9. Darcy
NINE
DARCY
Jake and I walk on in silence, but a more comfortable one.
Nothing like a bleeding leg to ease the tension.
“Pretty out here,” he says, his head tipping up to look at the deep twilight blue on the sky. “Nice change from Huntington.”
My stomach twists and I puff out a breath. I can’t figure out if I miss Raleigh with every fiber of my being, or if it feels good to be home again. If I were alone, I could work myself into a decent crying spell over it. “I bet,” is all I can manage.
The path narrows as we come to the bridge over the creek. Jake’s hand lands on my lower back, ushering me forward with a quiet, “After you, boss.”
I hate what that little touch does to my lower stomach.
Stormy struts ahead of us with Barkley on her tail. I turn back to make sure Jake’s behind me when barking and growling start up again.
“Barkley, I swear to god,” I yell, running into the mix. We’re close to the farmhouse and all the dogs who were taking their evening snooze join in the bark-off.
Stormy’s hiss and growl have me ready to tie Barkley up for the rest of the night, but when I get close, I realize it’s not Barkley I need to worry about.
A coyote stands in front of Stormy, head lowered and shoulders poised to pounce.
“Stormy,” I whimper.
Jake mutters a cuss as he pulls up beside me. He shines his flashlight at the area surrounding Stormy, and there, two other coyotes wait. Stormy’s surrounded.
The dogs are still barking, but the coyotes are unaffected. Or are they wild dogs? Both are possible and equally dangerous out here. They’d usually be deterred by the dogs barking, but if they’re desperate, they might be ready to do anything.
Including making a meal out of my cat.
I leap into action. Maggie usually fires a rifle to scare off animals, and if that’s all that’s available to me, I’ll use it—and just hope no bullets go where they shouldn’t. Shooting is something I never mastered in my time at the farm.
I tear up the house’s side porch and into the mudroom, eyes scanning the area for something I can use to scare them off. I spy my target, boost myself up on the bench, and grab it off a high shelf, whirling on my heel to get back outside with shaking hands.
Jake’s yelling outside, his voice echoing off the hillside. The light from the kitchen window shines out onto the lawn. He’s thrown down the flashlight and is hunched forward, trying to make himself big, I assume. He glares at the coyote and when it lunges, so does he.
Jake swoops Stormy off the ground right as the coyote’s jaws snap at her. Jake stumbles backward and yells nonsense at the animal. Stormy, if she could, would sit on his head, she’s trying so hard to get away from the coyote. She’s so scared that she’s almost fighting Jake too.
I remember that I can do something, lift the air horn in my hands, and let out a blast. The dogs flinch and the coyotes bolt into the woods. Jake rushes toward me and I reach for Stormy, pulling her into my arms and staggering my way into the house.
I hear Jake talking to the farm dogs on the porch while I’m trying to get my boots off, then the thump of him patting one of them. I left the door open, and Jake enters and closes it behind him. I’m just standing there, kicking at the back of my heel to loosen my boot.
Warm, callused hands meet my upper arms, and I’m walked backward until Jake helps me sit on the bench. He kneels in front of me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and even my whisper falters as my lower lip trembles.
“You’re welcome,” Jake says, and I look up to find those brownish hazel eyes studying me. He puts a gentle hand on my knee, his thumb stroking the top of my thigh. “Let’s get your shoes off.”
I nod, petting along Stormy’s back. Her little heart is still pounding and so is mine. Jake hitches my boot off one foot, then the other. My legs shake and Jake’s hand meets my calf.
He’s not watching my face now, his eyes instead combing over my scratches. “Where do you keep Band-Aids?”
I clear my throat. “Um, under the bathroom sink downstairs. I can get them, though. You’ve done enough.”
Jake just gives my leg two pats and stands, heading into the house. “Stay put.”
But I can’t stay put. What I need to do is move, so on wobbly legs, I stand and pace through the kitchen, fighting tears. I’m in over my head, and I almost lost my cat, who’s the only companion I have left. Well, only companion from my day-to-day life. I can still call a friend and I have my family, but Stormy’s been around for so much. She’s all I have to show for the last four years of my life. I give Jake a weak smile as he enters the room with a small plastic box in his hand.
Jake flicks his head toward the kitchen sink. “Over here.”
