Chapter Eight #2
things slightly more functional for the whole ranch, for the whole family, then there was nothing wrong with that.
“We started taking down the molding over here.”
He looked over and scowled. He liked that molding. And, no, he couldn’t say that he had any thoughts about it before, but
now that she had gone and taken it down without talking to him, he felt damned annoyed.
“You can’t go doing demolition without running things by me.”
“It was hardly demolition,” she said.
He walked over to where the ornate molding had been pulled off of that corner between the wall and the ceiling.
“I didn’t agree to let you compromise the historical structural integrity of the place.”
“I didn’t realize you were a historian. This is an old-ass building that hasn’t been in use for years. Anything that I do
to it is going to be better than what it was before.”
“That’s what you think,” he said. And as comebacks went, it was kind of a lame one. But this felt kind of lame.
He grabbed the ladder that she had been on, and dragged it over to the far wall, past a fair amount of debris, not bothering to shove it out of his path, just sort of treading on top of it, and brought the ladder up against the other wall.
He picked up a piece of the molding, and a hammer and nails, and climbed up to the top of the latter, where he positioned the molding, even though it was a rather long piece, and it was unwieldy, and started to hammer it back into place.
“Are you kidding me? We spent forever on that today. You’ll note that none of it is damaged, and that’s because we took such
a long damned time with it because we didn’t want to destroy your molding and . . . Are you for real?”
“You have to ask,” he said.
“So what is this going to be? One step forward and two steps back every damned day.”
“How is this two steps back?”
She flung her arms wide. “I don’t know. But that's some bullshit.”
“I’m letting you use a historical building.”
“You told me that it had to be in a historical building. I wanted to do a new build.”
“There’s no point. It cost too much money.”
“Restoring this place isn’t exactly going to be cheap. It’s not . . . Whatever you’re thinking, this is going to be complicated.
The place is basically a shell,” she said.
“It has good bones. More than good bones. This is nice molding.”
“Listen, I love the idea of it looking like an old saloon. I do. But some of the stuff is just old. And it’s not cool old.”
“There is no such thing as not-cool old,” he said.
“That just isn’t true.”
“He swung the hammer, bringing it down hard as he tacked the molding back into place on that far wall.
“There. That’s better.”
“You are such a control freak. You can’t control every minute thing happening on the ranch. The Sullivans had a good point when they were saying to you that you’re going to need help. You gotta try to get the Christmas thing going, and now you’re thinking of doing barbecue—”
“That isn’t fair to use the barbecue thing against me when it was your idea.”
She sighed. “It isn’t using it against you. It’s being honest about what all you have on your plate. And believe me, Denver,
I am a champion martyr. So I am the last person on earth seeking to call anybody out on their rather toxic behavior on this
score. But even I recognize you are biting off a fair amount more than you can chew.”
“It’s not up to you to decide what I can chew or not chew.”
“All right, so you’re just going to control this, and control the Christmas thing and make all the food, and and and. What aren’t you in charge of?”
“Everything I’m in charge of turns out okay.”
“Yeah, but you don’t have to be in charge of everything. The other people around you are good at what they do too.”
“How would you know?” That sounded petulant. He felt a little bit petulant. She didn’t know him. All right, maybe they had
had a fair, honest conversation last night at the town hall, but that didn’t mean that they knew each other. He didn’t know
what she did when she was alone. What kind of TV shows she watched, what kinds of books she read—if she read. He didn’t know
what kind of man she preferred to date, didn’t know what her favorite pasta was. What her favorite food was. There was a long
list of things he didn’t know about Sheena Patrick, and she didn’t know a damned thing about him. So her standing there acting
like she had some deep insight into his life was just insulting.
What they knew about each other was this big intense lore that surrounded both of their lives.
The same things that every damned person in town knew.
And maybe, maybe, they understood each other better than the average person.
Because their similar circumstances had left them with some of the same responsibilities.
“This is how I live my life. This is what I do. I don’t need you to tell me suddenly that I’m doing it wrong,” he said.
“The problem is, you’re up in my business telling me that I’m doing it wrong, King. And that is creating some issues.”
“This is my ranch,” he said.
“And my business plan.”
And unspoken was the fact that he felt like he owed her something. And also that she felt like she owed him something. And
the whole thing was a big tangle of obligation and pride that he had a feeling would only get worse if he and Sheena really
locked horns over it.
“For heaven’s sake,” she said. “I guess that I need to consult you on what we ought to do with all these weird things we found
in the back.”
“Those might be family heirlooms,” he said.
“Somehow I don’t think so,” she said.
“Why do you think you know?”
“You are so stubborn,” she said, turning and walking from the room. He climbed down from the ladder and went after her.
“I’m stubborn,” he said.
“I am also stubborn,” she shot back. “I don’t mean it as an insult. But it sure makes you a bastard to deal with.”
“Yeah. Well. I never claimed otherwise.”
