Just Her Luck (11 page)

"Traitor," I grumbled and sulked the rest of the drive.

Ruthie's evil laughter and the radio were the only noise for the remainder of the trip.

Sometimes people just suck.

Foiled Again!

"Thank you for the ride, Vieve," Ruthie thanked me as we pulled up to Barry's house.

"You know... you
could
always stay with me at my house. I can find a fill in for the Harrison's and then I can take care of you. You don't have to stay with Barry," I piped up hopefully.

"Oh, no, Barry's house is just fine. Besides, they need you over there, and I need to know someone is taking real good care of my boys," she said warmly.

"Um, yeah... about that," I cleared my throat, glancing at her sheepishly and rubbing at the back of my neck anxiously, "Some of them, who shall remain nameless, don't like me being there... uhm,
at all
... and I just wanted to make sure you knew that even if I did leave, they've all already said it wouldn't affect your position there in any way," I rushed to reassure her, "and I wouldn't leave anyways unless I had a replacement."

"I understand," she smiled sympathetically, giving my hand a pat, "Some people just can't manage Reeve. It's alright if you can't handle him. I get it."

"I can handle him!" I barked defensively, "He's the one that can't handle me!"

"Of course. Of course," she agreed in a placating tone, but I couldn't deny the hint of condescending mockery it held to me.

"Hey, I can!" I insisted, "I'll even prove it! You just wait and see!"

"Oh, good! It's all settled then! You'll stay on indefinitely! I can't wait to tell the boys!" she tittered excitedly.

Stay on? Uh, whuh?

Indefinitely?

Where did that come from?

Has she lost her damn mind?!!

"Wait! Whoa, there! I didn't..." I hurried.

"Thatcher will be over the moon!" she went on, steam rolling right over me, "He has a little crush on you, you know?"

"I am well aware that Thatch is delusional, Auntie," I muttered dryly, "but I'm beginning to wonder if it's something contagious. Maybe even an epidemic."

She chalked off my surliness and gave me a great big hug.

"I was so worried," she whispered, sniffling against my shoulder, leaning her tall, willowy frame down to reach me. "You've just taken a huge weight off of my shoulders. Oh, hun, I can't thank you enough!" she gushed gratefully.

I froze, wincing as I tried to back myself out of the corner I'd been painted into.

Can't now, Vieve, you'll break her heart.

Damn.

Recovering from my shock quickly, I patted her back reassuringly until she'd gotten a hold of herself and pulled back.

"You don't need to tell the boys anything." I smiled excitedly, "Let me just... tell them myself! You know... uh, uhm, a surprise!"

She looked at me funny for a minute, but whatever she'd been thinking, she brushed it off and clapped her hands happily.

"Okay, dear heart, however you want it.” She smiled back just as widely, just as feigned, as I was.

It was a little unnerving.

Do I look like that when I give a big fake smile?
I thought, cringing inwardly.

She looks like an escaped mental patient!

My smile fell and she dropped hers too, replacing it with a big Cheshire cat grin.

"I don't even want to know!" I huffed in total exasperation, "I can already tell you're just going to ignore me and tell them a load of bologna anyways."

"Me?" she asked innocently, her hand to her heart, eyes wide in her wrinkle-lined face.

Just give in, Vieve, you can correct whatever crap she spouts out to them later.

Let her have her fun.

I walked over to my car and hopped in, waiting until she waved one last time and went inside before I took off.

Why do I feel like she's keeping things from me?
I contemplated as I drove home, trying to figure out why she wouldn't want me to go in with her to talk to the doctor.

Something just seems...
off.

I dunno...

Maybe they have to ask a lot of personal questions and she's embarrassed about some of them.

Does she just not want me there?

Maybe she doesn't need me.

Or are there more serious things going on?

But... why wouldn't she tell me?

Why wouldn't she want me to know?

Maybe that isn't it at all and I'm being a paranoid freak!

"Stop!" I yelled out loud.

I pulled over when I started to have a panic attack and threw the car into park.

Resting my head in my hands, I took a few deep, soothing breaths and tried to get myself under control.

