Stray: Rowe Brothers Ranch, page 6
“Dean, I swear to Christ,” I growl as I grip the man by the collar of his shirt. “Keep reaching for the phone, and I’m gonna embarrass the fuck outta you.” I look back at the photo. It was taken the night Ozzy went to town for Mom. The next day, she asked where the nearest city was, and I…
“No, I was going to say if you didn’t want them to stare, maybe don’t walk around covered in metal and tattoos. You obviously enjoy the attention, so don’t feign being offended because they are giving you what you’re asking for.”
I fucking hate myself when it dawns on me. She was asking because this stupid fuck must’ve been following her then too, and she was uncomfortable, and I was a fucking prick. Shaking the memory and guilt off, I select all the photos from the oldest of Ozzy to the current and delete them from his phone and cloud before shoving him back, taking his cell phone and smacking it on the conveyor belt, cracking the camera in the process.
“New rule,” I state firmly. “I find you or any of your hillbilly biker buddies snapping pictures or even so much as glancing at that sweet girl. I’m gonna do that to your fucking face. Understood?” I glare down at the man as he nods and scurries off. I see Ozzy standing by the entrance, her cheeks stained pink. Walking over, I take the bags from her, shocked she doesn’t put up a fight, and we walk out the door.
Once we are in the truck and she starts the ignition, Ozzy lets out a shaky breath before speaking. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“I know,” I say casually. “In fact, I am pretty sure you told me not to.”
“Right,” she whispers. “I just… I don’t know what to do with that.”
“With what? He was being an asshole, I stopped him. Say thanks, or don’t, it doesn’t really matter, and move on.” Oh my god, is she about to cry? I watch her fading black-stained bottom lip begin to tremble. I’m about to say something when I watch her flinch and realize what she’s doing... She’s shutting down. I’ve only seen it happen once before, my brother, Derek, when he was married and found his now ex-wife getting fucked by his best friend, and he beat that man nearly to death. When it was over, and he walked away, he shut off the same way.
“Tink?”
“You ready to go?” She asks, and without waiting for my response, she pulls out of the space to head back to the ranch.
Ozzy
“What in the fuck did you do to your shirt?” Morris asks as I walk into his room carrying the bags from the store. Setting the bags down on his dresser, I turn to stare at him. “And your pants. I know you’re getting paid enough to have pants without holes in them.”
“Now, Morris, if I were to cover up, how would the world know I’m in desperate need of attention?” I try to tease him while setting up his pills. Honestly, that trip wore me out emotionally. Between the crowd, that jerk taking pictures, and Jackson… goddamn it, I need to stop with him. I keep having these moments where, I don’t know, it’s almost like I can feel myself lower my guard with him, which is a fucking terrible idea.
“I heard Jackson let you drive his truck.” I look over my shoulder, raising a brow.
“Oh, and where did you hear that?”
“Theo called to say there had been quite a scene in the store.” I wince before I regain my composure. God, that was humiliating. That fucking asshole would not stop pestering me while I was in the store. The constant snickers and shutter sounds fueled my anxiety, just like the last time I had gone to the store. People see me with all my tattoos, piercings, strange hair, and clothes and think I’m weird. I get that, and usually, I can just let it go, but Jackson took me by surprise when he got so angry and called me a sweet girl. I know for a fact no one has ever used that phrase when talking about me. But he did, and… I liked it.
Fucking knock it off!
“Yeah, well,” I give him a slight chuckle, ridding myself of the preposterous thoughts. “You should know better than to send my ass out there. The villagers might grab their pitchforks or throw their bibles and holy water at me. And that’ll ruin my very expensive makeup.” I force a grin that I don’t feel, and Morris stares at me, no laugh, no smile. I feel uncomfortable for the first time with him, and it’s for no reason other than he is seeing through my bullshit. Like he knows what happened bothered me, and I can’t have that. I won’t. I can’t allow these people to lower a guard I’ve spent five years perfecting. Unable to handle the silence anymore, I continue grabbing items out of the bags as I speak. “I am sorry if Jackson got into trouble, though he should’ve kept his big mouth shut like I said.”
Morris waves me off, “I didn’t raise my kids to keep their heads down when someone is being hurt.”
Rolling my eyes, I go to check his monitors. “I wasn’t being hurt,” I mutter before sitting in my chair and propping my feet up.
“Really?” he says, his voice unamused. “Because you look kind of like a kicked puppy.”
“Fuck off, old man,” I laugh, somewhat annoyed at how fast he saw through me.
“I’m sorry that fucker hurt you.” He mutters while closing his eyes.
“Which one?” I huff out under my breath.
