Aftershocks
"SO MY LITTLE NOAH got her animals safely on the ark last night," a male voice murmured in my ear, full lips brushing against my skin, a finger trailing up my side, under my shirt, to where I was tattooed.
That was an electrifying way to wake up.
We had felt aftershocks last night, and while I’d slept lightly, I’d nevertheless rested. Now at dawn, my body creaked, stiff and sore from sleeping on the ground. The tarps and blankets felt damp from morning dew. Even though the sun had started to come up, Will was still holding me.
Still holding me.
I didn't understand why Will was being so affectionate, but I didn't want him to stop. Sleepily, I turned over and snuggled into him even more, burrowing into the silky skin of his hard chest.
"We gotta get up and check the damage," he said quietly.
"Okay," I whispered back, and darted my eyes around to see if anyone was looking, but no, they seemed asleep. So I gave him a good morning kiss, in which he fully participated, and at length. It was hot. Then he hugged me, extricated himself, and stood up and stretched.
My eyes popped out at the sight of his tan torso flexing in the morning, and his flat waist leading to his waistband where his track pants hung low, showing a bulge.
Right. We need to check the damage. No distractions.
I headed to the bunkhouse.
A disheveled interior greeted me and I went to my room to dress.
The triangle rang.
Seriously, Cookie? After last night? A triangle?
Once clothed, I went back out to the makeshift camp. Will, now dressed, walked around inspecting all of the buildings.
We roused the bleary-eyed kids and went to breakfast. I noticed a sense of camaraderie that was missing yesterday—kids helped each other out, talked with each other more, and were friendlier and more outgoing. They’d just shared a scary experience and it had brought them closer.
And they helped clean up. Before they got started, Will gave them a lecture that consisted of one sentence: "Part of livin' on a ranch is workin'." And then he strolled back over to his house to set it to rights while I supervised the bunkhouse cleanup.
Will didn't show up at lunch so I had Cookie make him a sandwich and I took it over to the ranch house. I knocked and walked in and found him sweeping up glass in his kitchen, listening to some God-awful country music.
"Sorry about the breakage," I said, leaning against the doorway.
"Not your fault. Just old stuff anyway," he said matter-of-factly, tipping the dustpan into the trash.
I wandered through his house while he took a break to eat his lunch, and I noticed how sparsely furnished it was. All of the furniture was antique, except for a back room that had a big television and a comfortable couch that screamed straight man. It gave the appearance that he’d inherited it with all of its contents and hadn't changed a thing.
Going back into the kitchen, I heard the song change to yet another sappy country song. I had no idea how he could listen to this shit.
"Who sings this?" I demanded.
"George Strait."
I snorted. "Do you only listen to George Strait?"
"Internet radio," he answered. "George Strait channel."
That explained it.
"Listen to it," he ordered.
I leaned up against the kitchen counter and listened to the song. It was horribly schmaltzy, but it swayed me once I paid attention to the lyrics. George sang about a boy and his father and how the best day of the boy's life was when the father spent time with him camping as a kid, and then when he brought a classic car home that they could work on when he was a teenager, and how he wanted to be like his dad when he grew up.
It was super cheesy.
I had no idea why I had tears in my eyes at the end of it.
He looked at me and gave me a half smile. "You can figure out why I like this song. My dad was like that. Spent a lot of time with me. These kids don't have it like that. But we can give them our time, at least for a week."
I nodded.
Will had a generous heart, no question about it. We continued working and cleaned the house up.
Later on that afternoon, I set up a tie-dye station for the kids.
The first group of kids came over, which included kids who were enthusiastic, and James, the sweary one, who most certainly was not.
"Would you like to do tie-dye?" I asked him.
James stared at me, scandalized. "No."
I smiled, enthusiastic. "Oh, try it. It's fun!" I said.
He scowled and looked up at the sky. "Only fun for hippies like you. It's not cool where I'm from."
Just then Will came by on his way from the corrals. He gave me a chin lift and walked over to the picnic tables where the kids were gathered. "Whatcha doin'?" he asked.
"Making a shirt," said one of the girls. "I'm going to give it to my sister."
Will looked over at James. "You're not gonna make one?"
"No." James wasn't as sullen with Will as he was with me.
"Why not?" Will seemed genuinely perplexed.
"Won't wear it."
"Neither would I, not my thing, but it looks like it might be good to make one for my girl here. Do you have someone you can give it to?" Without waiting for an answer, Will continued, "Here, I'll make one with you." Now he gave James a chin lift. And without any fuss, he went over to the pile of white t-shirts, pulled out two, handed one to James and called over to me, "Marie, how the hell do you do this?" Once I was next to him, he lowered his mouth to my ear and continued, under his breath, "You're making me into a fucking hippie."
"Never," I whispered back.
I showed Will and James how to bunch up the t-shirt and add the rubber bands and how to dye it. When they pulled off the rubber bands after dying the shirts to expose the design, James actually looked pleased with what he’d made. It looked professional. The bright red, green, and yellow dye made it look like it could be sold in a groovy shop and I told him so, getting a small smile in return.
Progress.
Will's shirt was cool, too, black and dark blue. "I dare you to wear that shirt, cowboy," I whispered in Will's ear.
"Rather see you wear it, with nothing underneath," he whispered back, then he hung up the shirt on the makeshift clothes line I’d set up, and took off.
Later that night, when everyone was asleep, I walked over to Will's. I knocked on the door and he let me in, saying, "You can just walk in, Marie."
I countered, "When I did that the first time, I interrupted you in the shower and you were scary pissed."
He gave me a full smile. "Wouldn't mind if you did it again," he said, raising an eyebrow.
Who was this guy and what had he done with Will? I took a step back, feeling uncertain and confused. "Why have you been so nice to me all day? It's like you changed personalities, Will."
He looked down at me. "Figure I don't need to be an asshole to you, even if I am one."
Okay. That sounded good. But I still wasn't sure.
"And I want those knockout legs wrapped around me again. Tonight."