Part 8
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Sally got goose bumps up and down her arms. Peering through the modest window over the kitchenette, she saw it. Wilson's smile.
A set of even, white teeth flashed through his lips, which crooked up higher on the left side, lending his mouth a hint of imperfection in such a stunning smile. A pair of dimples in his cheek winked, and the light in his eyes brightened. All in all, a smile that would stop a rabid bull.
“Sweet Lord in Heaven, give me strength to last this day,” she prayed in a quick whisper. The man flat out took her breath away. Frowning, he was good-looking. Scowling, he was sexy. Smiling, the true cowboy came out in him, a rough-and-tumble, charming devil in denim and a Stetson. The smile disappeared as quickly as it flashed across his lips, but the damage was already done. It’d been burned into her retinas.
She vowed – that from this day forward – her goal in life was to see him smile again. Unadulterated expressions of joy like his were the things that made living have meaning. The world sat on its axis and spun...the rain fell and the sun shone...the stars and moon came out at night...because of Wilson's smile.
Okay, she'd admit all that sounded corny, but every synapses in her brain, every nerve-ending in her toe, and every spot of electrical stimulus in-between told her differently. She'd forgive all his faults, his dirty past, and any lack of brainpower, if only he'd just stand around all day and smile at her.
She'd never get anything done.
As it was, she stood in the middle of a dark, stinky hell with carnal tension rolling off of her. Get it together, Sally, or you'll be spending the rest of the day in the chicken coops. Just as she disciplined her body to behave, he entered the camper, carrying the broom, and flipped on the light switch. Immediately, something large, furry and disgusting scurrying over Sally's toe.
“Omigod!” she screeched and hopped up on the built-in table, crouching there like a feral cat. “Did you see that? I hate mice. Just…hate them!”
“I believe 'rat' may be more accurate, ma'am,” Wilson countered with a funny twang to his voice. Was he holding back laughter? Well, now was not the time to be amused!
“It's not funny,” she spit at him, feeling faint. Black spots danced in her vision, and the room began to spin. Wilson frowned at her.
“It won't hurt you, ma'am,” he said, coming to stand very close to her. He didn't reach out to steady her, but if she fainted and fell off the table top, he'd break her fall. Considerate of him.
Sally shook her head and tried to blink away the dizziness. “Rats bite,” she told him thickly, swaying a tiny bit. This was ridiculous! She faced down and shot a pissed-off, charging bear once! She didn't kill it, but she didn't get nauseous and woozy either. There was just something about mice and rats, and rodents of every kind. Squirrels, too. Their swishy tails, their pointed feet, their unnatural sense of balance… Sally shuddered heavily and forced her breathing. Wilson kept his eyes on the floor, instead of on her, giving her a small bout of privacy and standing guard for her at the same time. She could kiss him just for that.
“I doubt they'll chew through the leather of your boots before you notice,” he commented.
Thoughts of kissing Wilson did wonders for her head. Suddenly, it was clear and thinking rationally again. “Completely beside the point,” she said, climbing down from the table. “I hate rats more than I hate mice.”
A scampering sound came out of the bedroom end of the camper. Sally automatically backed up into Wilson's chest. The sound got louder, and she slipped behind him, peering around his shoulder.
Lord, he smelled good!
A furry body ran across the small doorway that led to the bedroom, and Sally forgot about how good Wilson smelled. She jumped out of her skin and clutched his arm. Hard muscles bunched under her fingers through the material of his shirt. Wilson turned his head to peer down at her, his face inches from hers. For a moment, he just looked at her.
Then he said, “You don't have to help, ma'am. I can get it done before my break was over.”
He was giving her a way out, but Sally couldn't allow herself to take it. Her eyes darted back to the where the rat scuttled around, and said, “It'll take two of us to finish on time, or you'll be sleeping in your truck again tonight.”