“All of them.” He says softly, causing me to clench my jaw while I glare holes into my socks. I can’t cry. I won’t cry. Glancing up at Morris, I note his eyes are closed now, and I take the moment to look over the old man.
“I could deal with the physical pain all day, every day,” I admit softly.
“It’s the mental pain that hurts the worst,” he mutters, his eyes still closed. My eyes snap to his face, and I watch an eye peek open. “I wasn’t always a rancher.” His smile is tired, and I know he is drifting off to sleep. “I know all about the nightmares.”
“So,” Indy’s sweeter-than-sugar voice fills my earbud as I lay in the bathtub contemplating the day. “How’s it going there?”
“I would rather hear about you and Derek. Have you two decided to make it official yet?” I hear her light giggle.
“He took me to a resort where you swim with penguins.”
“Oh god, so you’ve mated for life?” I joke while playing with the bubbles with my toes.
“Basically. So again, how are things going? Derek said there was a horrible storm.” I blow the bubbles off my hand and watch them float around.
“Yeah, pretty wicked. Umm… things are fine out here. I like Morris. He’s a crotchety old man just like me, so we are pretty cool. Dorothy is exhausted, but there’s no talking to her, so I just let her do her thing and help where I can.”
“And the guys?”
“Fine. I think Carter is afraid of me, Jensen doesn’t really talk to anyone, and Jackson is… whatever.” I shake off the tingly as I rinse the bubbles off me and drain the tub.
“Mhm..” Indy muses. “You know, it’s okay to like a guy.”
“No,” I state firmly as I stand up and grab my towel to dry myself off before slipping on my black pj pants and shirt. “It’s not happening.”
“But whyyyy?” She whines, and I roll my eyes while putting on my nightly face cream.
“You know why,” I mutter, massaging my face a little harder than necessary. “I can’t be with someone. Not anymore.”
Indy lets out an exasperated breath, Oh? Am I exhausting her? “Ozzy, your parts haven’t fallen off. You’ve been in therapy for five years; you really should give it a try, and Jackson is–”
“Hard pass.” I interrupt, deciding I’m over this conversation. It’s making my heart pound, mainly because these are all late-night thoughts I’ve had over the last week that I should not be having.
“Ozzy–”
“Cupcake,” I snap as I storm out of the bathroom, and my breath hitches at the dark window. Is that a flashlight in the woods?
“Ozzy?” Indy’s voice is so far away. I feel my heart rate accelerating, and I’m beginning to sweat as I walk towards the window. I can hear someone yelling something. What is it? Removing the bud from my ear, I toss it across the room before pressing my ear to the glass.
“BRUMBY!”
I nearly fall backward at the voice, the name. His voice. My name. Oh god, no. Not Patrick. How is he here? How did he find me? How did he get out of prison? Oh my god…
Stumbling, I run out of my bedroom and down the steps before running out the front door into the night. My car. Fuck it’s useless right now… SHIT.
“Brumby,” Oh my god, he’s close. I hear the chain dragging the ground and have to hold onto my car for support as my free hand covers my tightening throat. I’ve got to run, I’ve got to get away. “There you are.” I hear his vile voice only a few feet away.
“Get away!” I scream before taking off, running through the yard and into the dark tree line. I can’t see and keep tripping, but it doesn’t matter. I have to keep going. He’s not taking me back. I won’t go back there.
“BRUMBY! Get back here, you bitch!”
Jackson
“What the hell?” I groan as I stop mid-pushup and look at my phone to see why my music isn’t playing. It’s an incoming call from Indy. What could she want? Standing up from the floor, I answer the call.
“Hey, Ind–”
“Jackson!” I instantly still at the terror in her voice. Oh my god, Derek, is he– “Listen to me, I think Ozzy is having a flashback. You need to find her. Please, go to her room or wherever she is.”
“Flashback?” I say as I walk out of my bedroom.
“She has PTSD! Goddamn it, Jackson! Find her!” I’m about to ask her what she’s talking about when I see the front door is wide open. Fuck.
“I’ll find her and call you back,” I say, hanging up my phone and running down the steps. I grab a flashlight and slip on my shoes before walking outside. I don’t see anything or hear any–
“NO! STOP!” My head snaps towards her scream. It’s somewhere in the tree line. I take off running, my mind shooting off a hundred questions. Was someone attacking her? Indy said PTSD, what is she talking about? Where is she?
“Ozzy!” I call out, scanning the tree line, looking for any sign of her. I hear rustling, and when I shine my light towards the sound, I find her. Fucking hell, she’s tangled in a tree root, scrambling to get away.
