The Babysitter Read online

  "I'll make the coffee," he added, collecting his supplies, tucking them away, then moving to stand, turning away. "Meet you at the table."

  It wasn't, by any stretch of the definition, a request.

  I believed wholeheartedly that if I did not go there willingly that he would come and get me, force me into a chair.

  Taking a steadying breath, I pushed upward, resting my feet on the ground, feeling the burn of a few new scratches. I must have kicked off Ranger's socks in my sleep, and the walk on the forest floor bit at my soles. I needed shoes.

  Well, if the tension in Ranger's shoulders was anything to go by, he was likely going to be driving me home soon. I would have more than enough shoes to last a lifetime. It was a weakness of mine. I comforted myself that I always bought cheap shoes, and mostly on clearance, so it wasn't the worst addiction to have.

  I lowered myself into the seat facing Ranger as he moved around his kitchen, stomach sinking at the idea of going home.

  Home.

  A place that once brought nothing but warm feelings. The one place in the world I was always dying to get to. After a long day of work. After some weekend function. After even just running errands all day.

  There was nothing better than kicking out of my heels, stretching my toes on the plush carpet, pulling my bra out of my sleeve on the way down the hall to my bedroom, digging out some comfortable loungewear, grabbing a cup of coffee, curling up on the couch under a giant blanket and watching some bingeable show on TV.

  It was a safe haven.

  It wrapped around me like a warm hug.

  But now?

  Now, the very idea of opening the door filled me with dread.

  How could I go back? Pick up where I left off like nothing happened. Something happened. Something big happened. And it had changed me.

  I wasn't the woman who once lived there.

  And maybe... I would never be her again.

  The mug clanked down in front of me, pulling me out of my thoughts, making my head jerk up to find Ranger already sitting across from me, both hands wrapped around his mug, making it look like a child's toy with their size.

  His gaze, that dark, distant gaze, was on me - reaching out, demanding to be let in.

  "You still with me?" he asked. Growled. Really, the man growled more than he actually spoke.

  My own hands curled around my mug, finding a sort of comfort in the burn.

  "Y... yeah."

  They were the first words I had spoken in, well, I wasn't even sure how long. My voice sounded odd, scratchy, a little foreign even to my own ears.

  "Good. Now..."

  "I'm sorry," I blurted out.

  "Don't need to be sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I get it. Been there. I get it. But that's done, yeah?" he asked.

  "Yeah," I agreed. "I mean... I didn't... I'm not sure I even knew what I was doing. I just..."

  "Wanted the pain to stop," he filled in for me.

  "Exactly," I agreed.

  "Can't promise you it's gonna stop. Think maybe it never completely goes away. But you can learn to manage it. Live with it. Eventually, even start to thrive in your own way. Maybe a new way."

  "This is your new way of thriving," I guessed, looking around.

  "Might not be everyone's idea of it, but it's mine." He paused, eyes falling to study the blackness in his cup. "Could be yours."

  "Mine?" I repeated, not sure I was understanding.

  "If you're done with the ideas of ending it all, I can... share this."

  "Share this?"

  I mean, the man wasn't exactly a conversationalist, but I was pretty sure he was almost being purposely vague.

  "You don't want to go home."

  "I can't," I confessed, my own gaze falling.

  "Get it. That's why I'm offering."

  "I'm sorry, but... offering what, exactly?"

  "This. You want to escape for a while, learn how to exist again..."

  "You're going to let me stay?"

  "There are rules."

  "That I don't try to kill myself."

  "That, yeah. And other things."

  "Are you going to tell me those things, or am I supposed to guess?" I asked, watching as his gaze rose again. I couldn't be sure, but there almost seemed to be a small light in his eyes. "If I guess right... do I get a grunt? A growl?" I went on, feeling a weird fluttering feeling in my chest when his lips twitched.

  Clearly, he wasn't a man prone to smiling. It felt good to be able to almost make it happen.

  "You stay here, you work. That's the way it has always worked for clients. More people means more work. Only got so many hands, so many hours..."

  "I can work," I cut him off. "I mean... I don't know what to do. But... I can learn. If you'll show me."

  "Ever work in a garden?"

  "I've killed every houseplant I've ever owned," I admitted.

  "Don't have houseplants," he mumbled. "It's different. You'll figure it out."

  "I'll figure it out," I agreed, tone more sure than I felt.

  "We get up with the sun."

  "I, ah, you'll wake me?"

  "Yep."

  "Okay."

  "Okay. It's settled then."

  With that, his chair scratched against the floor as he moved to stand.

  "Hey, Ranger?" I called, watching as his body almost seemed to jolt a bit, stiffened, before he turned, brows raised.

  "Yeah?"

  "What do you want from me?"

  "Sorry?"

  "You're going to give me home and food and support. What are you getting out of this? What do you want from me?"

  "Want you to live," he said, then turned, stalked off to his room, shut his door, left me there to have things sink in.

  I was going to be able to stay.

  He hadn't even put a timeframe on it, an end date.

  I was just going to be allowed to crash here indefinitely. Until I felt better. If I ever felt better. I would be taught new trades. I wouldn't have to worry about rent, bills, a job.

