Page 33 of Cougar

I hear Butcher using what I can only guess is a giant ass knife on the cow that came in last night. Abilene had told me how a family in town purchased a whole cow and entrusted Butcher with the breakdown and packaging.

“The amount of work it takes, I trust it’ll keep him busy for the day.”

She had told me I should be fine up front. Butcher would be busy breaking down the cow and shouldn’t need anything, but I didn’t want him to be alone. I know he has a lot to work through, but I want him to know I’m here for him if he needs anything.

Walking through the door slowly, I keep my eyes on him as I approach the cooler door. While I don’t want him to be alone, and I want him to realize I’m here if he needs me, I am, above all, terrified of him. I can admit he scares me, and I’m afraid if I look away, he will charge at me and use me as a surrogate for the cow and continue to take out his frustration.

Once I am in his peripheral, he stops his chopping and looks at me. The mask he wears is one of anger and fury, but his eyes catch me. Butcher is many things, but being open about his emotions isn’t usually one of them. He’s been hiding what he feels since that day. He doesn’t open up to anyone. He doesn’t want to be around anyone other than his wife and daughter. He’s hiding. Yet right now, I see it all. I see everything. His eyes are full of despair and showing me the broken man he’s keeping inside. He growls like a cornered wild dog as I pass.

“You don’t gotta worry about me, brother. I’m here to watch the front and keep everything moving. I’m here if you need me for anything. You keep cutting up the body,” I point to the giant cow, “and when you’re ready, I’ll sell off the evidence.” I joke, holding my hands up in surrender.

It takes a moment before he huffs and goes back to his task. After locating all the trays I need, I fill the cart and make my way out of the cooler. I whistle a random tune as I pass him. Before I get through the door that leads to the front, something hits me in the back of the head. I turn to see a box of food-handling gloves on the ground. When I look up, Butcher’s back is toward me as he gets the bone saw ready for a larger cut. I can’t help but chuckle as I pick them up and complete my tasks.

Even with the few people who have shown up early on a Friday, the morning passes slowly. The silence is making me go crazy. My only reprieve is when I can hear Butcher’s chopping from the back. He needs this. Let him be. This is what you signed up for. Give him time. I keep reminding myself of that, but after two hours, I can’t take it anymore. Pulling out my phone, I turn on one of my playlists, so I’ll have some background noise while I wait for customers.

It’s a random mix of music. Some of them are slow, some are fast, and some are just a bit out there. After three songs, Butcher stomps up front and hits stop while I sweep the main room. I watch him stomp back to the back, not sparing me a glance. I slowly make my way back to where I left my phone and hit play again. This time Animals by Nickelback comes on. Using the broom as a guitar, I quietly sing along. I pretend the empty storefront is my audience, and I am giving them the night of their lives with my mad broom-playing skills.

No sooner did I get into the groove; the music stopped abruptly. I spin around in time to see Butcher head back through the door. Okay…maybe he isn’t a fan of Nickelback. For some reason, people aren’t. They’re wrong, but whatever. I scroll through my phone and pick out Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond. Maybe he would prefer this tempo. Surely, he can’t prefer to work in silence. At least, I fucking hope not.

Shaking my head, I grab the glass cleaner and paper towels. I’m on a mission. My target: the meat case. The objective: make sure there are no smudges or fingerprints. I will show AJ, Abilene, and Butcher that I am the man for this job.

I fucking swear, it’s as though he’s waiting for me to get into a groove. Like he’s been standing in the back, waiting for me to put on a show once the chorus hits. Now, standing next to my phone is Butcher. His eyes meet mine as he hits stop again before disappearing into the back.

“Oh, it’s on,” I mumble. I grab my phone and look for a song I have every intention of singing directly to him.

I scroll and scroll. I know the one I want, but I can’t remember what it’s called off the top of my head. However, I know the words. I start to sing to myself, and once I say the title, I chastise myself for not being able to remember the name and then pull it up. I know this is going to crack his shell. I’m not going to play it right away. I’m going to let the gruff old man think he’s won. I’ll let him believe we’re going to work in a tense, sad silence. If he really thinks that, though, he doesn’t know me at all. I let out an evil chuckle but reign it in as an older lady walks in.