It was helping a little, the suffocating feeling creeping up on me starting to ease.

My eye tick was twitching again, and I was tempted to smack it, even though I knew it would be a pointless effort.

My hands shook as well.

Slappin' it isn't gonna make it go away...

With my luck, smacking a facial tick would just give me another one or something.

Maybe three.

I don't know how long I sat there, but I lifted my head up once I felt better.

I’m okay. I’m okay,
I told myself.

Calm once again, I started my car up and headed back to the house.

Think positive, Vieve. Just keep it positive.

Maybe that party thing Ruthie wants me to take her to will soften her up and she'll cave in, let me see what all is going on with her by letting me sit in at one of her appointments,
I thought hopefully.

****

I was surprised by how late it had gotten when I finally got back to the Harrison's ranch.

A client of mine had called and wanted me to send them the finished product on a project I'd recently been working on as soon I'd gotten it done.

They were even willing to pay extra for it.

Having anticipated an indefinite amount of time at 'Red Neck Haven'
- yes, that's what I've dubbed their ranch
- I'd finished all the projects I had going on for the next few weeks early, keeping crazy hours to finish before I left to fill in for Ruthie.

So all I had to do was make a quick detour to my house, which turned out to be not so quick, and picked up all their stuff to get it sent out and make myself a little extra dough.

That finished, I let myself give a little sigh of relief and pulled in to park.

I got out, reaching back in to get my purse and phone before I headed in for the night.

At the last minute, I remembered my laptop and leaned in again to get it.

It was already dark out, but I could make out someone rushing towards me, hell bent for leather as they rushed my car.

Setting my laptop back down carefully, I waited.

"Genevieve!" came the relieved shout from Ephraim.

Huh. I would have thought it was Thatcher, the nut.

I braced myself, waiting for impact as he collided with me and hugged me to him.

"Boy, am I glad to see you!" he babbled as he squashed my face against his dirty, sweaty work shirt.

"Uhm, Ephraim..."

Oh, please let that all be dirt I'm smashed up against!
I thought frantically.

That would be just great, wouldn't it?"

Animal excrement facial to finish off my day.

"I thought you'd left us after all!" he went on, "I told Thatch you wouldn't when he said you might make a run for it, but I swore you wouldn't. Nope, not Genny, I told him, she said she was comin' back and I know she will."

"None of this stuff on you is
shit
, is it?" I grumbled curtly, cutting him off.

"Hmm? Oh, no," he paused, "I mucked the stalls and cleaned up pens this mornin'."

"Oh, thank god!" I muttered, relieved.

"It's just dirt, Genny. You aint afraid of a little dirt, are ya?" he teased.

"No," I chuckled.

"Well, anyways... where was I? Oh, yeah, and then..."

I laughed as he continued to carry on, oblivious as he hugged me tight and continued to smush my face.

"Get your hands off my woman, Ephraim, you probably smell like horse shit and sweat! You're gonna make her smell all funky with your man stink!" Thatcher hollered out, walking towards us.

And here he comes.

I groaned and turned my face into Ephraim's wide chest.

"Quick! Smother me! Then I won't have to suffer another case of the 'pookiekins' or the 'honey lambs'!"

Though my voice was muffled against him, 'E' heard every word and chuckled at me, reaching over to pull at one of the buns on my head.

"They're like handle bars," he joked and tugged on my hair, a hand on each pinned up cinnamon roll of my untamable locks.

"Hey!" I called out indignantly, slapping his hands away. "Don't mess with my hair! I thought you were gonna smother me? Not grope my buns!"

He put his hands up and smiled, blue eyes twinkling in the dark.

"I was only teasin'," he drawled softly, mirth and happiness dancing in his pretty blue eyes.

Thatcher finally made it over to us, and I rolled my eyes at him as he shoved his way past Ephraim, making a big show of hugging me.

I laughed, taken in by his dramatics, surprised to find I had actually missed these two goof balls a little bit today.

"You can let go now," I said helpfully when he let his hug linger longer than I felt necessary.

