Rules of Protection(31)

My body drooped tiredly into the mattress. No television to occupy my time. I sat there waiting for him. Okay, so I hoped to get another peek. Sue me.

When Jake came out a few minutes later, he was shirtless and his jeans rested low on his hips. Water droplets spotted his back, and his muscles gleamed from the slick dampness of smooth skin. After putting on his shirt and shoes, we headed out the door.

“He’s got to be dead,” I told Jake, looking back at the lifeless white figure still lying on the porch. “I forgot he was there and accidentally stepped on his tail, but he still didn’t move.”

“Must not have hurt,” Jake said.

I followed Jake across the driveway and up a trail of stepping stones in the dark, not knowing where we were going until I spotted Hank sitting in a plastic lawn chair next to a glowing fire. A two-foot tall stone border trimmed the outside of the burn pit, keeping the fire and ashes contained. Jake pulled up two more chairs for us as his uncle kicked a red ice chest over to us.

Jake cut his eyes over to me. “Emily, you want a beer?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” I said, watching Hank smirk. Jake twisted the top off my bottle and handed it to me. “Where’s your wife, Mr. Miller?”

“Floss is upstairs grabbing some insect repellent. And, young lady, unless you want me to turn you over my knee, you’ll call me Hank. You hear?”

I studied Hank’s face, watching for signs of humor, but there weren’t any, just a straight-lined mouth and serious eyes glaring back at me. Once I decided it wasn’t an empty threat, I nodded solemnly, which made Jake take a turn smirking. What was up with the men in his family wanting to spank me?

“What’s burning?” I asked. “It doesn’t look like wood.”

“It’s not,” Hank said. “It’s a bag of garbage from inside the house. We don’t get trash pick-up way out here. We separate our trash into three containers: burnable, unburnable, and glass. We recycle the glass, but once a month we haul the unburnable to a landfill.”

“Oh,” was all I could say. I tried not to make a face, but no wonder the smoke smelled weird. Who knows what all was in there? It was a trash can fire, and had it been contained in a barrel, we would’ve resembled a bunch of hobos.

A crackling noise directly behind me caught my attention. An electrical bug zapper with a blue, eerie glow hung from a small pole. It made a faint buzzing sound. Another bug flew into it, making it crackle, sizzle, and spit bug parts back out in all directions.

I ran my hand through the back of my hair, hoping I wouldn’t feel anything resembling bug guts. Then I moved my chair.

Jake tried to stop me. “Emily, you might want to stay between the fire and the bug zapper if you want to keep the mosquitoes from eating you alive.”

“I’m moving over here a little,” I said, although my “little” was about ten feet away.

Once I was away from the fire, I could feel the slight breeze. How Jake could wear jeans and sit close to the heat was beyond me. He had to be hot. Hell, I was, and all I had on was a pair of shorts and a tank top.

Hank and Jake talked between themselves as I deposited myself back into my chair. I tuned them out and closed my eyes, listening to the sounds around me. Locusts buzzed, crickets chirped, and frogs croaked, lulling me into a trance. The most peaceful moment I’d had in the last few days.

A sudden stinging sensation nipped at my ankle. Not bothering to look, I reached down and slapped it away. Something bit my arm and I swatted at that, too. Then another and another. I jumped up, quickly checking my itchy legs, and realized mosquitoes swarmed me, launching a full-blown attack. For every one I killed, five more would take a bite out of me.

All the stomping, kicking, and slapping I did must’ve loosely resembled the German folk dance performed at Oktoberfest, because Jake busted into hysterics. Hank wasn’t far behind him, but I wasn’t amused. My legs would’ve been better protected if I had worn lederhosen.

Floss showed up and sprayed my arms and legs with a cool mist of insect repellent. “There you go, honey. It should help, but sit closer to the fire to keep the little buggers off you.” She then sprayed Hank and Jake as well.

I moved my chair back to Jake’s side and sat, crossing my arms. He had stopped laughing, but I wished he’d wipe the stupid grin off his face. We reeked of insect repellent, had bug guts thrown at us, and our skin and clothes were soaking up trash smoke. I leaned over and whispered, “What did we take showers for?”

He tipped his beer at me. “Welcome to country living.”

…

An hour later, I cowardly clung to Jake’s side as we made our way back to the cottage.

“For Pete’s sake, Emily, they aren’t going to hurt you.”

“If you didn’t want me to hang onto you, then you should’ve let me keep thinking they were birds.”

“Newsflash: birds don’t fly around at night, unless they’re owls. When was the last time you saw a robin or a sparrow after dark? Bats swoop over the lights and eat the insects.”

We stepped over Dog and made our way inside the cottage. I headed straight for the shower. I tousled my wet hair with a towel as I came out.

Jake sat on the edge of the bed. “Feel better?” he asked.

“Yep.”

He pointed to the spot next to him on the bed. “Sit.”