Page 7 of It'll Be Fun
She nearly had all the groceries put away when she noticed the dogs both perked up, jumped up, and excitedly bounced their way toward the front door, all schnurfles and snorts, and stood there, waiting for their daddy to arrive.
But…he didn’t.
Her cell rang where she’d left it on the kitchen counter, Rusty’s custom tone.
“What’s up, barbarian?”
He sounded horrible. “I…need help, Ma’am. I’m sorry.”
Heart pounding, she ended the call, dropped her phone to the counter, and ran for the front door. The agony in his voice definitely left her terrified, and she’d already considered about five scenarios from heart attack to stroke before she’d even yanked the front door open.
He still sat in the SUV where he’d parked in her usual spot.
She flew down the front porch steps and, trying not to panic, she jerked the driver’s door open.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” She was already trying to check him out, looking for wounds, and—
“I dropped the cooler on my foot when I was loading it. I think I broke it.” He pointed down to his feet, where, yep, his right shoe was off and the foot was definitely a shade of purple not usually seen in healthy feet.
And it was swelling.
“What thehell, Rus? Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I didn’t realize how bad it was until I was halfway home. I ended up pulling over, taking off my shoe, and driving with my left foot.”
“Jesus freaking Christ—oh, mygod. What thehellis thatsmell? Is that cow shit? You better not have gotten cow shit in my car!”
“No, it’s goat shit. And no, it’s on my other pants, which are in a grocery bag in the back. I’m stupid, but I’m not dumb, Ma’am.”
Eliza’s heart had finally started returning to a normal rhythm, now that she knew her worst fears weren’t coming true. The look in his green eyes finally reassured her that, no, he wasn’t dying.
He’d just maimed himself.
Again.
His worst maimings usually were self-inflicted.
Unable to help herself, she started laughing, which made him laugh.
“Let me get the goat shit out of my car first before I get you out. I willnotbe a happy Ma’am driving around with that stink.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Agreed. I’ll wait here.”
She walked around to the back hatch and immediately found the bag containing the offending trousers.
This was why she always ordered him to take spare pants. Usually it was a matter of splitting the crotch or ass in them from fighting. He normally wore bike shorts under them to help keep things contained and prevent chafing, so it wasn’t like the boys were exposed, at least.
With the bag moved to the side garage door so she didn’t have to carry it through the house, she returned to try to help him out.
“How’d you end up in goat shit, anyway?”
“A couple of the little kids had a Frisbee and were tossing it around. I started playing with them, one of them accidentally lobbed it over my head, and I jumped and wasn’t paying attention. Wylie had one of the goats staked out in the yard to graze, and I tripped over its stake and fell, bam, right in a pile of fresh goat poop.”
“Only you, goober. You’re going to have to go to the ER for that foot. Maybe I should just grab my purse and get you into the passenger side.”
He shook his head. “No, Ma’am. Please bring me the crutches from the garage. I want a shower first, then you can take me to the ER.”
She leaned in and kissed him. “Okay, hold on.” She headed inside. He’d twisted ankles and knees enough times over the years Eliza had learned early on to keep a pair of Rusty-sized crutches on hand. She quickly found them, then brought them out to him and helped steady him while he hobbled his way out of the SUV and up the front porch.
