CHAPTER FIVE #2
The only person I wanted to see again was Danica, but I also didn’t want to see her again.
Tingles of unease prickled up and down my arms. I stretched my fingers wide at my sides to work out the numbness as I tugged my white T-shirt over my head and, barefoot, navigated the hallway to the door.
Portia was already through the dog door and beelining it across the driveway to the field where we’d just been.
That’s when I heard the quacking, the honking, and hee-hawing.
Son of a bitch. That bastard donkey was at it again.
I glanced at the ceiling, appealing to Erin for some extra patience and compassion, because at the moment, I had none left.
It’d been twenty-eight years since I let a piece of meat touch my lips, but if I was going to start today, that meat would be donkey.
My regular anxiety meds weren’t cutting it the closer the clock ticked to the “after school” hour when I knew I’d see Danica again.
So I planned to pop an Ativan and let it dissolve under my tongue right before they arrived.
Not only was I stressing out about seeing her again, and the stirring feelings I had, but I also didn’t want her or Sam to see me the way they did yesterday. I was embarrassed by my behavior and that I just took off like that.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to address it and that, too, stressed me out.
So I spent the majority of the day in the field with the horses.
There was always something to do, something to mend, something to paint.
Pinata was still alive—the lucky fucker—but only because I couldn’t catch him.
If it were up to me, that nuisance would be ground to hamburgers by now—not that I’d actually eat them.
In addition to tormenting the ducks until they were about to stage a coup, that jackass had barreled through my fence, and it took me all day to repair it.
To be fair, the spot he took out needed to be mended.
The posts were rotten and that’s why it was so easy for Pinata to smash through the way he did.
I didn’t chase him when he got onto the driveway though.
For all I cared, he could desert the property completely and become the island’s problem.
A feral donkey that would hopefully meet his demise on the road one night like a stunned-by-headlights squirrel.
I glared at the beast as I mixed the concrete in the wheelbarrow to pour into the newly dug out hole.
Luckily, Cameron Arendelle, who co-owned the distillery, was also a very talented carpenter and he managed to source me new wood for the fence and have it delivered within an hour of me calling him.
I brought my skill saw and a generator out to the field and cut my posts and planks to size right there, since it was easier driving it all out to one place in the truck than making multiple trips.
Because, of course, the spot on the fence where Pinata broke through was as far away from the barn and my workshop as possible.
God, I hated that donkey.
With an audience of almost all the horses watching me from about thirty feet away, I grew hot from all the labor, even though the sky was a blanket of gray clouds. So far, the rain had stayed away, but apparently it was in the forecast.
“A little help would be nice,” I said to my audience, made up of Galahad, Ginger—the older mare with white and brown splotches, Monarch, Piccolo, Pixie, and Blodyn.
Kenny, the cranky old Thoroughbred I rescued three years ago, stood off to the side since he only really liked Monarch, and “like” was a generous term.
He tolerated Monarch the same way he tolerated getting brushed.
The same way he tolerated me. The only animal he seemed to genuinely get along with and seek out was Portia.
Which was probably why she was lying at his feet sleeping as he quietly munched on grass.
I liked the old bay roan with the reddish-brown body and the black mane, tail, and legs.
He was a handsome man, but he’d had a hard life, and his last few owners hadn’t been very kind to him.
So I understood his ornery demeanor. He’d never bitten me or anything; he just … avoided everyone.
Everyone except Portia.
Not even a lip flutter or a snort responded to my request for help. Just silent judgment and curiosity.
“None of you would actually survive if you got free, you know,” I said in Italian. “You’d be back here in less than a day. This fence is for your own protection.”
Still no response.
This was better than talking to myself though. That was a sign of going crazy, right? Even if the ones I spoke to didn’t answer me, at least they existed. At least there was a chance they could reply, somehow.
I hoisted the big square post out of the back of my pickup and carried it on my shoulder over to the hole, then I secured it with shorter, flatter pieces of wood nailed into either side until it was straight up.
