Cotter filled every large pot he could load onto the cookstove with water from the tap. Extra logs of wood were added to the hopper to make the oven heat quickly to warm the water and the room. The pitcher, which he imagined in the summer to be filled with slices of lemons and just enough sugar for a great lemonade, he also filled with water, taking it out the backdoor. Judy and Johnnie listened as he flipped over the old wash tub, pouring in the pitcher of water, sloshing it about quickly, before dumping the contents on the ground. The water pooled in the recess of snow, where the Sheriff’s footprint was indented, quickly freezing solid.

“Shit, it’s cold out here!” Cotter mumbled, dragging the tub inside the house and slamming the door shut. The same tub he’d used to house the meat until the power resumed to the house would serve as a great tub in which to wash their bodies. Leaning the metal against the grate of the fire place, he stood, briskly rubbing his arms to warm his hands.

“Ooh, I need to get my towel and some soap,” Johnnie said, running to the bathroom.

“Bring the shampoo and your comb too, Johnnie,” Judy called out, falling into a coughing spell, hocking up a wad of phlegm that she spit into a tissue and threw into the fireplace.

“Will you be able to wash her hair?”

“The show we put on for the Sheriff took a bit out of me, so you’re going to have to do it,” she said to Cotter.

“The hell you say!” He said aloud, his cheeks warming.

The expression on his face was priceless, forcing a surprising amount of laughter from the lungs still filled with sputum, which made Judy cough. As the sputter of coughing ended, the smile stayed. A smile which reached out to Cotter, caressing his face with a softness that needed no physical touch. He felt it. High and low.

“It won’t be difficult, I’ll walk you through it,” Judy offered.

Grumbling, scowling, and reaching for the extra blanket he’d used to wrap Judy’s body in for extra warmth, he laid it on the floor. The tub, no longer frigid cold, he placed on the blanket as a happy Johnny stood close by with a towel, soap, and her pajamas ready to climb in. Cotter, using oven mitts, carried the first large pot of water to the tub, pouring it in. Steam rose from the connection between cold metal and hot water. Carrying the pot back to the sink, he refilled it with water from the tap, putting it back on the stove to heat for the Mom’s bath to follow. Hefting the five-gallon water bottle onto his shoulder, he carried it to the tub, pouring in half the contents. Cotter bent over, his fingers testing the water.

“One more pot of hot water and it will be just perfect,” he said as he moved back to the stove. He loaded the tub with another pot of hot water, bent, tested it and nodded to Johnnie that it was the perfect temp for her bath. “Climb in, kiddo.”

His phone rang, and he looked down at the number. It was a call from his boss at The Company. Cotter excused himself from the room as a bare chested six-year-old happily climbed inside the tub, splashing in the water. He knew later, after they’d gone to bed, he would feel the same damned way at a chance to get clean.

“Stop,” he said into the line, using his contracted license name with the organization in which he worked for nearly 10 years. It was a stupid name, but as an ongoing joke between him and the other contracted agents, his reputation of the buck stopping with him, it took hold and stuck. His assigned name was thereinafter, Stop. Beauty loved calling Cotter that name, at least until Caleb Morrow ruined his stats for the past year.

“Proof of contract fulfillment has arrived, and payment will be sent in the morning,” Beauty Kurtzwilde said to him. “Are you ready to get back to work?”

“No, not yet,” Cotter said.

“A year is a long time to go without an assignment,” she said softly, “unless of course you are moonlighting on the side.”

“Nope,” he said back, thinking of all the alone time he had in the past year to contemplate his existence. Chasing a man across a continent tended to make one rethink how, in fact, they were living their lives. For him, it was barely living at all. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go back to the easy money of erasing problems for people with too much disposable income. A looming fear was that at one point, he would become a problem that an angry wife, cousin, or sister would want handled. Moonlighting was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Good, because that would be a breach of contract between us and you how I feel about disloyal men,” Beauty said.

“Give me a month or two to get situated and I’ll call in when I’m ready,” Cotter said, listening at the door for Johnnie’s call to wash her hair.

“Stop, you matter to us at The Company. You also matter to me,” Beauty said.

For Cotter, the ones who mattered most to him were in the other room. A little girl in need of having her hair washed and a sick woman in need of a bath. It had been a long time since he’d been needed. They needed him, and he wouldn’t leave the ladies to fend for themselves in a world ready to devour them whole.

