your husband.”

“Perfect!” Dorothy beams after handing me the basket of warm towels. They smell fresh, and I have to resist the urge to pull one to my face and inhale. I set the basket on the loveseat as Dorothy waves her hand for me to follow her. I notice her gait as she walks on her cane. She’s healing well from the break, but I will have to make sure she is resting as often as I can get her to. The last thing we want is for her to do too much and have a setback.

Dorothy taps on the door before opening it. She stops and turns back to me, worry etching her weathered face. “Listen,” she says softly. “Morris is a good man, but he is an old rancher, and on top of that, the cancer… It’s taking everything from him, and he’s bitter.” I give her a reassuring smile as I pat her hand.

“Mrs. Ro–”

“Dorothy.” She states firmly, and I smile again.

“Dorothy, trust me when I say your husband can’t hurt me, alright? I promise you, it will be okay.” She nods, though I still see the apprehension front and center on her face. Dorothy opens the door completely, and we walk into the bedroom. Unlike mine, this one is smaller, with just a hospital bed and television. There is a small window, but the blinds cover it. It’s dimly lit, and the air is stale in here.

“Morris,” Dorothy says while turning up the lights. “This is Ozzy Davenport. She’s the nurse Indy sent.” I stare at the frail older man in the bed. His blue eyes narrow at me while he eyes me up and down.

“Ozzy? What is with all these weird ass names?” His tired, raspy voice huffs out.

“Well, if I came in here with a name like Mary Ann, you wouldn’t have the opportunity to criticize it. Now would you?” I raise a brow as he scoffs.

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