Chapter Five

THE LAUGHTER and good times of the ride to the cabin faded as soon as Clay pulled into the drive and cut the engine. He sat staring out the window in complete shock. Lying across the front of the cabin was a huge oak tree, the roots ripped from the ground, the branches covering the porch and steps, but amazingly, it had completely missed the roof. The sheer size of the oak would have flattened the cabin beneath its weight.

“Holy fuck!” Elliott exclaimed.

“My thoughts exactly.” Clay couldn’t take his eyes off the mess before him. The amount of extra work they’d be putting in to get it cleaned up was going to be exhausting. Clay had vowed he wasn’t going to let things he couldn’t change get him down nor was he going to sweat the little stuff. This, however, he could change, and the sweating while tackling the massive tree was a given. However, there was a bright side. “Well, at least it didn’t crush the house.”

“There’s that. Plus, looks like we’ll have plenty of wood for the winter.”

Clay pulled the keys from the ignition and opened the door. “Sitting here isn’t going to get this done.” He stepped out of the truck and shut the door. He went around to the passenger side and when Elliott got out, Clay said, “Good thing you and I are used to going without sleep.”

“No way. I’m retired. I get to sleep when I want,” Elliott insisted.

“Ha! You’re the proud owner of a fixer-upper with a very short time limit to make it livable. You won’t be sleeping in until winter.”

“Ugh, I was afraid you were going to say that.”

Clay patted Elliott on the back. “C’mon. Let’s go make sure there are no more prizes inside or out back.”

Elliott started to follow him but stopped when a loud howl emitted from the truck. “Shit, almost forgot Little Man.”

“Wouldn’t want to forget him. Hey, maybe you should let him out to explore and stretch his legs,” Clay suggested.

Elliott retrieved the cat carrier and clutched it to his chest. “He’d get lost.”

My point exactly. Clay simply shrugged and walked away. He really should learn to be more tolerant of the feline. Maybe out here Little Man would finally earn his keep and control the mouse population.

They maneuvered around the fallen tree to the end of the porch. Clay hopped the railing, taking the carrier from Elliott while he climbed over. Clay was rewarded with a nasty sounding hiss from Little Man. Clay glared at him. Then again, maybe I won’t be nice. He handed the cat to Elliott and moved carefully across the porch until he was sure there were no structural issues to the porch or the planking. Luckily there had been no further damage to the decking. The majority of it was solid. He unlocked the front door. Before entering, Clay inhaled deeply and was relieved that it didn’t stink as badly as it had last time. There was still a hint of decay, either the remnants from the opossum that had rotted and seeped into the cabinet—another thing on his list to be ripped out—or the traps they’d set had done their jobs. Either way, it smelled a thousand times better than before, the thorough cleaning and air fresheners working wonders.

Clay scanned the area, happy to discover there were no more surprises waiting for him. Everything appeared to be exactly as they’d left it. However, it was ungodly hot. Obviously, it was the thing Elliott thought needed immediate attention as well because he was already moving to the windows on the right. Clay followed his lead and went to the windows on the left. The same dance as last time, and within minutes they were both sweating like pigs. While Elliott took care of the bedroom, Clay opened the back door, leaving the screen door closed. Wouldn’t want Little Shit to get out. He then checked the cabinet beneath the dry sink but found no creepy critter. He did find a dead mouse in the trap he’d set in the cupboard over the refrigerator and another in the small pantry.

“I’m going to take our little friends out back. When you get done in there, come help me unload the truck, will ya?”

Elliott popped out of the bedroom, sweat trickling down his temples and his dark gray shirt now looking black in the center of his chest. “Any chance you packed a portable air conditioner?”

“Nope. Wouldn’t do us any good anyway. They run on electricity, which, may I remind you, we are currently lacking.”

Elliott looked down at the traps in Clay’s hand and wrinkled his nose. “Guess being hot is better than their fate.”

“There ya go. I’m proud of you for finding the silver lining.”

Clay pushed open the screen door with his hip. A strong warm breeze ruffled his hair and remarkably cooled his heated flesh.

Elliott stepped out onto the porch, whipped his T-shirt off, and spread his arms. “Ah damn, that feels good. I think we should say fuck it and spend the rest of the day floating in the river.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Tempt. Tempt.”

Clay considered Elliott’s offer, then tromped down the stairs and tossed the rodents in the brush behind the shed. He went back up the steps with the empty traps and held them up. “I’m going to set these and wash my hands. You are going to the truck, not the river.”

“Why? Why are you being so mean to me?” Elliott asked, a hint of a whine in his tone.

“You’ll thank me later when you have lights and fans. The weather man is predicting record high temperatures next month. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to have at least a little breeze blowing while I sleep.”

Elliott glanced at Clay, then looked longingly toward the path that would take him to the river.

Clay totally understood. They were already sweat-soaked, and the cool water of the river damn sure would be a welcomed break. They simply couldn’t afford to waste daylight. Clay patted Elliott’s back. “I tell ya what. You help me get everything unpacked, and we’ll have lunch down by the river before we have to start swinging hammers. I’d really like to get as much done while we’re here as possible.”

Elliott looked unconvinced. “Better yet, how about we unpack, then spend the rest of the day at the river?”

“Sorry bud, but hard work now will pay off big-time later. Trust me. Besides, you’ll have plenty of time this winter to kick back and relax.”

