Just Her Luck (7 page)

"I'm too tired to deal with you right now." Reeve grunted as he held his pants up with one hand and marched right out of the room.

Ugh!

Grrrr!

Who does he think he is, walking away like that?

"Hey! Where the hell do you think you're going, ya halfcocked, perverted, crappy burglar?! I'm not done insulting you yet! Get back here!" I bellowed after him, not feeling justified yet for his stupid prison comment.

He ignored me and headed up the stairs.

I doggedly followed.

Call
me
a felon, will he?

Sawyer, Bowen, Thatcher and Ephraim gaped at me as I marched right after Reeve, steam practically coming out of my ears.

"Don't you ignore me, mister! I will not be so blatantly overlooked by a barbaric, wet, man-beast with no manners! Are you even listening to me?!!!" I shrieked as I stomped on behind him.

"Heard you loud and clear, you little gremlin,” his deep voice was gruff and weary, as if he was beyond tired, but still just as nasty and curt, “What happened? They feed you after midnight and they're just waiting for you to multiply?”

I squealed like an idiot as he chuckled at himself.

Asshoooollllleee!!!!

I stomped my foot and shrieked out in rage, raising the rug beater to whack him.

I got in one good thwack between his shoulder blades before he opened the door to what I'm assuming is his room.

"Someone needs to teach you some manners, little girl," he growled as he picked me up and tossed me into his room.

I screamed as I flew through the air, arms and legs flailing out as I became temporarily airborne.

I braced myself as I landed, waiting for the feel of the ground to swallow me up and bruise me three ways to Sunday, but it never came.

Instead, I landed on a mass of pillows and plopped onto a giant king sized bed, a fluffy comforter brushing my fingertips as I made contact.

He smirked when he saw the look of disbelief, shock, and relief on my face.

"What's the matter? Thought I was going to toss you towards the floor? Get that a lot in prison, did ya?"

I chucked a pillow at him and it hit him square in the face, but it didn't really make me feel all that better.

He ruined any chance of it when he chuckled at me.

Asshole!

He kicked off his boots and ignored me as I stood up on his bed, the rug beater lost somewhere in the melee as I cussed him black and blue, contemplating the idea of going to prison for permanently damaging him.

Why is it looking more appealing by the minute?

Probably the correlation between his mouth moving and my temper piquing.

"You might want to go now," he warned, glancing at me briefly from over his shoulder before he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

Like hell! I haven't even made him cry yet!

I am not ashamed to say that for a minute, maybe more, I shamelessly ogled him as he pulled his wet shirt-
that so lovingly hugged his chest
, over his head and chucked it towards the tile floor in his bathroom.

Good grief, he has a nice body.

Even if he
is
a total and complete utter asshole.

I'm sick,
I know
, but I'll worry about that later.

Maybe after I get the mental image of him out of my head.

If I can…

The man had miles of smoothly muscled pale skin underneath his shirt. The color a funny contrast to the deep brown tan of his face, neck and arms, making the dark, curly chest hair that dusted his torso stand out even more.

What do they call it? A farmer's tan or something?

"What do you think you're doing?" I managed to squeak out, my mouth suddenly dry, my tirade lost to the nakedness that is now Reeve.

"I told you, you might want to leave now," he said casually, smirking at me and running his hand through his dark, almost black, brown hair, fingers sifting over the touch of silver that had started to peek out at his temples, tapering off into his short wavy hair.

I could hear the challenge in his voice, and I stood my ground.

He doesn't intimidate me.

Do your worst, jerkoff,
I thought as I lifted a brow at him and smirked, my chin held high.

He unzipped his pants and unceremoniously dropped trou’ right in front of me, taking his boxers with them, exposing taut pale thighs with dark hair sprinkled about them liberally, and a very well defined, lovely shaped rump that made my dumb ass drool a little.

"Who’s smirking now, gremlin?" Reeve taunted over his shoulder as he sauntered towards his bathroom.

Oh! Grrrr!

I actually growled out loud this time.

I probably sounded more like an angry wiener dog than the bulldog-ish menace I was going for, but I can't do anything about the voice I was born with so I'll just have to deal.

I finally found the rug beater at the last minute and chucked it at him, running from the room before I even got a chance to watch it make contact with his lily white arse.

The very gratifying yelp I heard from the hallway would just have to do for now.

I'll get my kicks where I can
, I thought, feeling a little more justified with my cowardly exit.

I smiled a little as I made my way past the guys downstairs, laughing when they looked at me like
I
was the one who'd lost my mind.

Oh, puh-lease!

I laughed and waved at them as I made my way down the hall to my room.

Hmmm... Maybe with Reeve around to torture whenever the mood strikes, this will turn out to be a good thing,
I contemplated as I quickly changed and hopped into bed, snuggling beneath the covers.

He
will
be getting me back, of course, I can definitely expect that.

But where would the fun be in all of this if he didn't?

I do so love a challenge.

I grinned wickedly as I chuckled to myself into the quiet of my room.

Let the gauntlet be thrown!

May the challenge begin!

Reeve Harrison, you have no idea what you're in for, buddy...