I did that to the two other posts I needed to replace, and after I double-checked things with my level, I started shoveling the concrete into the hole around the posts.
I was too far off at the other end of the field to hear the crunch of gravel beneath tires as a vehicle ambled down the driveway.
But the animals heard it, and they all turned to face the long, narrow lane. Portia must have recognized the white RAV, and took off at a quick trot, grunting with nearly every step.
Even though it was hard work, and I was already sweating, my temperature spiked at the thought of seeing Danica again.
I hadn’t taken the Ativan yet, but it was in my pocket. So I dug it out, not caring that my hands were dirty, and placed the tiny pill under my tongue.
Then I got back to work.
The concrete was the kind of stuff that started to dry rather quickly. So I didn’t have time to waste. It was like I could feel her eyes on my back as I continued to shovel the mix around the posts, and eventually, I heard her voice—and Portia’s.
Wiping sweat from my brow, and cringing at the way it dripped down my back, I spun around to face her and Sam, praying that the Ativan had kicked in.
I gave them both a nod and a friendly smile as Portia came back up to me, grunting as if to say, “Your guests have arrived.”
“Would I be accurate to guess that the fence was wrecked by one devilish donkey?” Danica asked, her hazel-green eyes glittering as she smiled.
“Si,” I said, lifting my T-shirt to wipe my face better.
Did she just suck in a breath?
I shook my head and dropped my shirt. “You eat meat?”
Slowly, she nodded, but her daughter shook her head.
“You want donkey meat for your freezer?”
Her eyes went wide. “Did you kill him?”
Sam’s jaw dropped.
“Sadly, no. I couldn’t catch him. But if I do …”
Sam snorted a laugh.
“School was okay today?” I asked her, directing my question to the young girl.
Her complexion flushed with color, and she glanced down at the ground, not nodding or shaking her head. Danica’s hand rested on her shoulder. “Her bully called her a stupid idiot freak today,” Danica said, anger flashing in her eyes. “And received absolutely no repercussions for it.”
“Who is this bully?” I asked, anger on behalf of Sam and Danica rising in my belly like a ready to erupt volcano. “Why does he feel he can say these things to you?”
“Because he’s a little asshole prick that, like any psychopath, gets joy from hurting others.
He’s the type of person you’re going to see on America’s Most Wanted when he’s an adult.
The next Jeffery Dahmer or Ted Bundy.” Danica clenched her jaw tight enough to cause a cute little muscle just below her ear to bounce.
Her passion and fierce defense of her daughter only made me like her more.
“And the teacher and headmaster do nothing?” I asked.
“Her teacher tries, but the headmaster, or principal as we call him, doesn’t do anything. He thinks Sam is the problem.”
Sam swallowed, and I could tell she was on the verge of tears.
She needed to be distracted from all the negativity.
“Mouse is still in the barn. I bet she would like it if you went to say hello,” I said. “The others might follow you. They could all use a brushing if you feel comfortable.”
The little girl nodded.
“Remember to always stand beside them, never behind. Open palm if you’re going to feed them. There are carrots and apples in a bucket on the bench in the barn. If you leave the bucket on the floor, Portia will get them all, and she’s fat enough.”
Hearing her name, Portia lifted her head and grunted at me.
“Oh, I think Miss Portia is the perfect size,” Danica said, bending down to scratch my pig’s rump. “Aren’t you, baby?”
“I’ll be there shortly,” I said to them. “Need to finish up here.”
Mother and daughter nodded, and turned to go, crossing the field with an entourage of animals behind them, and Portia leading the charge out ahead.
I shouldn’t have watched her walk away. I shouldn’t have let my gaze drift down to the back of her jeans where she filled them out perfectly. But I did.
And I felt nothing but guilt about it.
No other anxiety attack symptoms presented themselves though, so at least the Ativan was doing its job there.
Too bad there wasn’t a drug that could stop you from finding someone attractive. The only thing to stop that was castration, and I wasn’t ready to go to such lengths. Not yet anyway.