Page 17 of Sweet and Salty
“Doubtful.” She busies herself with the process of making hot beverages. “I’ve been getting so many spam calls and texts lately. I just delete them without even looking.”
No one calls me, apart from Harbor, but that’s his job. That’s one of the weird, sad things about Witness Protection. I hadn’t thought I had a lot of friends before, but now since I’ve evaporated off the planet with the help of the US government, I don’t have anyone.
I thought I’d like the silence more.
“I like your house,” I say quietly. “You have a lot of animals.”
“That’s what I do,” she replies, back still to me. “Rescue lost causes.”
“Like pigs and donkeys and grumpy assholes who invade your space too early in the morning?”
Her back rolls like she’s holding in a laugh. “Exactly. Everyone’s welcome here.”
I glance out the kitchen window. Maybe it’s the concussion or the smell of hot coffee, but my shoulders relax down from theirpermanent fixture around my ears. “It’s funny. I thought you had three pigs.”
Oops. My mouth slams shut. Now she’ll know I’ve been looking over here. Or she just adopted out one of them and she’s grieving. Fuck, way to blow it, Jesse.
She turns, kettle in one hand. “I do have three pigs.”
“Oh. I only saw two in the yard.”
Her eyes widen and she runs to the door, kettle still in her hand, whispering, “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.” In an instant, I’m beside her, plucking the hot kettle from her hands a moment before boiling water splashes up and out of the spout. “Fricking Edward,” she grumbles, stomping outside in her slippers. “Why is it always fricking Edward? Edward!”
Einstein barks, his tail wagging madly, like he’s the one who planned this entire escapade.
I grab a basket of blueberry muffins that’s sitting beside the refrigerator and follow her outside. “Edward!”
We move into the paddock, where the remaining two pigs ignore us, undoubtedly not wanting to get involved in any sort of detective interrogation. Einstein runs beside us, his paws flying over the wet ground, while my feet sink into the mud. “Edward!” I call.
“You don’t need to help chase down my pig.” She crosses the paddock, inspecting the spot where the pig clearly slid through the mud and out into the world beyond. “I should have checked the fence.”
“Pigs like to dig. They’re better escape artists than Houdini.” I break off a piece of muffin and hand it to her.
Her eyebrow narrows over her left eye as she takes the muffin. “I’m not hungry.”
“It’s not for you. It’s to entice the pig. He’ll come home when he’s hungry. We can lay a trail for him.” I point at the muddy hoof prints crossing the field. “Or we can follow his path.”
“You don’t need to help.” She sniffs and climbs over the fence, her robe catching on the post. I loosen it for her, the fabric warm and soft beneath my palm. She has on pajama pants with bright purple bunnies printed on them.
“I don’t mind. I’ve caught many a wayward pig in my day.”
“Really? Do tell.”
Why do I want to entertain this woman? I open my mouth to regale her with the time I nearly broke my leg jumping on a wet, muddy, runaway pig when I remember that I’m not supposed to say anything at all about my past. Even something like this might bring up a lot of questions I’m not able to answer.
My shoulders hunch. Einstein jumps for a muffin, but I hold it out of his reach. “It’s not that interesting of a story.” I keep my gaze firmly on the ground and the muddy hoof prints.
“Too bad. Good to know we’re not a pair of pig-wrestling noobs.”
That sets off a flurry of fantasies of Laura, half-naked and wet, rolling on the ground. Preferably beneath me. But no. That’s definitely not going to happen.
The muddy hoof prints fade in the grass as we near the tree line by my cabin. “Edward!” we call. I drop pieces of muffin in our wake.
Einstein sniffs them, but after tasting one, runs off to chase a patch of sun by the paddock.
“This seems like a waste of good muffins,” I tell her.
“Hardly.” She whistles loudly into the trees. “They’re a day old and probably stale. I like to experiment at home, but some never really turn out.”