"Don't be stingy," he grumbled, giving me a squeeze, "If this is all I'm gonna get, I gotta make it count."

I laughed again, way too tired to scrounge up any real 'mad' for him right now.

His cheekiness is slightly endearing at the moment, his kooky attempts at flirting a welcome distraction.

I think I might have finally cracked,
I reflected.

Guy could dance circles around me, paint me pink, then sing the safety dance in his underwear with Ephraim, and worn out as I'm feeling, both mentally and physically, I don't know that I'd be able to really dole out some Genevieve grade, quality retribution.

He chuckled, white teeth flashing as he gave me a cocky grin, but made no move to release me.

I don't know if it's because I'm just plain worn out, or because, technically, I really needed a hug after the awkwardness that was Ruthie's appointment-
oh, and don't forget the evil that is Reeve
- but for once in my life, I let someone, besides Aunt Ruthie, just hold me for a minute and offer me some comfort.

Even if that wasn't really his intention with the hug in the first place.

Giving in, I rested my forehead on his shoulder and just let him embrace me.

I’m not going to lie to myself either and insist this was all somehow unpleasant when I recall it later, because it’s not.

It’s actually kind of nice.

His hug changed after a minute, his chuckle dying as his hold turned from adamant admirer to supportive friend, his hands rubbing a slow circular pattern over the top upper part of my back soothingly.

A friend.

He’s being a friend.

My
friend.

Something I'm very thankful for.

Setting my issues aside, taking stock of everything, it was easy to see I needed this.

"Hey? You okay?" He sounded a bit worried, his hands stopping as he pulled back a little to get a good look at me.

I wasn’t quite ready for it to end yet, my head still resting on him, but it was best to just end it now.

No sense in getting used to that kind of thing
- silly to, really
- it’s not like it’s going to be happening all the time or anything.

"Just...
peachy,"
I sighed heavily.

I lifted my head and pulled away, taking a step back, effectively withdrawing from him.

Clearing my throat, hands spread out at my sides, I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

There. That helped.

Alright! Enough of all this mushy crap for one day!

Reaching down into my bug, I grabbed my laptop out and shut the door.

"You sure?" he asked, frowning when I blew out another deep breath.

I nodded and moved past him, ready to call it a day and go crawl into bed.

My brain is on overload and I just need to unwind and reboot, then maybe I can make some sense of Ruthie.

That or grow a pair when it comes to her and squeeze it out of her.

Enough of that talk, missy! You'll figure it out!
I coached myself, trying to boost my moral.

On another note, maybe, if I'm lucky, Reeve will already be asleep and I won't have to deal with him,
I thought hopefully.

Poker In The Front, Asthma Up The Rear

"Damn," I muttered when I opened the front door and found Sawyer, Bowen and Reeve all playing poker around the small round table they kept folded up in the basement.

I coughed and choked when the smell of beer and cigars reached me, gagging me as I entered the room.

"What's the matter, prison bait?" Reeve taunted, grinning around his cigar, "Can't handle a little friendly poker game?"

I sat everything down at my feet and dug through my purse, my chest protesting as it tightened, constricting.

Damn it. Not now.

Quickly pulling out my inhaler, I shook it up and used it, doing my usual two puffs to help open my lungs back up.

I waited for the pain to subside, rubbing at the center of my chest.

Not fun.

Never is.

Never was.

Much to the detriment of my mother's heavy two pack a day smoking habit-
I just couldn’t handle it.

Still can’t handle it now.

At least she had the decency to do it outside.

Some people, like me, are just really sensitive to it.

Lucky me.

Meh.

Yup. Never did get used to being around smokers, my asthma always going off whenever I end up in a room filled with the stench of smoked tobacco, or stand too close to someone who's engaging in it.

Then again, I also can’t walk down a candle aisle without my nose plugging up and running all over the place, and my eyes watering like I’d just watched some really sad, tragic love story where everyone dies.

Yeah, ‘cause who doesn’t love a gal who looks like a blubbering hot mess?

Oh, sensitive, sensitive me.

Kinda sucks, but that’s life.

