1. Ozzy #3
By the time I’m in Gretchen, I can take a slow, shaking breath.
Once I’m seated and the door is closed. I lean my head against the steering wheel and allow the tears to roll.
Not because Jackson hurt my feelings, but from the panic trying to drown me.
Today has been a lot so far, and I’m not used to being around men.
Especially so many large ones. Jackson’s voice, his yell—it unraveled me.
I pull myself up right and let out a blood-curdling scream while flailing my arms when I see Jackson at my driver’s door. Anger— and probably some embarrassment —wash over me while I step out of Gretchen and glare at him.
He blinks. “Jesus, Oz?—”
I don’t let him finish his sentence as I lay into him.
“What the fuck is the matter with you?” I yell loudly.
“You got some creepy ass stalker kink I wasn’t aware of?
Huh?” I don’t give him the chance to answer.
My body is vibrating, my heart is pounding, and I feel a wave of nausea churning in my stomach.
“I don’t like being touched! I don’t like being yelled at!
And I sure as fuck don’t need your dumb ass sneaking up on me like some goddamn predator!
” I’m panting at this point, as Jackson stares at me, bewildered.
“I…” He looks around as if he can’t believe what’s happening is real. “I came to apologize for yelling at you and to give you Mama’s list you forgot.”
“Oh…” My voice comes out tiny and full of embarrassment as I look away from his hardened face, take the paper and walk away.
Once I’m back in Gretchen, my eyes lock with Jackson’s again.
His gaze is a familiar one; the one I’ve seen on many people who are unsure how to handle me.
Like I’m a wounded wolf backed into a corner.
I hate that look and the fact that I haven’t even been here a day, yet I’ve already brought it out of him.
Jackson blinks before shaking his head and walking back to the house, probably to discuss the spectacle I just made. Wonderful.
Sitting in Gretchen, I let out a long, weary sigh, my fingers drumming against the steering wheel as I stare up at the house. The trip to the store was a bust. Actually, that’s probably an understatement. It was a full-blown, head-on collision of social discomfort and small-town ignorance.
I figured it would be a rough trip. I expected some stares, maybe even a few whispers.
A tattooed woman with weird hair isn’t exactly subtle in a town where beige is considered a personality trait.
But I didn’t expect a middle-aged man in a sweat-stained, white cut-off to sidle up next to me and, with all the confidence of a man who’s never been told “no,” ask if I was a prostitute.
And if that wasn’t enough, some nosy jackass took pictures of me. I don’t know who, but I heard the telltale shutter click of a phone camera. Which, if you’re going to be a creep, at least have the decency to silence your damn phone. Fucking amateurs.
Shaking off the aggravation, I step out of the car and make my way inside, already bracing for whatever fresh hell awaits me next.
But the second I walk in, my irritation is ambushed by the most mouthwatering scent that has ever graced my nostrils.
It wraps around me, rich and warm, settling into my stomach like a siren song.
My body reacts before my brain can, my feet carrying me straight to the kitchen like some kind of possessed food zombie.
Dorothy stands at the stove, ladling something thick and steaming into a row of bowls. She glances over at me with a knowing smile, holding one out before I even have to ask.
“Chicken and dumplings?” she offers.
“I have no idea what that is, but if this is what smells so amazing, then god, yes.” I smile as I sit next to Jensen and across from Jackson and Carter.
Carter chuckles. “How do you not know about chicken and dumplings?”
I shrug as I grab a roll from the middle of the table, tearing off a piece and popping it into my mouth and groaning at how ridiculously good it is.
“I grew up in big cities, dude. You ever had deep-dish pizza? Cincinnati chili? Not everyone’s childhood included whatever the hell this magic is.
” I stick my tongue out at Carter before biting into the warm roll.
God, this roll alone is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.
Silence falls over the table. Three sets of male eyes fixate on me.
“What?” I mumble around my food.
Jackson squints. “What the fuck was that?”
Before I can answer, Dorothy smacks him upside the head. “Not at the dinner table.”
“What is what?” I question, and Carter points to his tongue. Slowly, I stick my tongue back out and show them my piercing. “Just a tongue ring.”
“My god.” Carter lets out a low whistle, a slow smirk creeping across his angular face. “What on you isn’t pierced?”
I narrow my eyes at him, already locked and loaded with a smartass reply, but Jackson beats me to it, punching Carter in the arm hard enough to make him grunt. “Act your age,” he mutters before going back to his food.
The rest of dinner is mostly quiet on my end.
The others fall into easy conversation about the ranch, some upcoming fair, and something about “winterizing” the farm, which sounds both complicated and like something I want no part of.
They mention someone named Theo, who’s apparently coming back soon, and Jensen keeps bringing up a girl named Niamh.
I absorb what I can while simultaneously trying not to fall into a food coma.
After having more than my fill, I push back from the table with a satisfied sigh. “Dorothy, that was unreal. If I die tonight, know that I died happy.”
She laughs, shaking her head as I grab an extra bowl and make my way upstairs to feed Morris.
I knock once before pushing open the door to Morris’s room. “Meals in heels!”I announce, grinning as I hold out the bowl.
Morris barely glances at me from his spot on the bed, eyes fixed on the TV. “Manners lost on you?” he grumbles. “You knock before entering. I could’ve been indecent.”
I snort, setting the bowl down with a clatter. “First off, let’s not pretend either of us is even remotely decent. Second, I’m going to see your bits daily, so I’m really not concerned.”
Morris snorts to cover his amused laugh. He finds me funny, even if he is an asshole about it.
“Can’t imagine how a charmer like you ain’t married,” he drawls, as I push the tray closer to him.
I sit down and lean back in the chair beside his bed. “Oh, I’ve been married six times, actually. They just keep dying on me. Strangest thing.”
Morris pauses, looks at his bowl of chicken and dumplings, then back at me.“You’re a fucking nut job.”
I flash a bright grin while crossing my legs. “And you’re stuck with me until you kick the bucket.”
For the first time, an actual grin breaks across his face. “Well, don’t be banking on a Christmas bonus. If I’m stuck with you, I’m gonna check out sooner.”