“Sounds good. I’ll await your call,” Beauty said. “Just don’t be too long. A man with your skills shouldn’t allow such traits to rust.”

Cotter disconnected the call. Caleb Morrow had taken every skill Cotter had to track the asshole down. Each time he got close and zoomed in, the slippery bastard wormed his way out of the trap to make his death look accidental. He was tired of things slipping between his fingers.

“Mister Cotter! Mister Cotter! The water is getting cold, and I’m ready for my hair to be washed!” Johnnie called from the living room.

He slipped the phone into his pocket as he opened the bedroom door. Judy waited on the couch, watching her little girl, happy in the tub of water. Such a small thing meant so much to a child who’d experienced too little. This house was her choice. Marrying Caleb had been her choice. Johnnie deserved better. She looked up at Cotter coming from the bedroom, the phone slipping into his pocket.

“Hey Johnnie, put your washcloth across your lap please,” he asked, but smiled when he saw that it had already been done. “Judy, you may need to walk me through this.”

“It’s just hair. Wet it, lather the strands, and come through it when it’s wet, and rinse once more,” she said. “After that, pull it back into a ponytail, braid the loose hair, and then tie it up so it dries overnight.”

“Yep, I heard wet it,” Cotter said.

Judy threw her head back and laughed, a melodic sound that thumped at the bands around his chest which strapped down his heart. He felt like the Grinch hearing the Whos celebrate Christmas with no gifts.

“I’ll walk you through it,” Judy said, trying to tamp down the coughing. Step by step she watched as the large hands wash Johnnie’s hair, rinse it, and comb through the mass of tangles. It took three tries for his large fingers to figure out the hair bands. The ponytail was crooked, the braid lopsided and uneven, but the look of pride on his face was greater than when he was finished repairing two holes in the roof.

Cotter left the room while Johnnie dressed. During Mommy and daughter story time, he emptied the tub, filling it just enough for Mom to take her bath. Just as the water reached the perfect temperature, he told her the water was ready.

Johnnie was now in bed and sleeping.

“I’ll be in the other room,” he said softly.

“No, please stay,” she said. “I’m going to need your help to wash my hair as well.”

“Nope, not a good idea,” Cotter said. “You are still in jeopardy and don’t need a wet head overnight. Just bathe, and I can help you wash it tomorrow in the sink.”

“Okay,” she said, sounding disappointed. “Will you at least wash my back?”

“Nope, not a good idea,” Cotter said. “I’m still a man. A very heterosexual man, Judy.”

“And I haven’t been touched by a man in nearly two years,” she said. “Cotter, a woman needs to be touched. I need you to touch me.”

He exhaled deeply, wanting to turn and walk away from the mess of a conundrum this move would place him in, but he also needed to give the woman what she wanted. It took a few moments for his feet to move his body closer to the sofa, where he took a seat in front of the fire, which rested behind the tub, dancing light off her ebony skin. The small breasts sat high on her chest, the buds hardening under his intense gaze. Small, delicate hands lifted the wash cloth, adding soap making the rag sudsy, and then she handed it to him.

“Lord Jesus,” he sighed, taking the rag into his fingers. He walked away from her to gather his thoughts. At the sink, he took the pitcher, adding more water from the tap and then hot water from the stove. Tapping the contents with his fingers, he tested it to ensure it wasn’t too hot for her skin. His feet felt like lead when he took measured steps back to the tub where she waited patiently for him. Getting to his knees, he observed her closely before doing anything.

Judy’s legs were bent in the tub, folding her five-foot seven frame into a protective position, providing shielding for her breasts as her body faced the fire. In the tub, Johnnie’s small body had allowed her to extend her legs, giving the child room to actually sit in the water. Cotter dipped the rag into the pool of water, squeezing the contents onto the smooth skin of her back. With his free hand, he placed it in the center of her back, smoothing over the skin, feeling for warmth where her lungs were located.

“It’s still warm, which means there’s a lot of fluid still in there, but for two days, you are progressing nicely,” he said softly.

She didn’t respond as he used the cloth, making small circles on her back, washing her gently. The cloth cleaned the skin all the way to the pool of water which shielded her buttocks from his view. In his left hand, he lifted the pitcher, pouring the warm water over her back, rinsing away the sudsy residue. He didn’t know what made him continue, but he reached for her right arm, freeing it from her knees, and began to wash it as well. He did the same for the left arm, moving around the tub, tapping her knee.