"God," I said slowly, wheezing a little, "wouldn't that just be fucking funny?” I smiled sarcastically to myself as a thought came to me, “You could smoke around me for a few days, hide my inhaler, then just be done with me for good."

I laughed bitterly, shoving off Thatcher's hand when he went to put it on my shoulder.

"I'm fine," I insisted, sitting down on the step in the entryway for a minute.

I need a minute,
I admitted, if only to myself.

Slow even breaths, Vieve, this is only a tiny asthma attack, you've had much worse
.

Hey, look, there's the eye twitch again.

Yay me.

"Put that shit out, Reeve," Bowen barked while Sawyer opened the sliding glass door up.

Ephraim went over and opened the front door, glaring at all of them.

"You alright?" Reeve asked gruffly after a moment, realizing I wasn't playing around.

"I said I was fine." I didn’t look up, opting to stare down at my feet.

I got up when the pain in my chest started to subside, relieved when my albuterol did its job, embarrassed as they all watched me, staring, making me feel like a side show freak.

"Maybe you should sit down for a minute or two longer," Sawyer suggested, "You look really pale."

I waved off his concern and picked up my things, ready to trudge off to my room, cheeks flushing pink from all the unwanted attention.

I hate being stared at like this.

"You really do look like shit," Ephraim added helpfully.

Gee... thanks, dude. Just what I wanted to hear.

"And to think," I muttered out loud, hitching my purse higher over my shoulder, "you were doing so well with the 'don't insult me' thing you've been working on."

"Aw, Genny, I didn't mean it like..."

"Save it, 'E'," I snapped, regretting it immediately.

The hurt look on his face just added to my foul mood, making me feel even more like a heel.

God, I'm an ungrateful bitch.

"Look,” I licked my lips and continued, running a hand through my bangs roughly, “I'm just tired," I peeked up at him and nudged him a little, "I'm sorry. Don't stress it, alright? I won't even remember tomorrow, so don't sweat it."

I tried to smile a little, but it was forced, so I settled on giving him a wan, apologetic look.

Giving me a quick, one-armed hug, he nodded and stepped back.

Shifting my focus, I glanced over at Reeve.

"Sorry to disappoint you, moonshine, but it looks like I'll still be here tomorrow," I muttered dryly, ignoring the look on his face.

He looked kinda upset and maybe even a little contrite, but I can't be too sure-
I wasn't really looking at him long enough to really tell.

"Guys… uh, look, fellas, I'm tired, it's late, and I just want to go to sleep right now." I hefted my things up a little higher in my arms, making sure I had a firm grip. "We can all resume our craziness after I've gotten some sleep," I promised.

Ephraim looked like he wanted to say something else, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Look, Ma, the boy has some common sense after all.

Thatcher just looked pissed.

At who?

I dunno.

Hopefully not me.

I'll figure it out later.

Maybe.

Taking my time, I trudged my way down the hall, slamming my door shut hard behind me, wrinkling my nose when the smell of stale cigarettes and cigars hit my nose.

"Of course I left the door open and now it's in my room too!" I grumbled as I made my way over to the window to open it.

Too tired to really care at the moment, I kicked off my shoes and climbed into bed, taking the two seconds needed to take my hair down before I fell asleep, my dreams a mixed up jumble of cowboys running around singing in their underwear, to Aunt Ruthie smoking pink cigars.

I really need to stop eating so soon before I go to bed, it's making my life even more strange.

If that's even possible!

****

I woke up groggy the following morning, trying to clear the sleep from my eyes before I opened them.

Stunned, I stared dumbly at the room as sunlight streamed right in through the curtains, illuminating the room.

"What time is it?" I croaked hoarsely, glancing over at my bedside clock.

My throat felt a little scratchy and my eyes burned a bit.

"Oh, shit!" I exclaimed when the red numbers on the little digital clock came fully into focus, letting me know it was hours past when I usually get up.

Hopping up, I did a rush job on changing and gave my face a quick splash of cold water, popping my allergy pill and swallowing it dry as I ran out of the room, sliding down the hall, skidding to a stop when I hit the kitchen.

