Chapter 3 #2
Mitch stared at Cam as he sat and then slowly lowered himself into the chair. “Seriously. Did your mom tell you I was dying or something?”
He chuckled, trying not to be amused, but God, he was. “Basically, she knew I was coming up on a break, and she wanted me to come and put eyes on you.”
Mitch rolled his eyes like dice. “I’m fine. I’m just healing up. Doc says I got another four weeks before I can get up on a roof. I figure I can make it in two. But right now I need the pain to ease up.”
“Were you working for a company?” Which was his way of asking if insurance would help.
Mitch shook his head. “No. I was doing it on my own. I was roofing a bit that somebody else had started and not finished, and they done a piss-poor job, and you know how it is. Two stories is a long way down.”
Two stories. Fuck him. “You’re lucky you didn’t break your legs.”
“Yeah, I got a little break in one foot, but nothing bad enough to bitch about. Really, your mom has been very sweet, but I’m fine. We’re just trying to hold it together for a couple more weeks until we make it through to school.” Mitch swallowed hard and Cam felt damn sorry for him.
This wasn’t a man who was a genuine fuckup. This was a guy who was living like most of them did— paycheck to paycheck. And when that lack of paycheck coincided with the influx of medical bills it sucked. “You got some great girls.”
“I do. I really do. Your mom has been very kind about them too. I do appreciate it. I want to be able to give them everything they need.” Mitch tried to relax, but the brace and the wooden chair obviously conspired against him.
“Bekka is growing up damn fast. And little Rachel, she’s still just excited I’m home all the time. Then there’s Sarah.”
“She’s the one with the…” Oh, he couldn’t point out the dog. “The black tutu?”
Mitch’s lips twisted in a grin. “That would be her. She’s my queen of the night, my gothy princess, my deep dark middle child.
She’d be scary if she wasn’t the most tenderhearted human being alive.
You show her some critter that’s been hurt or that’s in need, and she’s all over it.
She likes to pretend that she’s the hardest, most vicious child in history, but I know better. ”
“Yeah? Which child was that, then?”
Mitch blinked at him, looked him up and down, and then grinned a real grin. “Campbell Halley, that was you.”
“Shut up.” He dared to reach across and flick Mitch’s fingers. “You’re an asshole.”
“Possibly. I’ve been called worse. Recently.” Jesus, Mitch looked tired, like bone-deep exhausted.
He sighed, then asked, going for serious. “Is there anything practical I can do? For real, is there something I can fix? I mean, a dripping faucet, or can I go feed, or do you have horses that need looking at?”
Mitch stared at him for a second, and he knew, he knew without a shadow of a doubt Mitch was going to tell him no, get the fuck out, go away.
Instead he said, “Yeah, can you get rid of that dog Sarah’s been trying to make friends with? I don’t like the looks of him; he seems like he could be mean, and I don’t need anybody killing chickens.”
Cam swallowed hard, because there was no fucking way no way he was getting rid of some dog this little girl liked.
But he had no idea what to do.
Shit shit shit.
He settled for nodding and smiling. “I tell you what; I’ll go out, give it a look. Check out your barns and stuff since I know you can’t get out there. Just kind of check out everything, and I’ll give the dog a once-over. Fair enough?”
“Shit.” Mitch shook his head. “You are as big a softy as she is. Yeah, if you would please? I can’t afford for anybody to get bit, okay?”
“You got it. You have anything I can give him as an incentive to let me look at him? I bet you anything he’s injured.” The dog hadn’t growled at him. Just stared. He would wager on that poor thing having a wound or a mass or something somewhere.
“I have some hot dogs in the fridge that are about to go off.”
“Now, that is a high-value treat, my friend.”
Oh, that was another smile. “You know it.”
“Let’s get you into a better chair. This is hard on me, so you’ve got to be dying.”
Mitch winced, but he didn’t argue. “I’ll get up here in a sec.”
“I can help, man. Trust me. I may not have ridden roughstock since I first started, but I’ve broken a dozen bones and helped more than one friend with their backs and necks.”
“Yeah. This is harsh. I hate being broke-dick. Hate it.”
“I bet.” Maybe he could help with the bills. He had plenty of cash on hand, but he had a feeling Mitch would toss that in his face, and right now, he could help with the damn dog, at least. So he kept the offer to himself.
“Well, I’ll go out and deal with the animals. You just keep yourself together.” That was fair enough, wasn’t it?
