Chapter 4
Anika
The fact I almost forgot Hog’s promise to bring over dinner is a testament to how crazy busy my day has been.
My body is aching when I haul my ass out of my car. No mean feat, since my Miata is slung a little low to the ground. It’s that I love my little convertible, otherwise I would’ve traded it in for an SUV—a little higher off the ground—a long time ago.
Doing my best to walk without limping, I lead the way to the front door. Hog is close behind me, carrying a box.
“Sorry. After this morning’s events, we started the day running behind and never quite got caught up,” I explain as I unlock the door. “My last client literally left the salon ten minutes ago.”
“No worries,” he rumbles, as I step aside to let him enter.
“There’s water and beer in the fridge, knock yourself out. I’m just gonna run up and get into something more comfortable.”
As I start up the stairs, it hits me how potentially suggestive that sounded. Yikes. I’ll blame it on the sorry state of my mind and body.
Pulling on a pair of yoga pants and my slouchy, terrycloth sweater, I almost lose my balance. I’m hungry, dehydrated, and in pain; I need a drink, food, and some medication, all of which are in the kitchen where I left Hog.
After splashing a little cold water on my face in the bathroom, I head back down, finding Hog standing by the stove, stirring a pot I don’t recognize. On the counter beside the sink, to his immediate left, are my bottles of meds.
Great.
“I’m surprised you’re cooking; I thought you were going to pick something up.”
He glances over with a faint smile. “I’m off for a couple of days, so I had time this afternoon,” he says by way of explanation. “I hope you don’t mind pulled pork tacos?”
“No. That sounds amazing. It’s already starting to smell good too,” I assure him as I sidle up to the sink and the empty glass I left there this morning.
Turning on the tap, I fill the glass and as casually as I can, reach for my medication.
“Hurting?”
I startle at his question and drop one of the bottles, which clatters to the kitchen tile and rolls, coming to rest against Hog’s foot. He bends down and picks it up, handing it back to me.
“I noticed those when I washed my hands. How come I didn’t know you have RA?”
It shouldn’t surprise me Hog clearly recognized the medication. He’s a firefighter with EMT training. Most of the guys on my brother’s crew are. It’s the reason I always put the bottles away in the cupboard over the fridge in case one of my family members pops in. But lately, I’ve been getting a bit lax, occasionally leaving them out on the counter.
Looks like I’m paying for it now.
“Maybe because I haven’t told anyone,” I respond a bit snippy.
“No one?”
I sharply shake my head and turn toward the counter, dose out my pills and swallow them, followed by the glass of water. By the time I turn back around, Hog is back at the stove, stirring his pot.
He doesn’t push, only asks casually where I keep the plates. I end up setting my small round dining table, while he gets the food ready. He must know me well, because by the time we sit down, I find myself volunteering information I’ve kept from everyone for what feels like a really long time.
Like lancing an infected wound, the words flow freely, providing instant relief.
“For months I’d roll out of bed in the morning, feeling like a truck hit me. No strenuous activity the day before that might explain it. I wasn’t feeling well, had a variety of symptoms that eventually pushed me to see my doctor. That was early last year. Long story short, I was eventually diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and fibromyalgia.”
“That sucks,” he states simply.
His eyes stay focused on the taco he is putting together with the pulled pork, mango chutney, and coleslaw. No sympathetic lamenting, no pats on the head, no unsolicited advice, nothing over the top. I’m not dying, it’s not going to kill me, but yeah, it sucks.
“It does,” I agree.
“Any particular reason you’ve kept it to yourself?”
None good enough to satisfy my family, I’m sure.
“I needed a moment with it by myself. Wanted a chance to adjust to it without…” I wave my hands around my ears, “outside noise,” I finish.
“Hmm,” he hums with his mouth full, nodding in understanding.
Following his lead, I slap together my own taco, and take a healthy bite.
Damn. The flavors explode in my mouth. So good.
“Did you make this salsa too? It’s delicious,” I mutter, covering my mouth with a hand.
“Not much to it. Just a bit of chopping.”
Understated, like the man himself.
“Be that as it may, it tastes fantastic,” I enforce.
After wolfing down three tacos, I sit back in my seat and rub my hands on my belly. I feel so much better. A combination of meds, good food, and a burden shared seems to agree with me. It makes me feel better equipped to deal with whatever it was Hog wanted to chat about.
Speaking of…
“Wasn’t there something you wanted to talk to me about?”
He wipes his mouth with the paper napkin he thought to bring with him as well.
“Yes.” He moves his plate aside, drops the crumpled napkin on top, and leans his elbows on the table. “I owe you an apology.”
“You do?”
He nods earnestly.
“You may have noticed, I’ve been avoiding you for a while,” he admits.
I roll my eyes. No kidding.
“Oh, I noticed. I was wondering what I’d done to piss you off.”
“See, that’s it. You didn’t do a thing. It was all me.”
Now it’s my turn to lean across the table.
“What do you mean by that—all you?”
He shifts a little in his seat.
“There was some stuff I had to sort out.”
Bullshit.
“And you had to avoid me to do it? Or are you telling me you were avoiding everyone?”
I know the answer, but I want him to admit it.
He doesn’t hesitate.
“You.”
There’s something about the intense way his eyes lock on mine that has my stomach do an unexpected flip.
“Oh.”