  True, it meant that my very presence here was, well, a crime. But from the looks of things, Ranger had been here many, many years. Without an issue. So there was no reason to think that I would be in trouble for staying with him.

  Sure, it meant giving up a lot.

  Job, co-workers, little luxuries I had gotten used to.

  But, somehow, none of that felt like a loss.

  Neither did my apartment full of carefully chosen items.

  My rent was paid up until the end of the month. And from there, it would likely be two months before the eviction notices would start. And then, eventually, the super would let himself in.

  I didn't know for sure, but I had a feeling that he would have a right to sell off my things - or rent out my apartment as a furnished one.

  There was a momentary surge of panic.

  Over my laptop.

  My small stash of cash in the sole of one of my boots in the closet - the pair I had fallen head-over-heels with, but which had never fit my calf comfortably.

  And, of course, the little decorative box in my second drawer in my nightstand that held, well, a certain item that acted as a boyfriend replacement.

  I could just picture my super - a somewhat creepy guy who was thin to the point of gaunt with a shaggy haircut straight out of the eighties, a constant smattering of adult acne, and a tendency to smile at you in a way that made you feel slimy - coming across that particular item, picturing me using it.

  But it didn't matter, I reminded myself, if I was never going to see the man again.

  I sat there for a long moment, Captain's head in my lap, my free hand absentmindedly stroking his head while I drank my coffee.

  I hadn't had a dog since I was little - this ancient Shih Tzu that was crotchety and barked at everything, had little patience for a young me. After she passed around the time I was seven, my mother decided she didn't want the burden of having any more pets.

  I couldn't claim to be a dog
lover. I mean, I enjoyed a cute puppy as much as the next girl, but I never felt the need to get one of my own.

  Of course, that was before meeting Captain. Who might well have been half human.

  I hadn't interacted much with the other dogs - all seven of them. Most of them huge, a little mean-looking. Save for the little one who looked like that dog from Fraiser. They kept a wide berth when moving around me. I didn't know if it was because they genuinely didn't like me, or if they just stayed away because Captain had staked his claim on me.

  As for the other animals, well, I would learn.

  I hadn't ever really done any manual labor either, but I figured my body would adjust, toughen up. And maybe all that hardening up would help my mind and spirit do the same, allow me to be able to be in my skin without it feeling itchy, foreign, uncomfortable.

  Finishing my coffee, I washed out both our cups then made my way toward the bathroom, stepping in front of the mirror for the first time since the day I was at the hospital.

  The bruises had faded a lot. They traded blues and purples for yellows and greens, making me look more sickly and alien than injured. The scabs that had taken over my eyebrow and lip had been rubbed off while tossing and turning, leaving behind the expected light pink scars.

  What bothered me more than the injuries that had been inflicted upon me was the damage I had clearly done to myself.

  My eyes were shadowed, purple bags from worrying too much. My cheeks had lost their fullness, my jawline narrowing out from the lack of food I had been putting in my body.

  And my hair.

  God, my hair.

  Determined to undo some of the ugly I had done to myself, I turned toward the shower/bath combo, turning on the water like I had heard Ranger do many times before, waiting the impossibly long time before the water finally turned warm enough to climb under, stripping out of the filthy clothes that practically felt oily to the touch - much like my own skin - I got in the shower.

  Maybe I should have asked about things such as where the water came from, if we needed to conserve it, if I should be careful of certain soaps.

  I didn't consider them then, though, as I triple washed my hair and body. As I reached for the razor Miller had dropped off, ruthlessly removing all the body hair that I never would have allowed to overgrow in my old life.

  It wasn't until I had dried off and was using a hairbrush I found hidden in a bottom drawer to get the tangles out of my hair that I realized something.

  I had no clothes.

  Panties, yes, thanks to Miller.

  But nothing to wear.

  Taking a deep breath, I wrapped the towel more securely around me, moving out of the bathroom, stepping in front of his door, knocking before I lost my nerve.

  There was no reason to feel weird.

  He didn't look at me like that.

  And as much as maybe my pride took the tiniest of hits thanks to that fact, the practical part of me knew that there was very little to be attracted to. A beaten, scarred, depressed woman who was a burden.

  It was not the kind of thing that inspired attraction.

  I mean... not that I wanted him to be attracted to me or anything.

  I took the growling noise from behind the door as an invitation to enter, pushing open the door to his room, finding him sprawled in bed, arm cocked behind his head on the pillow. His shirt missing, leaving his strong, muscled, scarred, tattooed body on display.

  I was too busy thinking about said muscles and past injuries and artwork to be sure, but I thought I heard another growling noise as I stood there in the doorway.

  "Sorry if I woke you. I, ah... I took a shower," I told him dumbly. As though the towel and wet hair weren't proof of the fact. "I don't... I have nothing to wear," I explained as he stared at me. Something in his eyes made my skin feel a little warm.

  It seemed to be in slow motion when he finally reacted, folding up in bed, each muscle tensing as he did so, then swinging his legs off the side of the bed with a grace someone his size shouldn't possess. He moved around his bed, brushing past me, the cool air as he did so making a small shiver move through me, something he seemed not to notice as he went to his dresser, digging through to produce one of those giant long-sleeve plaid shirts of his.