I clutch Stormy a little tighter as tears brim in my eyes. Jake’s gaze softens as he watches me. “She’s all I have left,” I squeak. “I know she’s just a cat, but she’s my buddy, you know?”
Jake nods and approaches me with a wry smile. “I think we both know she’s not just a cat. She’s your familiar.”
My laugh is watery. “You sure are changing your tune after thinking she was going to pee all over the cabin.”
He shrugs. “We’ve been into battle together. I get her now.”
I sniffle, trying to get myself together. “If she’s my familiar, does that make me a witch?”
Jake’s thumb passes over my cheek, a movement that, two hours ago, I would have considered the strangest thing on the planet. But he’s right about the being in battle thing. The coyote fight and the Barkley skirmish brought us together, fast. “That’s for you to decide. Come on. Let’s get you fixed up.”
Jake walks me to the sink, where he washes his hands and I watch him like it’s some advanced demonstration. Without asking, he lifts me by the waist to sit on the counter, turning my legs in so they’re propped over the sink. “Look at that. Like it’s made for this.”
He turns on cool water, testing the temperature with his finger before gently splashing it over my scratched thighs. I hiss, jumping from the shock of the cold and the stinging wound. Jake tuts and puts a reassuring hand on my outer thigh.
My cheeks grow hot. Why am I letting this man I barely know tend to my wounds? “I’ve got it. Not the first time Stormy’s scratched me.”
“Nah, I’m a professional. What’s the fun in getting EMT training if you’re not going to use it to show off when somebody gets hurt?”
I cock an eyebrow, grateful for something else to think about other than my life in shambles. “EMT, huh? Saving lives?”
“For a while in college, yeah. My way of deciding if I really wanted to be a doctor or if I should put all my science credits to some other discipline.” His hands work a pump of soap into a lather, carefully tracing it around the broken skin. “In a college town, it’s mostly caffeine overdoses, alcohol poisoning, and dehydration.”
“No cat scratches?”
He clicks his tongue and sucks air through his teeth while he turns off the water and opens the box, grabbing some gauze. “These are my first.”
Jake dabs the gauze over the scratches to dry them. I notice the red streaking up his arm. I draw a gentle finger around his scratches. “You got hit too.”
He lifts his arm and flips it to examine it. “Guess I did.”
He uncaps a tube of ointment, applies some to his fingers, and dots it over my two scratches. He’s focused on his work, rifling through the box for bandages. He grimaces. “Probably going to have to be a patchwork job unless I do tape and gauze.”
“Tape and gauze are fine,” I say. “Then I need to treat you. You can heckle me if I do a bad job.”
Jake snorts a laugh. “I wouldn’t heckle you, boss.”
He lifts his eyes to mine and I plant him with a look. “You spent this entire morning heckling me.”
Jake looks offended. “I was not heckling you. I was just . . . bad with words.”
I put on a mocking voice. “Where’s Bill? A woman can’t run a farm! You stared at me at the bar.”
“Jesus,” he mutters with an eye roll. He seals the last piece of tape over my gauze. “I said none of those things.”
“Don’t lie to me! What was that whole ‘it was just a look, boss’ thing?” I ask, jumping down. “Give me your arm.”
He hesitates but holds out his arm. “Heckling calms you down. And a look isn’t a stare. It’s just a look.”
I tighten my lips, preparing to lightly slap his arm before stopping myself.
Jake’s mouth falls open. “Excuse me, I saved your cat and you were about to hit me?”
My nostrils flare and I suck in a deep breath, speaking slowly as I wash the area around his scratched forearm. “Thank you, again, for saving Stormy. I’m sorry she scratched you.”
I clean his wound in relative silence, Jake quietly watching my movements.
“No heckling?”
He shakes his head. “You’re doing great.”
After I tape on his bandage, I stand back and peek at the oven clock. “Look, I owe you one. Not everybody would have gone for Stormy like that. You actually . . .” I sniffle and swipe at a tear. “You fought a wild animal for my cat.”
Jake lifts one of those muscled, brawny shoulders. “She’s not just any cat.”
I nod and sigh. “Stay for dinner? I don’t have anything fancy, but it’s the least I can do.”
Jake smirks. “I’ll take you up on that.”