Judy lifted her left leg, allowing it to hang over the rim of the tub as he soaped the cloth, then washed her leg. Cotter repeated the action with the right leg, pouring water over the tops of both before moving to her toes. He washed in between each one, with surgical precision, never looking at her face.

“You have nice feet,” he said as he lifted the first one over the pool to rinse, followed by the other. Giving the rag to her, he stood. Her eyes raked over his body, searching for signs of interest in what he’d just done. To her disappointment, she found none, and he left the room, closing the bedroom door where he stayed until she was done and dressed.

In the bedroom, he flopped back on the bed, proud of himself. His body throbbed in need now that he was away from the woman. The erection nearly poked a hole in his pants, and he found the urge to rub one out each time he heard the slosh of water, knowing she was washing the good parts and he couldn’t see it. To him, it was better this way. His imagination did the work as he stared at the hole in the ceiling he’d covered from the outside. He knew he had to fix the inside as well. Focusing on the other tasks that needed to be completed around the house, the erection ebbed and he felt a little less like a horny wolf ready to gobble up the pig in the straw house.

“Cotter, I’m all done and dressed,” she said softly.

“Okay, be right there,” he said, sitting up.  He, too, was ready for a bath as he got to his feet. He passed her standing at the door, smelling fresh and clean. Apples. I should have gotten some apples. The thought of an apple in the little pig’s mouth, drizzled in honey made him smile as he dragged the tub to the back door and dumped the contents.

It was his turn for a bath, methodically he added water, hot and cold, to the tub. She’d left a towel and wash cloth for him on the couch. This time she lay on the bed, unable to get comfortable at the thought of him, all six feet of hunky out there in that small tub. His legs would hang over the side as he tried to wash all of that body. Judy started to wonder if he had a hairy chest and arms. Maybe hairy legs. She wouldn’t know if she stayed in the bedroom.

Listening closely, she heard his zipper come down, then the clunk of his boots as he removed them. Her mind went into overdrive at the idea of him removing the heavy winter shirt, all bare chested and sitting that tight little bum of his in the water. Unable to stand it any longer, she got to her feet.  He washed my back. I should wash his.

When she opened the door, his eyes grew wide as he sat in the tub. The long legs hanging over the side had just enough hair on them, but not too much. Scars and bruises covered his torso and she dropped her eyes as she went to the stove. He’d used all the hot water in the pots, so she made a fresh one, waiting with her back to him as it warmed. Giving it just enough time to get the chill off the water, she added it to the pitcher, walking towards him in the tub, all vulnerable at her mercy.

“What are you doing?” he asked with his eyes wide, placing the washcloth over his lap. Even if he bent his knees, the man wasn’t going to fit in the tub.

“Returning the favor,” she said as she got to her knees. The washcloth she snatched from his hands exposed his floating scrotum in the water. Sticking the cloth in the pool, she soaped the rag, then began washing his back. Just as he’d done for her, she rinsed, and moved to his arms, followed by his legs and his feet.

“You also have nice feet,” she said. “Most men who wear boots have yellow toe nails and thick layers of dead skin. It seems you take care of yourself.”

“I try,” he said, watching her face.

She coughed a few times as she worked. Unlike him, she didn’t stop at his feet. She moved closer to wash his chest. He sat still as she bathed him like she would Johnnie. Her fingers trailed across the scars and what appeared to be old bullet wounds.

“Tell me about these,” she said, rinsing the scars.

“Old Army wounds, from Iraq,” he said.

“And the phone call? Was that someone waiting for you to come home?” she asked, looking him square in the eyes.

“No, that was my boss, wondering when I was coming back to work,” he said truthfully.

“What is it you do for a living, if I might ask,” Judy said, dipping the cloth in the water. “I mean, you know how to unfreeze a well, repair a roof, cook, and I’m sure that is only the tip of the iceberg in your skills.”

Her hand moved up his thigh, but he grabbed it, stopping her hand from going any further. Not that it would have mattered. His discipline was gone, and the erection poked up in the water like a buoy trying to guide the woman towards danger. All he could think about was that stupid Baby Shark song. Only he was Daddy Shark, and the tune buzzed in his head, doo doo doo doo doo doo.

