The Babysitter Read online

Meadow

  Maybe I was being childish.

  It certainly felt childish to storm into the bathroom, to throw on the new clothes - buttery soft lounge pants in a floral pattern, an oversized, but not like Ranger's clothes - gray sweatshirt, panties, socks that fit, then storm back out, grabbing Gadget, and curling up on the couch facing the cushions, pretending no one else was in the cabin.

  Not only childish.

  But also rude seeing as Finn was here. And none of this was his fault, yet he had to feel like he was in the middle of it all. Especially since there was so little space in the house.

  After a few minutes, I could hear them moving from the kitchen and to the door, the breeze from it closing making the scent of liquor waft over to me.

  Great.

  Just great.

  Not only did he clearly regret kissing me, but then he had to, what, drink the memory away too?

  Lovely.

  That was just pouring vinegar on the gaping wound of my self-esteem.

  You could have knocked me over with one of Red's feathers when he had stroked his fingers down my hair after ridding it of the sticky spider web which, luckily, did not have the inhabitant home at the time of me walking into it.

  But when my gaze lifted, there had been no mistaking the hunger in his eyes, something that made my belly go liquid in response.

  He gave me an out, all but demanded I take it.

  I should have wanted it.

  It was so soon.

  I shouldn't have been feeling things like desire again so soon.

  Or maybe I shouldn't have been assuming there was any right or wrong that came with recovery, with healing.

  Maybe it didn't matter how soon it was.

  Maybe it all came down to what felt right.

  And having his lips on mine sure as hell felt right.

  Before, during, even after when he stormed away to leave me there pressed against a wall, catching my breath, trying to slow my heartbeat, attempting to bring some semblance of order back to my overwhelmed system.

  I wanted to be mad at him the walk home. For being a brute, for being heartless. For, well, hurting my feelings.

  But all I could seem to do was think about how it had felt for him to kiss me. Slowly, gently at first, then harder, hungrier, sparking a fire in my system that, I was sure, would merge with a fire within his own until it consumed us entirely.

  There was an aching lack of fulfillment in my belly as I hid from him on the couch, mind too chaotic even to consider sleep.

  Even then, when maybe I should have been doing some kind of mental check to see how I was handling the situation, to see if I was glad it came to an end, if I was even ready for something to even go to the next level yet, all I could think about was him.

  We hadn't put the animals away before the walk. So he was likely out there, drinking, shooing the chickens into the coop, wrangling red into his own, getting the donkeys and the goats safely locked away, letting the dogs have one last romp around to tire themselves before bed.

  Not Cap, though.

  Captain was more intuitive than I realized a dog could be, always picking up on subtle changes in my mood, coming close when he thought I needed him. Like he was now, curled up at my feet, occasionally licking the space between my sock and where my pant leg had slipped up.

  Gadget, tired from his time with his goat friends, was passed out, front hooves curled into his chest. He was supposed to have one more bottle, but like any new mom with a baby, I wasn't about to wake him up once he fell asleep.

  A while later, I could hear them come back in, Finn going again to the bathroom, showering, before coming back and saying goodnight to Ranger who had been sitting at the table the whole time.

  Watching me.

  Or maybe I was being paranoid.

  I wasn't looking at him, after all. There was no way to know if he was looking at me or simply studying the label on the whiskey bottle he was still drinking, the clank of it and the glass cutting through the silence of the room every few minutes.

  There was a sigh, the sound of the glass hitting the sink, a cabinet closing, then Ranger making his way into his room, shutting the door way too quietly for someone so big, and as sauced as he must have been with all that nonstop liquor.

  Once I heard the sounds of him getting in bed, then silence, I finally shifted on the couch, staring up at the dark ceiling, listening to the whimper, howling, and snoring noises of the dogs that had already fallen fast asleep as well as the roughing up of beds as the others tried to get their spots more comfortable before settling down.

  It was stupid, but I felt the sting of tears in my eyes, threw my forearm over them to keep them in, taking deep breaths, reminding myself that it was just a kiss.

  A kiss.

  One of dozens.

  Hundreds.

  I wasn't some starry-eyed thirteen-year-old feeling lips on mine for the first time.

  That said, there was no denying a strange feeling of newness, of something just... different from all the times before.

  Maybe it was just the connection I had with Ranger, the way we had bonded, telling stories about our pasts over dinner, working side-by-side with the animals, making food together, relying on each other.

  There was a depth to that I hadn't been experiencing.

  I needed him.

  In a very literal way.

  For actual survival.

  It was something I had never experienced before. No matter how much my heart had maybe ached when things with a man in the past didn't go the way I had wanted them to, I always knew that no matter what, I would be fine. Because I only ever really relied on myself. I always took care of myself. That was how my mother had raised me. Never to make a man my everything because if he had a fickle heart, he took it all away with him. She didn't want that for me. So she taught me to stand on my own, to know that I never needed anyone.

  But, in the purest definition, I did need Ranger. So long as I was in this cabin, in these woods, I needed him.

  And, what's more - and what was even more scary if I let myself think on it for too long - I was entirely at his mercy as well.

