Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Cam stared at his boxer briefs, socks, and T-shirts.
They were neatly folded and placed on the guest bed. They smelled like Tide.
They were pink.
Bright pink for the shirts and socks. Dull pink over the other colors for the undies.
And then there was his sponsor shirt. It had been red, with his sponsor names embroidered on it. Boot Barn. Priefert.
Now it was a washed-out pink as well.
A muscle ticced in his jaw, and he headed out to go talk to Mitch about the laundry situation.
Mitch was sitting at the kitchen table with Bekka, of all people. Two balls of yarn and two crochet hooks and an iPad showing a YouTube video on how to crochet between them, and both their heads were down as they crocheted.
Bekka grinned up at him as he came to the table. “Hey. I did your laundry and folded it. Would you like to learn how to crochet? Me and Daddy are.”
“Are you?” No, he wanted to talk to Mitch about not having people touch his laundry.
“Well, I think Bekka’s learning how to crochet, and I’m learning how to tie my fingers into knots. But yeah, it’s pretty cool.”
They both had a long string of knots. Mitch’s was short, about six inches long, while Bekka’s was closer to three feet.
“I think you’re doing great, Daddy. It looks really good. You should just practice.”
Mitch’s smile faded as Cam stared, shooting daggers with his eyes. “Yeah, I think I need a lot of practice. I don’t suppose you can go check on your sisters for me?”
She nodded, looking so grown-up. “I think Sarah’s trying to teach Rachel how to do witchcraft.”
“Oh, good. Maybe she’ll summon up a demon. Please let them know that, if they do summon someone, it should be something that doesn’t make the bathroom a mess. And it would be nice if it knew how to cook.”
“I’m on it!” She waved at Cam and then grabbed her yarn and hook and ran off.
Mitch grinned at him. “Oh, thank God. I’m never going to get this, and she wants to learn so bad.
I don’t know anyone else who does it. So we’re learning”—Mitch made air quotes—“together. She wants to make sweaters. Can you imagine how much damn yarn and how many damn knots it takes to make a sweater?”
“Honestly, no. No, I hadn’t even considered it.” Because he was considering his damn laundry.
All his clothes were pink.
He didn’t need pink clothes.
This wasn’t breast cancer awareness week.
“I have a bit of a problem, man.”
“Okay, shoot. Something wrong with some of the critters?”
“No. No, it’s my socks and underwear and all. It was very sweet of Bekka to do my laundry, but I wasn’t expecting her to grab my laundry basket.”
Mitch’s lips twisted. The son of a bitch was laughing at him, he could tell.
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s kinda funny.” Mitch was barely holding it together.
“So what? Are you gonna replace all my clothes?” He knew full well Mitch didn’t have the money to do that.
Mitch’s lips tightened. “Sure, I will. Absolutely, and I’ll see if I can’t run it through with some bleach and get you at least something that won’t embarrass you.”
The laughter was gone, and Mitch was just as cold-faced as they come.
“Where was your laundry basket? Did she go into your room? She’s been told without question, none of the girls are allowed in your room.”
He shook his head. “Well no, it was in the bathroom. My laundry bag was in the bathroom.”
“All right, well I’ll tell her not to touch your things, and I will replace everything. Just send me a list or let me write you a check when you figure out how much I owe you.”
“Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate her. But—”
Mitch slashed the air with his hand. “No. There’s no but.
I’ll tell her. I told you I would say something to her, and I will.
She was trying to be helpful. She’s eleven motherfucking years old.
I’m sorry she screwed up your goddamn laundry.
You think I have a single pair of white briefs in my entire house?
No. But you know what? She’s a little girl who’s trying desperately to help out in every way she can and she’s doing the goddamn laundry. So back off.”
Mitch stood, gathered the other ball of yarn and crochet hook in the iPad, and headed down the hall.
Shit. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, feeling like a heel. But dammit, he hadn’t expected Bekka to grab his laundry bag. If he’d thought about it, he would have taken the shirt right to the dry cleaner.
And now, somehow, he was the asshole.
“I’m sorry.” The words were soft behind him. “I promise I won’t touch your stuff again. I was just trying to be good. Can you tell Daddy that Rachel is napping and Sarah went to play with the dog? I’m going to be in my room.”
He closed his eyes, then turned to face her. “Oh, honey I—”
She shook her head. Her poor face was white as a sheet. “I really am sorry. I was just trying to help out. Promise to God.”