“Fine.” They walked down the dusty hall, and she flung open the door to one of the back rooms. “Be careful. I wouldn’t be
surprised if there were nests of mice living in here.”
“You think baby mice are going to bother me?” he asked.
“True story, one time my sister Whitney found a bunch of baby mice.”
“Is this going to be a heartwarming tale about a young girl finding pets?”
“Gross. Well, she thought that they were in need of attention. Orphaned and alone. She bathed them.”
“She bathed the baby mice?”
“She did.”
“How did that go?”
“Not well, Denver. Not well. Anyway, I have a little bit of an aversion to the things now. I know that I hear them rustling
around in here.”
“Charming.”
The room was dim, the glow of the work light in the living room barely making its way in there, so he pulled his cell phone
out and turned on the flashlight. She took out her own and did the same, and they rummaged around. “Some of this is cool,”
he said, looking at an old wooden cabinet.
“Sure. But it’s decrepit.”
“That seems like a harsh take.”
Sheena shrugged. “I’m harsh.”
“All right. Well there’s . . . Holy hell.”
“What? Did you find the baby mice?”
“No.”
He paused in front of what looked to be a whole line of taxidermic animals in clothes. “This is a horror show.”
“What?” She came over to where he was. “Oh my gosh,” she shouted. “No. It’s a nightmare.”
“I wonder who did this.”
“One of your ancestors was a serial killer,” she said.
He bent down and picked up what looked like it had been—in life—a woodchuck. It was wearing a three-piece suit. “No,” he said.
“This is wrong. It’s disgusting. Horrifying,” she shrieked.
“I have so many questions. I will never get the answers to them, because no one in my family spoke to each other long enough
to pass stories down.”
“You cannot tell me that you want to keep these.”
“Hell yes, I do. Can you imagine them up on shelves around an axe throwing bar? That would be really funny.”
“Ugh,” she said. “So morbid. And unfortunately so correct.”
“I think that polecat is supposed to be a schoolmarm.”
“Oh, whoever did this is in hell for sure,” she said.
“But you didn’t do it,” he pointed out. “And it seems like it would be a misuse of the animals to just . . . throw them away.”
“We can give them a Viking funeral,” she said. “Burn them on a pyre.”
“Come on now, you can see it,” he said. “Jaunty, dressed-up animals. Like Disneyland.”
“Those are animatronic,” she said. “Not corpses.”
“As far as you know. I did hear that there were actual human bones on a ride at Disneyland.”
She looked over at him, her green eyes glittering in the light. “Are you a big Disney adult, Denver?”
“No. I’ve never been. But I do like to collect trivia.”
“Really?”
It was true. He liked an odd fact. It was something that had helped him out at the poker tables. A distraction. For the people
around them. Seemed like it worked with Sheena, too, who was being a little bit less confrontational now, for whatever it
was worth.
“Is this just how it’s going to be?” she asked.
“What?”
“You come in ridiculous, we fight and then . . . I dunno somehow we’re not fighting anymore.”
“I am never ridiculous,” he said.
“Not true.”
“You don’t know me,” he said.
“But I do,” she returned.
“You don’t,” he said. “You know a few things about me. Frankly, the same things that everybody does.”
“Now I know that you know a weird amount about Disney.”
“I know a weird amount about a lot of things. I like to make chatter at the poker table.”
“Uh-huh. And now I know a little bit more about you. A boon for me, I think.”
“Right. A boon for you. What exactly do you think you’re going to do with this information?”
“I don’t know, good to have. I’ve been a bartender for years, Denver. Hoarding information is part of what I do.”
She bent down and picked up one of the animals. She turned it over, frowning deeply. “This is so . . . I mean it’s sadly awesome.”
“You changed your tune.”
“I’m changeable.” She looked up at him, the critter—dressed in overalls—clutched tightly in her hand.
He leaned in—to get a better look at what the hell that abomination was—and caught the scent of her. Spice and bourbon. Warm
and intoxicating.
All the breath rushed out of his body. He felt like he was being gripped by a feral thing.
She was beautiful, yes, but there was something more. Something that made him burn. He couldn’t rightly explain.
What he wanted was to lean in and take her in his arms. Taste her. Touch her.
And then he’d have to see her tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.
Pretty sweet deal if the sex was good.
She was Sheena.
She’d been hurt by the King family already. And he’d be damned if he was going to cause any more harm.
So he moved away from her. Fast.
“Just run any more big decisions by me,” he said.
“Like should I . . . text you?” she asked.
She didn’t seem fazed by what had just happened. Not at all. Maybe it was all in his head.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t have your number.”
He thankfully still had his flashlight phone out. He handed it to her, and she quickly texted herself from his phone. “There,”
he said. “Now we’re both covered.”
“I think I might take this guy home,” she said, patting the overalls demon on the head.
Well. At least someone was going home with her. “Great. Lucky him. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”