  He was under absolutely no obligation to keep me around, to let me continue to share his home, share his food, share his dog and donkey.

  If he wanted to, he was well within his rights to get up in the morning and inform me that I would be heading out with Finn.

  The thought of that created a piercing feeling in my chest.

  Sure, there was pain about Captain, about Gadget, hell, even about Red.

  But it was more than that.

  It was this place, this home, the person I had become in so short a time because of them.

  And, as much as maybe I shouldn't admit it because it was far too soon, it was Ranger too.

  Not that anyone could say for sure what was the right amount of time for you to feel like you knew someone, connected with someone, had something special with someone.

  I worked with a man at the bank who told me with absolute certainty that he knew he would marry a woman on their first date, before they had even kissed.

  He'd married her.

  They'd had five babies.

  And were still blissfully happy after eighteen years together.

  There was no accounting for how emotions worked. There was no universal law we all followed when it came to affection and commitment, to futures and love.

  There was no denying it.

  I cared about Ranger.

  More than I had maybe ever cared about James, a man I had spent two years with, shared a bed and apartment with, thought I saw a possible future with.

  Until I suddenly didn't.

  Until even the way he chewed his food and hummed the National Anthem while buttoning his shirt in the morning made me coming-out-of-my-skin irritated.

  Turns out, the way I changed into loungewear right after work and drove my car drove him equally as crazy.

  And we had broken up.

&nbs
p; But that was two years in the making.

  That was days and nights and weekends and holidays with the same person.

  And yet...

  And yet, what I felt for Ranger felt deeper, felt almost primal, something long-buried within me, only to be awakened by his presence.

  Hell, maybe it was a condition.

  Like Florence Nightingale syndrome, but where the patient develops feelings for the nurse.

  He'd saved me, taken care of me when I was hurt, opened up his life to me.

  And for that, there was a gratitude I had never experienced before within me.

  Maybe it was just that.

  Surely, it was just that.

  And for the next hour or so before sleep finally claimed me, that was what I had worked really hard to convince myself of.

  --

  "Why would I stay?"

  Finn's voice was the first thing I heard the next morning, before even Ranger's typical stomping and slamming around, the dogs rousing and scratching to be let outside.

  Finn, apparently, woke up even before Ranger's ridiculously early schedule.

  I stayed still, keeping my eyes closed, knowing it was rude, but eavesdropping nonetheless.

  "If they're having issues, isn't that even more reason for me to... no. I mean... I don't think she is planning on leaving with me. I haven't talked to her. Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

  I could hear the distinct tones of a woman's voice, but couldn't make out the words.

  If it was Miller, I somehow felt like I could fill in the blanks.

  Like she was telling him to stay in case things progressed, in case Ranger and I decided we couldn't stand each other anymore. In case he kicked me out. In case I decided I didn't want to stay. If Finn was there, then that would be an easy out for me. We wouldn't have to sit awkwardly in a car with each other for hours and hours as he drove me back north, dropped me off at my old apartment, back into my old life.

  Whatever was left of it.

  "Alright. Yeah. It's fine."

  He wasn't very persuasive.

  There was strain clear as day in his voice.

  At the idea of being stuck here surrounded by filthy nature and shedding dogs. And, let's not count this out, a man and a woman clearly going through something.

  No one could blame him for only doing it begrudgingly.

  He was a far better person than most.

  "Yeah, I'll text you."

  There was silence for a long moment then as I stayed where I was, not wanting to pop up directly after the phone call, making it painfully obvious I had been listening to his private conversation.

  I was just biding my time.

  But then the front door opened, and a familiar sound came in.

  Ranger's footsteps.

  "She's not up yet?" he asked. Maybe I was mistaken, but I was almost sure I heard concern in his voice.

  Or maybe that was wishful thinking on my part.

  "Nope. And the goat is restless."

  As if noticing for the first time, I could feel Gadget squirming in my arms, likely wanting to relieve himself and get some milk in his little body again.

  But, again, I couldn't just pop up after one of them said something, making my creepy self known.

  There was the sound of footsteps coming closer, and it took a lot not to tense up, to show signs of my alertness.

  But then hands grabbed Gadget, started pulling.

  I shot up, trying to grab him back, realizing how close Ranger was, how much he smelled like himself - his soap, fresh air, hay.

  "Relax. I'm not going to hurt him."

  His voice was rough, a little ragged even. Not unusual, but in painful contrast to the tone he had been using with me more recently.

  But before I could even process that, or object, he pulled Gadget from my arms and headed outside with him.

  "Coffee?" Finn asked, making me turn to find him standing in the doorway to the kitchen, eyes almost apologetic even though he had nothing to do with the situation.

  Guilt filled my stomach as I folded up on the couch, blankets falling down, my hair feeling like it was a halo around my head, it was so mussed from tossing and turning.

  "Please," I told him, getting up, folding the blanket, putting the pillow away, then making my way to the bathroom, taking extra long to shower, to get myself together.

  Being a coward.

  At that realization, I moved back out, accepting my coffee, rejecting breakfast.