“My Dad drove over the road which meant he was gone much of the time,” Cotter said. “My Mother was a waitress in a diner in Minnesota, so I know about cold weather, wells freezing over and such.”

“Was it just you and your Mom?” she asked, standing to retrieve more hot water to pour in the tub.

“No, it was Mom, me, my brother and my two sisters, Susie and Alayna,” he said. “Alayna was older by three years and started dating, which pretty much kept her out the house. Susie had trouble making hard boiled eggs, so if I wanted to eat something other than sandwiches, I had to cook. We lost my brother when he was young. So, I taught myself with a few cookbooks from the library.”

“Your parents, are they still married?” she asked, pouring the heated water into the tub, after pushing open his knees, exposing the goodies she’d been trying to see.

“No, my Dad created a new family with a woman named Bertha in Detroit,” Cotter said. “He left driving over the road, divorced Mom, and moved to Motown. He’s still there.”

“Tell me about your sisters,” she said, playing in the water with the cloth, moving closer to the goodies, pretending to wash the back of his legs.

“Susie is an attorney now,” he said. “She is married with two kids, two dogs, and a parakeet with an attitude.”

“She sounds like a fun person. And the other, Alayna, is that her name?”

“Yes, she unfortunately, got pregnant by the knucklehead she was dating at 15,” he said. “Now she lives with a woman named Katie. The girl she gave birth to, Cicely, was basically left with me most of the time. I kind of raised her. She is in grad school at Northwestern now. Doing well.”

He took the rag from her hand, pulling his feet into the tub and standing. The water rippled down his body, over the hairy legs and firm buttocks. He bent, wetting the cloth, talking to her as he washed as if it were something, they did every day.

“Tell me about your family,” he said, holding himself and washing his scrotum.

“I’m the only child of a jazz lounge singer named Princess Morgan, who was a grifter that wasn’t very good at it,” she confessed, getting to her feet to sit on the couch as she watched him wash his private parts. “We moved every two years from city to city until the last man, I think his name was Clem, ended her run. It may have been Clem or one of the many others whose credit cards she stole and ran up or bank accounts she emptied.”

“How did you end up with Caleb?” he asked as he rinsed and stepped out of the tub, grabbing the towel and briskly drying himself.

“I met Caleb in Vegas when I worked for Jimmy the Flint,” she said, watching his face for name recognition of the old mob head. “Caleb took me on my first real vacation, in a Winnebago. We came here and he showed me this land. ‘Here, we will raise our family.’ That’s what he said and up until two years ago, that’s what we did.”

“May I ask what went wrong?”

“Caleb was always wrong, and that was the problem,” she said. “I wanted desperately to have a place of my own to raise a child and not have to move every few years. Roots. I didn’t have any and we were going to plant some here, which is why I didn’t leave. The deed to land is in my name. The land is mine and we built this house by hand.”

“I can tell,” he said, slipping into a clean pair of boxers and flannel lounge pants.

“Teach me to drive,” she said, sitting up.

“What?”

“Teach me to drive,” she said. “If I know how to drive, we can make it here. Please don’t leave us without giving me the skills to survive.”

“You need to get well first,” Cotter said. “Let’s put your energy into that and then we will talk about the rest.”

“How long?”

“How long what?” he said, looking down at himself to make sure his shit wasn’t still hard as a rock.

“How long will you stay with us? I mean, if no one is waiting for you at home, I am not averse to you...staying,” she said, feeling self-conscious.

“Lady, you don’t know me,” he said.

“What I know is that you came through that door and took care of us,” she said. “Even sitting in that water with your dick harder than Greek philosophy, you didn’t try anything with me. I can trust you more than I could my jackass of a husband.”

“Judy, what happens if ...,” he started to say but she was on her feet. Her arms wrapped around his waist and her soft hair pressed against his bare chest.

“No ifs, Cotter Wihlborg,” she told him. “If is what got you here. If is why you stayed to help. If can be a nice life for the three of us, if you want it.”

The problem with her statement of if then scenarios was that he did want it. He wanted to watch Johnnie grow up. The idea of driving her to college and unloading his truck with items for her dorm room like he did for Cicely touched him in a way that he hadn’t felt in years. If had just slapped him upside the head.