His body rotated, blocking her view of the back end of the camper and the rats that lived there. She raised her eyes up, realized her hand still gripped his arm and let go on him. He nudged his hat up a bit and offered, “How about I do a sweep-through before we get started then?”
Sharp and not-so-tiny claws scratched at the wall behind her. She whirled around, searching for the rodent that snuck up on her. “That...that sounds great,” she said shakily and dashed out of the camper. Wilson was a big man. He can take care of himself. He can deal with the rats. He can--
A mangy, ugly creature the size of Chihuahua flew out of the camper door and smacked her on the knee. Sally screamed and launched her body into the back of Wilson's truck bed. Two more distinguished thumps and scratching of frightened feet followed, but she could only lay there, curled-up and shaking uncontrollably. She hated rats! Their matted fur, their long toes, their beady eyes, the thick whiskers...
Wilson poked his head over the side of his truck and rested his forearms on the tailgate. Sally swallowed and closed her eyes. She felt sick from fright and sick from humiliation. But he didn't comment on that. All he said was, “All done.”
Sally nodded. “Okay. I'm just gonna lie here for a moment.”
Wilson vanished, and she stared up at the blue October sky, watching the clouds drift away. Soon, her heart stopped stuttering and she could sit up. Her first thought was to go get some traps. Big, deadly, spring-loaded traps. No humane cages for these rats. The last thing she needed was an infestation of large, revolting rodents raiding her hen houses and spreading diseases.
Then she wondered how much extra she'd have to pay Wilson to check and empty the traps.
*****
Wilson wrestled the double-sized mattress down the length of the camping trailer, feeling odd and hollow. Seeing Sally vault over his tailgate was the funniest thing he'd seen in years. So funny that he knew he should be laughing so hard his lungs would seize up and his diaphragm cramped. But there was nothing. Oh, there was amusement and mirth inside him, but it was like his body forgot the motions of laughter. He'd forgotten how to laugh.
And that wasn't the least bit funny.
Sally peeked out of his truck bed when he tossed the mattress on the ground. “No good?” she asked. He shook his head. “No, ma'am. Chewed up and spit out, from the looks of it.”
Sally went a bit pale. Man, she really did have a fear of mice and rats. He assumed it was just from seeing and hearing them, but even the mental image of them seemed to get to her. He curled his fingers around his hips and watched as she climbed out of the truck bed, quickly searching the ground for the obnoxious critters.
He remembered how her fingers trembled as they clutched his arm and how sweet and frightened her face had been when he looked down at her earlier. Her bottom lip had quivered and her eye widened with dread at what lay beyond the small doorway at the back of the trailer. He'd never been more tempted to kiss a woman than at that moment.
“And the cushions from the benches and chairs?” she asked, jolting him back into the conversation.
“Just as bad, ma'am,” he said, which irritated him, but he'd never let her know that. He bent over to pick up the broom where it’d fallen while he shoved the mattress out of the doorway. He dropped pretty far in life in the last few years, coming from a two-story, luxurious cabin on his brother's ranch and going into a eight-by-eight prison cell that he shared with a carjacker named Zee, to a camping trailer not fit for the rats that inhabited it. But he'd make due and tolerate what he could. He had no choice.
Sally chewed her bottom lip and narrowed her eyes at the camper. “I've had that thing for almost fifteen years. I guess it's time to finally junk it.”
Whoa, he thought. Let's not be hasty. It might be a heap of junk on wheels and hers to do with however she liked, but it was the only home he had right now. She must have seen the panic in his face, because she smiled gently at him.
“Don't get your panties in a bunch, cowboy. I know the guy that owns the RV place out on the interstate. We'll take this piece of crap over tomorrow and see what he'll give me for it.”
Wilson shifted in his boots and leaned against the broom handle. This was not what he had in mind either. He didn't want her to have to buy a whole new trailer just for him. “Ms. Sanborn,” he began, and she cut him off, “It's Sally, Wilson, or that God-awful ma'am you like to call me, but never Ms. Sanborn.”