  It was right then that I realized it wasn't that Finn was a super early riser, or that Ranger was up earlier than usual.

  No.

  My internal clock had set the alarm.

  I had slept in.

  Feeling suddenly frazzled, I rejected breakfast, slipped into my shoes, and made my way out to the chicken coop, pretending I didn't see Ranger with the goats.

  Again, childish.

  But I hadn't been born with a confrontational bone in my body. I didn't find it easy to approach someone with a problem I had with them, demand we hash it out and fix it. It was likely why so many of my relationships failed. We didn't communicate well. I internalized issues, making me get more and more distant from partners, until eventually, things just got too distant, and everything fell apart.

  That was my M.O.

  It wasn't exactly healthy.

  But, I figured, in the woods with my life depending on someone else, it was just smarter to keep it in, see how things went with a little space.

  Apparently, space was perfectly fine with Ranger.

  We went about our days doing our usual daily tasks, while pretending the other didn't exist. I lingered at mine, he at his, and poor Finn suffered a host-free visit to the Pine Barrens.

  Though he, too, seemed to keep busy. Cleaning, organizing, somehow managing to bathe the dogs without getting a limb chewed off - though his right arm did look a little worse for wear.

  We all skipped lunch.

  It was dinner I had been dreading all day, so much so that a knot had curled itself tightly in my stomach by the time I walked back into the house, knowing it was Ranger's turn to cook.

  But finding cold wraps piled on a plate in the kitchen.

  And Ranger in his own room.

  "How's your arm?" I asked Finn as I put a wrap onto a plate, despite my stomach feeling wobbly, and sat down across from him at the table.

  "He's got Shepherds, Pits, Dobermans, all the big, scary dogs. And you know who did this?" he asked, waving a hand toward his forearm that was slick with what I imagined was triple antibiotic cream.

  "Duggie?" I asked, looking over at the dog steadily gnawing on a leg bone chew Finn had brought clearly for the big dogs while Dakota - a giant Shepherd, struggled to chew on a little kneecap.

  "Yep. He's half eagle. Has talons instead of nails. Also, I don't think he has ever seen the inside of a bathtub judging by how brown that water ran."

  "I think they take their baths in the lake."

  The look on his face was nothing short of horror. And, on that point, I had to agree with him. Dogs got dirty. That was what they did. They rolled around on the ground tussling, they found dried-out worms on the ground and wanted to get their dead wormy scent all over their coats, they got sweaty and muddy and disgusting. Which was fine. But they needed a bath every now and again too.

  It was something I had been thinking about bringing up to Ranger. The only thing that had been holding me back was the fact that his days were already so full of tasks. I knew if I suggested it, that he would do it. And that was just piling onto an already exhaustive schedule.

  "This isn't coming from me," Finn started, tone more serious. "I'm not the prying kind. But Miller threatened to dump a bucket of glitter in my office if I didn't so... are you alright? You two obviously have some, ah, tension."

  "I'm fine," I lied. And, what's more, he knew I was lying. Since I was terrible at it. I always had been. Usually, my mother would just have to raise a brow at me when she caught me trying to
fib, and I would burst into tears and confess everything to her. "It will be fine," I added. "We both just..."

  "Aren't great at the whole talking thing," he filled in for me.

  "Exactly."

  "I'm going to be hanging here for a few more days," he told me, clearly thinking this was new information to me. "So, at any time, if you decide you don't want to be here anymore, just let me know. I will bring you back home. No questions or anything. It's not my business."

  "Thank you," I told him, genuinely meaning it, appreciating him being there for me even if he barely knew me. It was, apparently, a quality a lot of this crew of co-workers possessed. "But I think everything is going to blow over. You know... eventually."

  I wasn't entirely sure if I was trying to convince him of that, or myself.

  Things went that way for the next two days, except dinner was a painfully uncomfortable sit-down episode each night seeing as wraps weren't an option every night. And Ranger has just enough manners left to carry on occasional conversation to keep Finn from feeling too uncomfortable.

  It was the third morning when the unfamiliar ring of a cell phone filled the peace of the cabin. It had never actually occurred to me before how shrill that sound was, how unnatural, how off-putting.

  "Yeah?" Finn asked, picking it up casually, then having his body tense up at the voice on the other end.

  "Got a job?" Ranger asked as soon as he ended the call.

  "Yeah."

  "Gotta go now?" he went on.

  "Yeah."

  "Want me to take you? It'd save time."

  "What about..." Finn started.

  "It's safe here," Ranger cut him off, then turned toward the door. "Let's go."

  Feeling utterly dismissed, I took a deep breath, looking around the small, empty, ridiculously clean space, feeling like the walls were closing in on me.

  Tucking Gadget into the pen with his friends, I turned back to find the dogs watching me, heads tilted to the side the way they so often did with Ranger. Like they were awaiting instructions.

  Curious, I held up my hand palm out, and demanded, "Stay."

  I honestly didn't expect them to do it.

  But when I turned back after starting to walk away, I found them all sitting or laying down, keeping guard of the animals. Even Captain who was letting out a little whining noise.