Page 8 of Stray

“Bee… yonce?” He looks at my legs, cocking his head to one side, making his hair fall over his shoulder. I have an urge to know what it feels like and how it smells. Ew. Ozzy, could you stop it? What is wrong with you?

“You have bee tattoos on your knees. Why?”

“They are the bees’ knees.” I shrug and watch as Jackson actually cracks up and laughs. Aww… his laugh is really adorable- raspy but deep and warm. God damn it… that’s it, I’m kicking my own ass.

“You’re kind of funny.” He chuckles, and I snort.

“I’m hysterical. You just barely have a sense of humor, so most of my hilarity is lost on you.”

“Wow,” he marvels while shaking his head. “Tell me, Tink, how is it that a catch like you is still swimming around out there.”

I give him a wink. “Because I’m the big bad shark that gobbles up the wannabe fishermen.” I snap my teeth together before standing back up as two dogs run towards me. One is a reddish brown and white, and the other is a black and white dog. I grin as I let them sniff me.

“Hey there,” I chuckle lightly. “And who do we have here?”

“That’s Bear,” Jackson says, pointing to the reddish-brown one. “And that’s Rocky. They’re my Australian shepherds.” I grin as the boys continue with their kisses before running off down the driveway.

“They’re sweet,” I say while removing my zip-up jacket and tossing it on the porch. “It’s really hot and sticky out already this morning.”

Jackson coughs and looks away. “Yeah, there’s a storm coming late tonight. Me and the guys will be rounding up the animals most of the day.”

“Wait, is the storm going to be that bad?” Jackson shrugs and leans against the railing. I can’t help but note how his muscular thighs fill out his Wrangler jeans so perfectly it should be illegal. God, I needed to calm my ass down. Jackson and his thighs and his laugh need to stay far away from me. Wait… is he looking at my ass? He catches me catching him and coughs before looking away again.

“We may lose power. They are calling for high winds, lightning, heavy–”

“What about Morris?” I say while trying to hold the panic back. “His machines, he can’t be without–”

“We are in the country,” He chuckles. “We have generators. This ain’t our first rodeo.” Letting out a breath, I nod as I begin walking down the dirt path.

“Good to know.”

“You going to tell me why you’re out here before dawn?” He calls out, and I turn to look at him as I walk backward.

“Now, why would I go and do a thing like that? Then you might show an interest in me, and that would be a tragedy for us all.” He chuckles and shakes his head.

“Never, Tink, never.” I give him a two-finger salute before sliding into Gretchen, turning her on, and driving down the road. I need to go somewhere away from these woods and run for a little while.

* * *

“Morris,” I huff out in annoyance as the stubborn old man shoves his tray to the floor, causing the food I brought him to spill everywhere. “You feel better now?” I ask and grab the trash bin to start picking up the strewn contents.

“I don’t want your nasty ass food!” He shouts at me, and I tense my jaw. Morris is having a bad day. A day where the pain medication just isn’t enough. I know this, and I refuse to snap back. He is a sick old man, and he’s dying. He’s in pain, and he’s scared.

Tossing the food in the trash and cleaning up the mess, I move his tray off to the side as I hit the button to sit his bed up further. I grab a wipe and start to clean his face. That’s what started the whole blow-up. Morris was trying to eat the stew I brought up, but his hand wasn’t cooperating, and he missed his mouth a few times, causing him to lose it.

He slaps my hand away, and I do the same back to him. “Stop it,” I mutter. He does it again.

“I ain’t no infant.” He grumbles.

“Never said you were.” I go to wipe again, and he slaps me again.

“Morris,” I warn, glaring at him. “I know you’re having a bad day and scared, but you’re not going to keep hitting me.” I glance at the clock and note it’s time for a dose of his pain meds, he’ll be asleep soon. I feel bad when his medication makes him go to sleep; he tries to fight it, but I know he needs it today. I stand up and begin the task of preparing his IV bag.

“You could double my dosage,” he mutters, sounding distant. “End my suffering a little faster.”

“Now, why would I do a thing like that?” I force a smirk even though the comment breaks my heart. I like Morris, he’s a complete and total asshole who says precisely what is on his mind without fear of the aftermath, and I adore it.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he lets out a tired cough. “Wouldn’t want to miss out on an extra paycheck.” I see the upturn corner of his mouth, and I laugh lightly.

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