Elliott grumbled something as he went down the back steps. Clay didn’t bother asking what he’d said since he was sure it was something about the heat or the work, or both. He was an extremely hard worker, but he was also great at procrastinating. If Clay left it up to Elliott, they’d constantly be playing catchup. Clay could easily admit he had half a mind to take Elliott up on his offer. He couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do in this heat than hang out at the river. However, they had two weeks until they needed to be out of their current rental and move everything to the cabin. It was going to take every minute they had to get the place ready. Then the real work would begin. They’d have two months, maybe three if they were lucky, to prepare for winter.

Clay headed into the cabin, ready for a full day of work. This area never got lucky. Winter always came early.

IF ELLIOTT thought he’d been hot during the day, lying in bed without a hint of breeze, just as Clay had warned, was a new kind of hell. Clay hadn’t let him slouch at all, working him till dark. Elliott could grudgingly admit he was impressed with what they’d been able to accomplish even if he had to be pushed. The truck and trailer were unloaded and the solar panels installed. They hadn’t been able to get them powered up, not finishing until sundown, but he was proud of what they’d done. Only now, his body was less impressed. He was sore in places he didn’t even realize he had muscles and he was beyond exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep. Not when the very real threat of bursting into flames loomed over him. The sounds emitting from next to him clued Elliott in to the fact that Clay wasn’t having the same difficulties.

Elliott ran a hand over his damp face. God! How can you sleep in this fucking heat? He wiped his face again, but it did no good. He was one giant sweat ball, dripping onto the sheet, and with the additional heat rolling off Clay in waves, it was too goddamn much. What he needed was a cold shower, but that would take indoor plumbing—a luxury they didn’t possess.

“Ugh!”

Elliott slid out of bed and carefully maneuvered through the dark cabin. Clouds had rolled in, blocking out any moonlight, the blackness nearly complete. Somehow he managed to make it to the back porch without injury. He grabbed the railing and hung his head. It wasn’t any better outside. The air was thick, humid, and not even a hint of wind. He was utterly miserable.

“Please, just fucking rain already,” he pleaded with the darkness.

Instead of the cool rain he prayed for, he got a stinging pain on his right asscheek, then another on the side of his neck. Buzzing near his ear and…. “Ow! Fuck!”

Elliott swung his hands ineffectively as an air raid of mosquitos descended upon him from every direction, hitting him on the back, chest, limbs, head, feet, fucking everywhere in the seconds it took him to stumble back into the cabin. And of course, the little bastards followed him, buzzing and biting.

As if the whole bug brigade and hellish temperatures weren’t enough, his toe connected with something hard and solid in the dark, adding insult to injury. He stumbled forward, head bouncing off something, before landing heavily on his knees, his forward motion propelling him onto his stomach. He came to halt with a thud, face-first, arms stretched out. And of course, the cherry atop his misery sundae, a mosquito landed on his asscheek, drilling him and not in a good way.

“Goddam, son of a bitchin’, flying, stupid fuckers!” he howled.

“Elliott? What’s going on?”

“Out here, I just….” Elliott started to explain but snapped his mouth shut. He could hear Clay moving around, spotted the warm glow of light bouncing off the walls. Clay was on his way. No need to explain. A picture was worth a thousand words.

“Elliott? Elliott, where are you?”

Elliott rolled, groaned, and lifted an arm. “Over here.”

Clay rushed to him, lantern lighting up the area around Elliott. “What the hell are you doing down there?”

“Just hanging out.” Elliott lifted his head and looked down his naked form. “Literally.” Now that the pain in his toe and head waned, he was acutely aware of the itching—everywhere.

Clay held out his hand. “Anything broken?”

“Just my pride.” Elliott accepted Clay’s hand and allowed him to help pull Elliott to his feet. As soon as he was on his feet, he began scratching.

“All right, let’s hear it.”

Elliott sighed dramatically. “I was burning up, so I thought I’d go outside to cool off, only it’s not any better out there and worse, the entire population of mosquitos are waiting outside our door.” He scratched his ass with one hand, his neck, chest, and stomach with the other. “I may need a blood transfusion.”

Clay chuckled. The angry glare Elliott shot at him was either missed or ignored when Clay continued to laugh. “I think that may be a little overly dramatic. Regardless, it still doesn’t explain why you were on the floor. Are you trying to tell me that a bunch of tiny bugs knocked you on your ass?” Elliott cocked his head. “Sorry, I mean face,” Clay amended.

Elliott wasn’t amused nor did he appreciate the mocking tone in Clay’s voice. “I fell and that’s all I’m going to say on the subject. I’m going to bed.” Elliott continued to scratch with both hands as he walked away. He had no idea how he was going to sleep. He was still hot and sore, and now he was itchy too.

“You poor thing. I’ll grab the cortisone cream and be right there.”

A moment after Elliott crawled into bed, Clay came into the room. He set the lamp on the bedside table. “Which side is worse?”

“All of me, but especially my back,” Elliott grumbled. He rolled over onto his stomach, shifting, using the sheets to scratch some of the itch, while scratching his head with both hands. It was maddening. “Christ, will you hurry!”

Clay joined Elliott in bed and straddled his thighs. Elliott jerked when Clay’s cold hands landed on his ass, but soon enough he was moaning in relief as Clay worked the cream in. The pleasure-filled sounds increased when Clay moved up Elliott’s body to his neck and back down to his ass, the cortisone and friction of Clay’s palms working their magic.

His backside creamed up, Elliott rolled over and allowed Clay to use those talented fingers to work the medicine into the other side. Clay’s magic wasn’t only successful on the itch but on Elliott’s entire being, because he drifted off to sleep. His last thought was how much he loved Clay right then.