He shoves his chair back from the table and gets up, collecting the dirty dishes.
“Yeah, we’ll leave it at unrealistic hopes and expectations,” he mumbles as he carries them to the kitchen.
I stay seated, taking my time to mull over his words, while he deals with the leftovers, puts the plates in the dishwasher, and rinses out his pan and containers before putting them back in the box.
“You’re tired,” he observes. “I’ll get out of your hair. I just wanted to straighten that out. I missed the friendship.”
He picks up his box and heads for the door, not giving me a chance to react.
“Hey,” I call out, scrambling to catch up with him by the door. “I missed our friendship too.”
I grab his arm and pull myself up on tiptoes, kissing his bristly cheek. He grins at me, reaches for the door, and steps outside. I stand in the doorway and watch him go down the stairs, but before he walks off, I have one more thing to say to him.
“Did you ever consider perhaps you weren’t the only one with hopes and expectations?”
He freezes on the spot as I slip inside and gently close the door.
Hog
“That’s a good girl.”
The pig snorts at my mumbled encouragement.
Eight pink, healthy-looking piglets, and she’s apparently not done yet.
I was still sitting in my truck, in front of Anika’s place, trying to figure out what exactly it was she just shared with me, when Franco called to let me know Petunia was having contractions.
Saved by the bell, I guess, because I’d been close to getting out of my truck and doing something I would’ve undoubtedly come to regret. I used the drive home to ban any fantasies I’d been tempted to indulge in from my mind.
Because even if the attraction is mutual, she’s still my good friend and crewmate’s sister, I’m still almost a decade older, and she definitely deserves better than I can offer.
Sitting on the barn floor next to Petunia’s pen, sweating my ass off under the heat lamps, and pretty much covered in birth guck and crap, only emphasizes the discrepancy.
The sow’s flank ripples with her efforts to expel what turns out to be the very last in a long line of her offspring. She’s exhausted, and when after a few minutes she’s still barely given the runt of the litter any attention, I give the wriggling little thing a good rubdown with a hand of straw. Then I carefully move the little one to one of Petunia’s front teats, shifting one of its bigger siblings back. The closer to the front, the bigger the milk supply, and this little one is going to need all the help it can get.
With all nine piglets nursing, it doesn’t take too long for the afterbirth to be passed. Franco is already putting down some clean straw in the pen.
“Three male, six female,” Franco sums up.
I give Petunia’s rump a pat. “Well done, girl.” Then I get to my feet, groaning with the effort. Then I take my phone and snap a picture of all nine piglets nursing.
“I’ve gotta hit the sack, I’m wiped.”
“Night, Boss.”
“You know that title no longer applies, right?” I tell him, rinsing my hands at the old sink in the corner of the barn.
“Meh, old habits die hard. You’ll probably always be Boss to me.”
Once I hand over the farm, I guess Hog won’t really apply anymore either. Fat chance people will start calling me Noah though. I’m not even sure how many people actually know what my real name is, I’ve gone by Hogfor most of my life.
I shake my head as I leave the barn and head toward the farmhouse. It’s a cool night. Feels nice after sitting under that damn heat lamp for hours. The sky is clear and the stars are out. The farm is quite a bit north of the actual city of Aztec—closer to the border with Colorado—and light pollution is minimal here, which makes for spectacular night skies. I’ll definitely miss those.
Kicking off my boots when I walk into the mudroom, I notice the dog collar hanging on the hook by the coatrack. Will, our shepherd-cross, was fourteen when he died shortly after Mom did. I never bothered to replace him, but I’ve missed having a dog around. It can get lonely on the farm, even with Franco living in the trailer out back.
I’ve thought about getting another one. Maybe check out the shelter when I move to Durango. The only problem is, it’ll be a challenge with my twenty-four-on, twenty-four-off schedule. I’ll need good neighbors or to convince our battalion chief to allow me to bring a dog into the station when I’m on shift.
I groan when I catch the time on the stove. Two thirty in the morning. So much for catching up on sleep on my days off. I take a glass from the cupboard, fill it at the sink, and grab the bottle of sleeping pills from the windowsill.
Due to my job, I have an irregular sleep rhythm, and on my days off it’s hard to get into a normal pattern, so I use a mild sleep aid. Shaking a pill in my hand, my thoughts drift to Anika.
I saw she moved gingerly when I followed her into the house last night, but I hadn’t noticed anything like that before. Rheumatoid arthritis. It doesn’t surprise me she hides it well. Anika is not one to complain, but it has to be tough being on her feet all day long.
There were a lot more things I wanted to ask her last night, but the fact she hadn’t even shared her diagnosis with her family was enough of an indication she may not be ready to deal with my questions. It’s fine by me, they can wait. I’m a patient man.
I set my empty glass in the sink and turn off the lights before heading up the stairs. Shower first, I need to wash the stink off me before I roll into bed.
Stripping down, I toss my dirty clothes in the hamper and put it out in the hallway. It’ll remind me to run some laundry in the morning, I didn’t get around to it today. I brush my teeth before hopping into the warm shower.
By the time I slide between the sheets, my eyes are already getting heavy. But before I let sleep take me, I grab my phone off the nightstand, pull up the photo I snapped of Petunia, and send it off with a message.
Had a good night.
First with you, later with Petunia, who gave me nine babies.