“Okay. I will take your help moving, if you don’t mind.”
“Not one bit.” He was ready to do something helpful.
He waited for Mitch to turn his body just so in the kitchen chair.
And then he took Mitch under the elbows when he held his arms up to help lift him gently.
He knew better than to get close to that delicate spine area.
Mitch moaned and stumbled a little after he got to his feet, landing against Cam’s chest.
Grunting, Mitch stood up straight, not pushing away from him so much as easing. “Sorry, sorry about that. Sometimes I lose my balance.”
“Of course you do. You’re not using your muscles right now.
That brace is doing everything for you, so everything is all uncoordinated.
” Cam got that, because hell, he’d been in a leg brace once because he tore his knee up and he hadn’t been able to sleep or walk or ride a horse or do anything for six weeks.
It had been maddening. “Let’s get you sitting with the girls and watching the show they want to watch.
Then I’ll bring you your coffee and I’ll run out to check on everything outside. ”
Mitch grimaced. “I really oughta probably go to the office and pay some bills or do something useful.”
“Buddy, you’ve been doing something useful, I bet, ever since you got out of the hospital.
Why don’t you just sit for a minute? Really, I’ll help.
Momma’s gonna kick my ass if I don’t do something, right?
” He offered an arm, grabbing Mitch’s cane with the other hand.
He knew it was sometimes easier to be able to stay upright rather than lean on a cane. And he could provide some stability.
Cam didn’t argue anymore because he had a feeling the man was sore as fuck. Once he’d eased him down on the couch, the girls crowding around him, Cam turned on his heel and left so Mitch wouldn’t see what was going on with his face.
Jesus, what a mess. Mitch looked like hell.
He was pale, his hair was a bit lank, and he was skinny as fuck.
He just needed time to heal, and he wasn’t getting it.
And while that still wasn’t Cam’s problem, there was something he could do about it in the short-term.
He could help, and Mitch seemed to be letting him, which was probably indicative of how tired he was.
Once he started healing up, he would most likely try to kick Cam’s ass.
He chuckled as he wandered back out to the porch looking for that dog.
Shit, he should have gotten those hot dogs.
He was losing his mind. He headed back inside, grabbing a packet of kind of terribly gray-looking hot dogs, and he smelled them.
They didn’t smell like they’d gone off. They just didn’t look too appetizing.
He walked back outside, pulling out one of the hot dogs as he went.
“Please God, do not let this dog bite me,” he said out loud. Looking around for the Rottweiler. What did Sarah call him? Rosie? Rosie Posey? “Rosie. Rosie, come here, buddy. I’ve got something good for you.”
It took a few minutes of him calling and feeling like a moron before the dog crept out from behind the porch, head down, body tense, as he slunk along low to the ground protecting his belly.
But come he did, so obviously he was learning to trust Sarah.
At least that was Cam’s interpretation of dog body language.
He broke the first hot dog in half and tossed it down to where Rosie had stopped at the foot of the steps. “Come on, bud. Come and get this so I can see what’s going on with you. If you need to go to the vet, I’ll take you.”
Rosie snapped up the hot dog, drool starting to come out of those prodigious lips. Rottweilers always did have such a wonderful spittle. He threw the other half of the hot dog down then pulled out another weiner because he was going to lure that dog up on the porch with this one.
By the time he was on the fourth hot dog—and there were only five—Rosie was on the porch at his feet, taking the pieces from his hand and not biting him, which he thought was a good sign.
He had no collar, though, so he was going to have to grab the dog by his ruff.
So he tried to ease around to the side where the dog wouldn’t be able to bite so quickly.
“All right, buddy.” He held a quarter of a hot dog in his hand, the other frank completely whole in case he needed it for an emergency. “Let’s you and me do this and not have me lose any skin or muscle because you’re hurting.”
He used a soft, even tone, just like he would for his horse. He’d been around a lot of injured animals, and he thought this guy definitely qualified. He was protecting one side of his body pretty hard.
So he used the hot dog piece to distract Rosie from out front, and then grabbed that thick neck, turning his own body so Rosie’s head had to crank away from him instead of toward him. It left his arm vulnerable, but nothing else.
That was when Rosie started growling, of course, and Cam tried to soothe him with words and a soft touch along his spine. “I got you, buddy. I know. You’re scared and you’re hurting, but it’s okay. I’ve got you.”