Then she took off like a shot, leaving him standing there stunned and ashamed of himself. He felt like he’d kicked that little girl while she was down.
Well, damn it straight to hell.
He stood in the hallway waiting for Mitch to come back because, really, in the grand scheme of things, it was a bunch of underwear.
He could buy his own goddamn new underwear. He just wasn’t used to people dealing with things without being asked to.
He didn’t think the kids in his family even knew how to do laundry, and that included the twenty-year-olds.
Hell, at Momma’s place there was a big industrial machine they all used. He’d even brought a load of laundry home when he came back this time.
Mitch came out carrying an empty laundry basket. “If you’ll stick your stuff in here, I’ll soak it in some OxiClean for eight hours or until morning. Then I’ll re-wash everything. It ought to fix a goodly amount of it. It hasn’t been long.”
“Look, I didn’t mean to make a big deal—”
Mitch looked at him, lips pursed. “Yes, you did. You were mad. You had a right to be mad. Those are your clothes. I get it, trust me, I understand that. My girl is just trying to be a decent human being and help you out.” Mitch’s dark eyes were like holes burned in a blanket.
“So it’s like when she burns the fucking toast or the eggs, or when she tries to hang a picture and she puts the hammer through the wall or any of the ten thousand fucking things kids will do that are mistakes and that are a pain in your ass.
If they’re not doing it to be assholes, then I’m not going to get on to them for it.
I will teach them about what they’ve done wrong so we can learn to do it again and do it right.
I’m trying to make it so they can grow up to be reasonable human beings.
That’s my fucking job, you see, to raise reasonable human beings that are decent and good and smart and useful.
I will have her apologize to you, and I will remind her again not to touch your things ever and to always check for anything red. Is that okay? Does that work for you?”
“I don’t need an apology.”
“Well, unfortunately that’s part and parcel of the whole gig. When you do something wrong, you say ‘you’re sorry’ and you try to make it right.”
“She already said she was sorry.” Cam blew out a hard breath. “I told her she didn’t need to apologize. She said to tell you that Sarah was out with the dog, and that the little one was taking a nap.”
“All right, give me your laundry. Let me get it soaking.”
He wasn’t sure how this had happened. How he’d gone from being righteous and mad to being in big trouble because he’d hurt this little girl’s feelings, but it pissed him off.
It also made him feel about two inches tall and made him ashamed of himself.
He had to figure out a way to make this better. “Does it work?”
Mitch blinked at him. “What?”
“The cleaner stuff; they say you can dip it in and it works. Does it really work to get stains out?”
“Well, not that quick, but yeah, it kind of does.” Mitch stared at him like he was out of his damn mind.
“Well, I can do that. Don’t worry about it.”
Mitch’s lips curled in a grin again, which was good. He’d rather have Mitch laughing at him than mad at him to be honest. He hated having feelings and shit, but they sure had been turned on their head. “They get to you, don’t they?”
“Who?” Cam felt like his ears were all blocked up by his shoulders, which were hunched hard.
“The kids. They get to you. They’re super sweet, and they don’t mean any harm. They’re just kids.”
“Yeah, well I haven’t spent a whole lot of time around them even though I have a million nieces and nephews.”
“I know.” Mitch gave him a tilted head, pursed lips sort of look. “That’s weird, cowboys and kids, it’s like a natural milieu.”
“When I figure out what the hell that means, I’ll come up with a reply that just crushes you like a ton of bricks. But right now, I don’t even know how to use that word in a sentence like you just did.”
“You’re not as dumb as all that, Cam. Now, he puts the laundry in the basket, okay?”
“Quit with the Silence of the Lambs voice.” He glared at Mitch. “You’re still not supposed to be carrying shit. Hand me the basket. I’ll put the laundry in it, and I’ll take it to the laundry room.”
“You’re not gonna get me to argue if you want to do the work.” Mitch handed the basket over.
“What’s Bekka’s favorite fast food?” Cam couldn’t believe he was even considering this, but he was going to run into town, buy a couple of packs of T-shirts, socks, and underwear, and then he would pick up fast food on the way home.
“She likes a crispy chicken sandwich, tater tots.”
“Okay, I’ll tell you what. I’ll get these in the washer. I’ll go ask Bekka to forgive me for being mean. I’ll go get the food and I’ll be back.”
That way he could get out of this crazy house for a few minutes and remember who he was and what he was all about.
Mitch pursed his lips still but he nodded. “Sure, you can do that,” he said, “although you’re gonna be lucky if Bekka opens the door when you knock.”