We chat for a bit about the lamb she’s buying and how she’s going to prepare it. I give her the total, but unfortunately, I don’t know how to adjust the price to get rid of the random two cents.

“That Hank really knows how to get the best cut of meat. He is the reason I don’t leave this town,” she says, digging for a few pennies to pay for her roast. “I know I would never get cuts of this quality for such low prices anywhere else. And that wife of his is such a pistol. He and your brothers really do help everyone here.” she explains, looking from her shaking hands to my cut. “Lord knows those cops couldn’t care less about the public they are sworn to protect.”

“We try our best. We want this to be a great place for our kids to grow up. Somewhere to be proud of.” I say with a soft smile.

“You are too young to be thinking about kids,” she chuckles. “Ah! I knew I had them hiding in here,” she holds her hand out and drops the change in my hand.

“Maybe, but I am a few months away from meeting my kid. I am so excited to start that adventure with the one woman who was able to settle this wandering heart with a single look.” I can’t help the lilt in my voice as I talk about my sweet little songbird.

“Well, bless you,” she places her hand on mine and gives me a genuine smile, “I know a few ladies in my crafting group that will be heartbroken.”

I walk around the counter to hand the older woman her package and then offer her my arm to help her out the door. A man, I can only guess is her son or grandson, is on the phone outside. When he sees us, he quickly says goodbye and comes to take her from me. That’s when I see he is a ranch hand who works for Judge. We exchange smiles and greetings as he helps her into his truck.

I head back into the shop and go right to my phone. I slowly make my way to the doorway separating the front from the back and hear Butcher still chopping away. He seems to be in a rhythm, which tells me he’s secure in thinking he won the music battle. I pull up my playlist again and hit play on One Of Them Girls by Lee Brice, and slide into the back room. With my fist to my face, like I am holding a microphone, I go hard and sing to him. I dance and shimmy my way to him, and when it gets to the hook, I tap on his chest, pretending to knock down his metaphorical walls.

I watch him go from growly and annoyed to trying so hard to hide his smile at my ridiculous antics. When the song ends, I stop the next song before it can play. I take a bow, pretending I am out of breath from the workout I gave myself. Giving him one quick glance, I turn on my heels and go back to the front. When I get there, I am greeted by a smattering of applause from customers who came in at some point. I should be embarrassed, but I just give them all a smile and get started with the line.

The next two hours fly by as I help people who come in. I turn on the charm for a few of the older ladies. I may be happy and settled with Birdie, but there is a reason why my road name is Cougar. Once things settle, I head to the back so I can refill a few of the meat trays for the display. As I walk in, I see Butcher leaning over the table. His shoulders are slumped as he stands over a full pig on the table. Gone is the sparkle that had come back when I left him earlier.

“We will get the mother fucker who did this. No one hurts one of our own.” I tell him softly. His eyes cut to me as I surprised him in a moment of weakness. Butcher sniffs and quickly wipes his face.

“They weren’t your own,” he mumbles gruffly. “They were my babies.”

Taking a chance, I walk closer to him but decide to stop at the edge of the table.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t give a shit about the pigs.” His eyes narrow, and he starts to step toward me, so I throw up my hands and continue, “I meant you! I am talking about you!” He grips my cut, ready to yank me up to his face, but he stops, so I continue. “You matter! You’re hurting and broken, and it kills me because you are the strongest scariest mother fucker I know. Butcher, you are our own. You matter to this club.

“Most of all, you matter to your daughter. She wants nothing more in this life than to see you happy, and her seeing you this way it’s breaking her. You being whole again is all she wants. I will take on the world if it means she doesn’t have to feel a moment of pain and sadness.”

Butcher lets me go, and when I step back, he looks at me. Surprise is evident on his face. He looks at the pig and back to me. The walls he was putting up are breaking down again.

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