Let's just hope the big bad rancher man can handle it.

I was still grinning to myself as I drifted off to sleep a few minutes later.

Good Mornin’! Good Mooorrrnnniiiinnnn’!!!! That Moon Is Shinin’ bright!

My alarm blared and I groggily smacked at it.

"No, no," I moaned, flopping my head back down on the pillow, "too early."

A loud banging started at my door and I jumped.

"Get up, prison bait! I'm hungry! None of that easy oatmeal shit either!" came the big booming voice of the asshole from last night.

I glared at the door and growled menacingly.

Did I forget to mention I'm not a morning person, at all?

"You'll get your breakfast, you ugly assed bastard, and not a minute before! Your lily white ass can hold on for a few minutes while I wake up, damn it!"

"Did she just say Reeve has a lily white ass?" Thatcher guffawed loudly from somewhere in the house.

Bowen and Sawyer's amused chuckles reached my ears and I chuckled along a little too.

Backfired on ya, didn't it, Reeve?

"Why is your face turning all pink like that? You sick or somethin', Reeve?" Ephraim chimed in moments later.

He'd probably just entered the room.

I don't think poor 'E' is ever in the loop.

I grinned and hopped up as Reeve grumbled something at them that I couldn't quite make out.

I'm guessing, by the angry stomping and grumbling, that it was Reeve moments later who slammed out the sliding glass door, letting it shut hard behind him.

Temper, temper!
I thought gleefully.

Heh. Heh.

"Someone has a temper!" I sing song-ed as I danced towards the bathroom.

Hey! Maybe I'm a morning person after all.

Who knew?

****

Dressed and ready for the day, I set my duffle bag down on the end of the freshly made bed and glanced at the little calendar Aunt Ruthie had pinned on the wall.

I did a double take as I read the bold red ink that stated what today was.

Crap!

I stared at the calendar, willing the date to change on me, but it just stared right back at me, eye popping red ink stating that today was Ruthie's consult with her doctor.

I’m pretty sure this is her really important one, like a surgical consult.

I chewed on my lip worriedly and picked up my cell phone, ready to call Aunt Ruthie just to double check.

What's the point though?
I already
know
it's today.

I've known all week.

Just like all her other appointments.

I just
know
.

Internal denial is a wonderful thing though, is it not?

I guess I just didn't want to really think about it, tried to forget it, sort of.

Avoidance. Oh, yes, sweet avoidance.

I know all about avoidance. I’ve learned from the best.

Just ask the woman who mothered
- wait, no, she didn’t mother me- she supposedly raised me-
well, either way, she could be the queen of it.

I ran my fingers through my long untamable hair, tugging a little at the thick dark brown locks as I attempted to gnaw my own lip off with my upper teeth.

Why am I dreading this so much?

It’s just an appointment, right?

Why all the worry, then, Vieve?
I had to ask myself.

It'll be fine.

It's just a consult, after all.

They'll probably just wanna order labs and stuff, that's all, talk about the procedure, normal pre-surgery things.

No need to freak out.

But, it's
Aunt Ruthie
, my gut argued right back with my mind.

Not Joe Shmoe, Genevieve, but
Aunt Ruthie
.

The same Aunt Ruthie who'd taught you about periods because Mom had decided she didn't have the time for it.

The Aunt Ruthie who made it her personal mission in life to pick up all the pieces and glue little Genevieve back together when everyone teased the chubby little pig tailed girl with no friends, taunting me for blurting crap out and saying all the wrong things.

Aaaahh, my social awkwardness at its best. Yep, those were the days.

I could just picture her back then, always up for a surprise visit from me, never acting put out if I'd decided to stop by and unload all my personal woes on her; a hanky, a warm smile and a hug always at the ready.

I stiffened my spine.

I can do this!

Aunt Ruthie needs me.

With that final thought galvanizing me into motion, I hurried into the kitchen and threw a pot of coffee on, then warmed up the skillet.

****

I was about half way through my pancake batter, preparing to put the next one on when Reeve stomped into the house.

He stalked over to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup, taking a long, slow sip as he stared off into space, scowling at everything in the universe and yet nothing in general.

Distracted, I didn't move my hand back fast enough and yowled when I burned my hand on the too hot cast iron skillet.

I set the pancake in the skillet on the platter of already finished ones, wincing as my pinky and ring finger started to throb along with my heartbeat.

I put another pancake on and examined the burn.

It was pretty minor, so other than the pain of a burn, I'm pretty sure I'll live.

"Don't they teach you to cook in the kitchens in prison, gremlin? Or did Big Bertha have other plans for your short little ass?" he snickered.

"What's the matter,
Mr. Harrison?
Is your pride still sore from having it beat up by a girl?" I asked sweetly, "Or is your bottom still smarting from when I walloped it with a rug beater?"

He glared at me and gripped his coffee cup, irritated, if I had to guess, by my seemingly unruffled composure at his barb riddled digs.

Maybe a
little
from the reminder that I'd chucked a rug beater at his bum.

I'm sure my quick quips to his barrage of nasty comments aren't helping things along much either on the ‘make Reeve happy’ front, but I don't care.