Page 12 of Unmasked Rivalry
What a strange thing to ask. It makes me immediately nervous, because why is he asking those kinds of questions.
“Yes.” I lie.
He studies me, and I could swear he can see right through me.
“Well, I see cattle in the paddocks. You selling them?”
“Why would I be selling them?”
He is freaking me out now.
“Your uncle ain’t around anymore, is he?”
He is posing it like a question, but I can tell he already knows the answer.
“I’m sorry, does he know you?”
He shrugs, straightening. “Knew Penn. Just interested in his cattle. Good beef.”
And yet, I feel like he’s lying.
“Well, I’m not selling them.”
I hadn’t even thought of it, but I’m certainly not about to hand them over to this guy.
“Well, if you change your mind. Cattle auction is once a month. Make big money from that lot. I’ll leave you to it. Be careful, won’t you. Not safe for a girl alone in these parts.”
He doesn’t let me answer before turning and walking away, leaving me incredibly uneasy. The weirdness of the whole exchange makes my skin itch. I sit in the car another few minutes, trying to figure out what the hell just happened and if I should let Knox know, because I have a bad feeling about it.
I pick up my phone and see it’s nine am.
Ugh.
I need to get into the house, and I need to do it sooner rather than later, before the day is away from me completely. I spend a solid half hour sitting in the car, working up the energy to face the inside of that house again. I scroll mindlessly, trying to trick my brain into believing I can delay this day a little longer, but I know there is no avoiding it.
I need to get to work.
First things first, I need food and caffeine. There’s a gas station convenience store about two miles down the road. It’s more a relic than an actual store—faded Coke sign, a gravel parking lot, a single slot machine inside, and a cashier who smells like tobacco. I shuffle in, buy a coffee that tastes mainly of burnt disappointment, and a bagel that actually looks semi-fresh. I also get some bleach, paper towels, rubber gloves, and a big black trash bag, because if I’m going to war with the kitchen, I’m not coming unarmed.
I eat the bagel in the car on the way back, knowing I really need to get myself some better food. Which is why I have decided the kitchen needs to be done first. I need to cook. By the time I get back, it’s hotter, cloudless, the whole world reduced to a blinding white haze broken up by green mountains. I get out, slide on the dish gloves, and let myself in, already holding my breath.
It smells so bad in here that I’m almost scared about what I might find in the kitchen. Hell, there is probably years-old food rotting in the darkest corners. Taking a deep breath, I get towork. I start by blasting every fly I can with the bleached sponge, chasing them around the counter. The first trash bag fills up with rotting food in record time. I try not to retch, but it’s a losing battle.
That’s when it happens.
I’m reaching over the sink, hiking up my shirt sleeve to yank out what looks like an entire mop’s head of cobweb, when I feel something sharp on my finger. Like a bee sting, but meaner. At first, it’s nothing—just a pinch. But two seconds later, my whole hand goes hot, then numb, and when I look, there’s a fat black spider sitting almost innocently in the sink.
Oh. My. God.
My breathing goes tight. I stand there, frozen, clutching my finger, waiting for my face to melt off or my mouth to go slack from venom. It’s probably nothing, but my uncle was always telling stories about brown recluses. I walk in circles for a minute, then reach for my phone with my good hand and call Knox. The phone rings eight times before he finally answers.
“Yeah?”
He sounds grumpy, maybe hungover, but alive.
“I got bit by a spider in the kitchen,” I say. “I think it might have been poisonous. My finger already feels weird. I think this is the end. I need you to come before I pass out, shriveling into nothing on this kitchen floor.”
He goes quiet, and then makes a sound that is something between a snort and a laugh. I can hear something in the background, and I could swear it is a girl giggling. Ugh. He is no doubt in the bed, surrounded by two or three gorgeous women, and I’m here, dirty, fighting for my life.
