Rules of Protection(35)

Death wasn’t a comfortable subject for me, so I shifted gears as quickly as I could. “May I ask what happened to Hank’s leg? I noticed he limps when he walks.”

Floss finished pouring lemonade into the four glasses on the counter. “He got kicked by the colt a few months ago, which did a bit of damage to the cartilage and bone. Foolish numbskull needs a knee replacement surgery, but is stubborn as all get out. Keeps putting it off.”

“Why?”

“He’s a man, honey. Why do they do anything?” She picked up two of the glasses and motioned for me to grab the other two. “Hank’s afraid to be laid up for a while. He’d feel helpless, which isn’t a feeling he’s fond of. Plus, there’s enough stuff to do around here that he doesn’t want to burden me with all of it.”

“Jake could help out until—”

“It’s the first time Jake’s been back in over a year…since the funeral. I’ll be lucky if I can get Hank to sit at all. He loves that boy as if Jake were his own son.”

I went out the door first, then whirled around to look at Floss. “Funeral? Who died?”

She smiled lightly. “I’ll let Jake tell you about that when he feels up to it.”

Without another word, we walked down to the barn. I stopped outside the gate, but Floss walked into the stall where Hank hammered some tin. A shirtless Jake shoveled on the opposite side, but both men glanced up at the same time, set their tools aside, and came toward us.

“Thanks,” Jake said.

He guzzled a long drink, working the muscles in his neck, while a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. When he lowered his glass, the only thing left was ice. I offered him my glass, which he grabbed with a slight hesitation. “You sure?”

“There’s more upstairs,” I said, shrugging. “Besides, I drank some of it on the way out here.”

“Trying to give me your female cooties?”

I leaned closer and whispered, “I’ve been trying to give you my female cooties for the last couple of days.”

Jake looked over to his aunt and uncle, who pretended they hadn’t heard us, then glared back at me with a hint of embarrassment. “Is there any conversation off-limits to you in mixed company?”

“No, I normally say whatever pops into my head.”

“Yeah,” Jake said in a low voice. “That’s the problem. I should be mucking out your dirty mouth.”

I laughed and started to say something else, but Jake stopped me. “If you say what I think you’re going to, then I’m going to put my not-so-clean hand over your trap,” he threatened, his face serious. “Jesus. You need to learn to control that mouth of yours.”

“How’s this for control?” I asked, giving him a sweet, angelic smile. “Muck you!”

Jake gritted his teeth.

“Emily, why don’t I show you around the property before I start with the chores?” Floss interrupted.

“Sure,” I said. “That’d be great. Can I help you do anything?”

Jake’s eyes widened, clearly shocked by my offer.

Floss smiled at me. “Can you gather eggs from the chicken coop?”

“No problem.”

“Aunt Floss, do y’all still have that big red cock?” Jake asked.

And he tells me to watch my mouth?

“Yep. He’s a scrapper, doesn’t like anyone messing with his hens.”

“Then I should get the eggs for you,” Jake offered. “I don’t think Emily would be able to do it.”

My eyes narrowed, as if he challenged me directly. “Why, because of a measly rooster?” I asked. “God, Jake, have some faith.”

“He’s a fighting rooster. Very aggressive.”

“I think you’re taking this whole protection business too seriously. You make it sound like I’m going into a cage with a rabid pit bull. It’s a stupid chicken.”

“Okay, but I don’t think you’ll come back with any eggs.”

“I don’t know,” I said with a laugh. “I’m pretty persistent.”

“Stubborn is more like it. But if you’re going in there, I want a front row seat. If you need any help—”

“I won’t need your interference, Jake. This isn’t one of your FBI missions.”

Hank handed me a small white bucket and grinned, which worried me. Then, in true parade fashion, he led the way to the chicken coop next to the barn. Apparently, this would be a family affair.

The chicken coop was a large rectangular pen framed with chicken wire, had a rusted tin roof, and a door you opened by turning a small block of wood nailed to the outside.

I had never gathered eggs before, but it sounded easy enough. At least until they mentioned the killer chicken. I should’ve kept my mouth shut and let Jake do it. If it wasn’t for the stupid power struggle going on between us, I probably would have. I didn’t actually want to gather eggs. What I wanted was to prove Jake wrong. Hard to do when he was always right. The bastard.

“Watch out for the wasp nest in the back right corner,” Hank said. “If you disturb them, you’ll get stung before you can get out.”

“Wasp nest. Back right corner,” I repeated, trying to dig deep.