“Good lord,” I muttered to myself, “that was a bad idea,” I rubbed my throat, “I feel like I just swallowed a rock.”

Note to self: Get glass of water and chug. Second note to self: Don’t swallow medication dry ever again.

"Should you be running around?" Reeve shouted from the open door to his office.

"I have asthma, moon shine, I aint dyin'! It’s never stopped me before and it isn’t going to now!" I shouted right back.

Besides, I’m not running, I’m walking swiftly, erm, skidding, so hah!

Bowen looked up from the kitchen table where he'd been reading and took his glasses off.

I eyed him and the manly spectacles in his hand as I made my way past.

He wears glasses? Since when?

Sexy, sexy.

I shrugged inwardly.

Must be for reading.

"Sorry I woke up so late," I apologized, "I'll fix something for you guys to eat right now."

"No need," Bowen replied, eyeing me critically, "We already took care of it."

"Oh." I stopped, glancing around, at a loss for words, the little balloon of 'hurry up' I'd filled up with a moment ago deflating.

"You alright?" he asked, closing his book.

"I'm fine," I said quickly, digging around in my pants pockets for one of my hair things.

I don't even need a mirror to tell me I look like a mess.

I can
feel
it.

"I'll just go start on my other stuff," I told him, trying to wrangle my hair into a ponytail.

"We did those too." His eyes strayed to my hands, watching me fix my hair.

I could totally hum the flight of the bumble bee right now,
I thought, snorting, amused with the way he was looking at me while I, with great effort on my part, kept trying to fix my unruly hair.

"Why and who is this 'we'?" I gave up on any hope of a ponytail when the band finally gave in, snapped and broke.

"Ugh!" I growled and went to dump the remains of the crappy elastic band into the trash bin.

"Hey, sweetums, what are you doing up?" Thatcher called before Bowen could answer, walking into the house as if surprised to see me.

Why? Am I supposed to be somewhere?

I glanced at the clock in the kitchen.

Well, if I can't make breakfast, I can make lunch.

"Getting ready to make lunch,
short stack
," I taunted, heading for the fridge.

"Short stack? I hope you mean that in an endearing way,
cupcake
." Following after me, Thatcher frowned.

I snagged a pencil out of the cup on the counter and put my hair up with it, satisfied when it stayed in place.

There. That works.

"You're the shortest one of the bunch, Thatchy-poo. Quit calling me ‘
cupcake
’ and I won't
'short stack'
you," I said saucily.

"Chuh! I'm taller than you!" he blurted, then frowned when he realized how funny that sounded.

"I thought we could just do sandwiches," Sawyer announced loudly, walking in from the garage.

They're like homing pigeons when it’s time to eat.

I don't even need to call them- they just come.

"Did someone say sandwiches?" Ephraim asked with way too much enthusiasm, adding to the hum of voices, hurrying into the kitchen.

"I can do that," Sawyer offered, snagging the condiments I held right out of my hands.

"Me too." Thatcher grabbed the meat up.

What the...

"I got the bread!" Ephraim called, tossing the bagged loaves at Bowen.

Bowen caught them football style, setting them on the table, then turned to the cupboard to get plates.

I have entered the twilight zone
, I thought dazedly, watching as they slapped together their own food-
the much loathed sandwiches, of all things-
no assistance required.

Actually-
gulp
- working together.

Getting along perfectly, working together...

This, for my guys, is just
not
normal.

And talk about making a girl feel useless!

Who are these people and what have they done with my hungry horde?

The short time I've gotten to know the guys, my guys, they never would have been satisfied with just sandwiches.

Never.

I winced, remembering that first night and the banality of listening to Thatcher and Ephraim put great emphasis on their lack of love for
the 'sammich'.

Something fishy is going on here and it aint the lunch meat.

"Okay, I'll just go make something to go with it. What do you guys want?" I tried, testing them out.

"We're good," Bowen said quickly.

"I'm happy with this." Sawyer waved his sandwich at me.

"Mmm, hmm. Hits the spot," Thatcher said enthusiastically.