  "Cold at night still," he explained, going into another drawer to grab socks. "Not a chance my pants are gonna fit you," he added, turning back to face me as he approached.

  "This should be fine," I told him, reaching outward as he didn't extend the pile toward me, my hand pressing over his, something that made his gaze jerk up to mine, deep, penetrative. "Thank you," I added.

  "Since you're staying, I am gonna have one of my coworkers make a trip down with some supplies. We'll get you some of your own pants." At the moment, it didn't strike me as odd that he didn't mention my own shirts. "Until then, you need anything," he said, taking an oddly pointed step back, like he wanted space, like he didn't want to be close to me, momentarily making me wonder if I hadn't washed hard enough. But even as I thought it, I could smell the scent of his soap on my skin - an herbal blend that reminded me of rosemary and lavender from a bar that seemed to be made out of milk and did wonders for even my sensitive skin. "Just come in and take it," he added, the words landing with a weird punch-like sensation to my lower belly before he turned and stalked away, climbing into bed, dismissing me.

  "Thanks again," I told him, even though he wasn't even looking my way anymore.

  Walking back into the bathroom, I slipped into the blue and grey flannel, slid on the cozy socks, and made my way out into the living room, wondering if I was supposed to be staying on the couch, or if I should take over the guest room.

  But, I figured as I lay there with Captain curled by my feet, he would need that room if he ever had a client come again.

  The idea of a third party in the mix filled me with an odd sort of dread, making me realize I didn't want anything piercing this little sanctuary.

  Which was absurd.

  First, because it wasn't even my place to think things. I was just crashing here. Just taking advantage of Ranger's obvious weak spot for struggling people.

  I couldn't help but wonder as I tossed and turned what had led him to have that weakness. What had happened in his own life to make him understand pain to the point of suicide, how such a strong, steady man had ever felt that low, that weakened by his own mind, his own spirit.

  It just went to show... you never know. What someone was going through. How such a stalwart seeming person could be crumbling inside.

  All around me, the dogs - Captain included - had fallen into restful sleep. Snoring, whimpering, grumbling, one of the German Shepherds chasing something in his sleep so hard that the bed he was laying on started to move across the floor with his efforts.

  Turning on my side, my gaze went to the fire, feeling an odd sort of comfort.

  In this land, surrounded by all these wild things, living with a wild man.

  It wasn't a place I should have felt anything even akin to comfort, to security. Me, a self-confessed lover of the 'finer' things in life, who enjoyed plumbing and take-away and television.

  It was so far from all the things that would have typically brought me any measure of peace.

  But that was exactly what I felt in this little homey shack in the woods, a fire crackling, cackling as it danced, bringing me warmth, lending the smell of campfire to my hair as it slowly dried, body warmed by the sleep-heavy weight of a giant, loving dog, the sounds of wind and crickets the only source of noise.

  Peaceful.

  Maybe not deep down.

  Not yet.

  But it was a surface comfort, something that promised more of the same.

  If I gave it time.

  If I put in the effort.

  If I worked on it.

  On me.

  Maybe it was the relief brought on by a comfortable invitation to stay, or the blood loss, or the nearly hour-long self-care routine, or the calming sounds of fores
t life.

  But I finally drifted off to sleep.

  And for the first time since this whole nightmare of a situation started, I slept dreamlessly.

  For, well, the very short time that I slept, anyway.

  Ranger, it seemed, was not exaggerating about being up with the sun.

  I barely felt like I got an hour or two before he was slamming around in the house, making me suddenly very aware of the fact that he must have been purposely quiet for my sake over the past several days.

  I stayed wrapped up in the warmth of the covers as long as I dared before finally climbing out with no small grumble.

  Ready to see what this forest life had to offer me.

  Or so I thought.

  FIVE

  Ranger

  She was afraid of chickens.

  Fucking chickens.

  I mean, to be fair, when she'd followed me to the coops, the rooster had torn out of his enclosure like a bat out of hell... and proceeded to chase a running, shrieking Meadow around the clearing while he pecked viciously at her ankles.

  Took her about four laps before she realized I wasn't about to save her, suddenly doubled back, then grabbed him around the back, pinning his wings to his sides, and giving him a solid talking to before - somewhat gently - throwing him over the paddock where he proceeded to shake his feathers and preen like she had deathly insulted him.

  So when it was time to head into the hen house, her ankles nipped and a little bloodied, I guess I understood her hesitance, the way she ducked her body behind mine, only peering out from the side of my arm to listen to instructions while the hens clucked, eyeing her like yet another intruder who might reach their hands under their butts for the eggs.

  "Oh, they're pretty!" she declared as I started piling them all carefully into a basket. "I didn't think they came in colors," she added. "Aside from white and brown."

  "Different kinds of chickens produce different color eggs," I explained. "White, brown, speckled, blue, even a little lavender," I added, reaching for the last egg, a pale, barely-there purple color, holding it out to her.

  "So, this is why you have the chickens? For the eggs? Do you..."