Now, he done forgot his words. She smiled prettily with that charitable soul in her gaze, and he didn't have the heart to complain. “If you're thinking what I think you're thinking,” she went on, “don't worry about it. Since the farm is completely paid off now, I've got some spare cash to throw around, and if you live in the camper, then I can write it off as a business expense. I'm not doing this for you, so don't you get a swelled head.”
But she was doing this for him, and they both knew it. She suspected that he had no where else to go, and now she was buying him a home. After living in conditions where no one got anything for free, he couldn't help but wonder what she wanted in return. Owing a debt never set well with him. His policy had always been: if he couldn't afford it, he didn't buy it.
The fifteen-hundred monthly wages she would be paying him wasn't much, but he'd gladly take less in exchange for his living expenses. “What would I owe you in rent?” he asked her. She'd been studying the mattress, lifting a gnawed corner with the toe of her boot.
“Nothing,” she answered, not acknowledging him in any other way.
“I can't--”
She snapped a glare at him. “You can, and you will,” she said fiercely. “And that will be the end of it.” The sight of her amber eyes throwing fire in his direction, when she looked no bigger than a minute, made his mouth twitch. Then he thought about all those guns she owned, and he figured it’d be best to not argue the point...or laugh at her.
Fine, he huffed. If she wanted to spend her money on a stupid camping trailer for him, then…then fine! Why should he care? He’ll be pulling over forty hours of hard, physical labor every week on a measly salary, so why shouldn’t she provide his living quarters as well? She can be generous and indulgent and foolish all she damn well wants to be. He was honky-dory about it. He couldn’t give a rat’s ass what she blew her money on. Let her throw her working capital away... She can run her farm any damn way she chooses...
“You want some cotton balls for your ears?” she asked him, jabbing her fists at her waist, which he'd already figured out was a sign of aggravation. “Because that temper of yours is steaming your brain mass. I’d hate for any of it to ooze out while you’re over there fuming.”
He blinked at her…and realized his hands had curled up into massive, throbbing fists and snapped the broom handle in two. His back teeth locked together in a brutal grind, triggering a mass of spasms along his cheeks. She’d gone hazy and red in his vision as his eyes glazed over with his inner rant.
Wilson stared stupidly at the broken broom. What was happening to him? He’d been an easy-going guy in his youth, full of effortless grins and laughter, and not much of a temper to speak of. Since Macie’s death, he’d changed. He had changed so far beyond the person he had once been that he didn’t even recognize himself anymore.
Now, here was a good, kind-hearted woman, willing to give him a second chance at a normal, free life, and look how he acted. Shame, straight to the marrow of his bones, forced the apology from his lips. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll buy you a new broom.”
Sally cocked her face to the side. “Why? So I can break it?” She laughed. “I buy those things in bulk. Got four more in my pantry, ‘cuz you never know when you just need to break something. I’ve got some plates that I picked up at a garage sale just for that reason, too. People think you’re crazy when you have to shoot something to calm a temper…so I throw plates and beat brooms against trees, too.” She shrugged at his bewildered expression. “I have a punching bag hanging in the barn, if that’s more your style. Personally, I want to see something destroyed.”
Her gaze strayed to his hands, and she gave them a wary look. He knew exactly what she was thinking. “I’ve never hit anyone in my life,” he blurted out, hoping to reassure her.
She smiled up at him. “Not even in prison?”
“Oh…well…” He dropped the broom pieces and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve never hit anyone that didn’t deserve it,” he amended with a sheepish frown.
“I'm glad to hear it,” she said, checking her watch. “You've still got an hour for your break. I've got some things to do, and I'll see you at the house in sixty.” She didn't wait for his reply before turning on her heel and trotting away. Wilson piled all the cleaning supplies back into the wheel barrel and then propped his back up against the shaded side of the tractor barn. All he could think about was that Sally would regret getting a new camper when the end of next week came and she finally gives him the boot.