“Ozzy,” I say softly as I slowly approach her, not wanting to frighten her. “What are you doing out here?” Her hair is soaked. She’s shivering and covered in dirt and leaves. She stares at me with wide, haunted eyes that aren’t focusing on me. It’s like she sees me, but she doesn’t at the same time.
“Get. Back.” She chokes out, holding her hand out in front of her.
“Ozzy,” What the fuck is happening? “Come on, let me get you back inside.” I go to release her foot, and she literally swipes at me with her nails. “Fuck!” I curse when she cuts me across my lip.
“I will die a thousand times over before I let you take me back there! Shoot me now, Patrick!” She screams. Patrick? Who the fuck is that? “Do it, you piece of fucking shit. Put it right here.” She points to her forehead as she spits at me.
“Ozzy!” I shout, kneeling down in front of her, trying to make eye contact so she knows it’s me. “Ozzy. Baby, look at me, it’s Jackson… whatever you see, it isn’t real. Take a deep breath.” I watch her blink. She’s hyperventilating, “Breathe, Tink, come on, take a deep breath for me.” She does, mimicking my breathing. She takes another, and then a third, and then a few more. After what feels like an eternity, she blinks and looks around our surroundings before back at me.
“J-jackson?” She croaks out. I nod softly before gesturing to her foot.
“Can I touch you to get your foot untangled?” I ask, and she nods slowly. As soon as her foot is freed, she bolts up and looks around.
“There was… Jackson, h-he was chasing me.” The look on her face, she’s so scared and confused, but also definitive in her words. It hurts inside my chest to see her this way.
“Ozzy, you and I are the only two out here.”
“I saw the flashlight in my room!” She snaps, “I-I thought… he was…” I see her getting frustrated with herself and move a little closer.
“Hey,” I go to rub her back but stop, afraid to touch her. “Okay, if you think you saw something, I will go look after I get you back inside, alright? I will look through our land completely if that will make you feel safer. But Ozzy, Indy called to say she thought you were having a PTSD flashback.” I watch her flinch before looking back at me. Her beautiful brown eyes are broken, lost.
“Tink,” I breathe out, at a loss for how to help her. I don’t like this, seeing her this way. “Baby, tell me how to help you.” She looks from my face to my hands. She looks like she’s battling with herself, and just as I’m about to ask her what’s happening, she startles me by holding out her dirty, shaking hands.
“C-can you hold my hand?” To anyone else, this would be the most minute request, but for Ozzy, I know it means everything. I nod and hold my hand out, palm up to allow her to stay in charge. She hesitates for just a moment before placing her hand in mine. It’s so soft against my calloused one, and if I weren’t so afraid to speak, I would apologize for how rough it must feel.
Ozzy stares in shock at our connected hands before looking back up at me. “I don’t… I can’t stay in that room anymore.”
I don’t ask why. She doesn’t need to explain right now. I just nod and motion to the house. “That’s alright, there are plenty of other rooms. Come on, Tink, let’s get you warm.”
Nothing.
There ain’t a goddamn thing out here. After I got Ozzy into the guest room on the main floor last night, I went back to bed for all of ten minutes before grabbing my gun and a flashlight and going out to check everything out. I was still out there long after the sun came up, but I had to make sure. I don’t know why, but that look of fear in her eyes and the touch of her hand against mine… I needed to protect her. I needed to make her feel safe. Maybe it’s wrong. I don’t know much about PTSD other than Pops had it from the war, but I never remember seeing him act this way.
“Hey, son,” Mama smiles as I drag myself into the kitchen.
“Hey Mama,” I’m sure my weary voice matches my exhaustion. Sitting at the table, I thank her when she hands me a plate with a sandwich.
“You find what you were looking for out there?” She asks while wiping down the counter before grabbing her basket for collecting eggs from the chickens.
“No, Mama, ain’t nothing out there to find,” I say around a bite of the roast beef sandwich. She nods before glancing up at the stairs.
“She’s been in there all day,” she gestures with her hand towards Pop’s door. “She was having a rough morning or something. The poor thing dropped a glass and started crying. Your father has been talking with her since.” I rub my aching chest as my mother walks outside to tend to the chickens.
Standing up, I make my way towards the staircase. I can see the door is cracked open slightly, and as I make my way up the stairs, I hear Ozzy let out a laugh, though it sounds tired.
“Morris, you better stop flirting with me. I’m guessing people around here like to gossip.” I press my back against the wall by the door as I hear my father’s weak laugh.
“Girlie, I wouldn’t flirt with you even if it would cure my cancer. Ain’t no way I’m falling into your web.” He sounds different. I hear his sarcastic tone, but he sounds weak like talking is a chore for him. Like breathing itself is becoming too much of a task. I slide down the wall, sitting on the floor, as I listen to them talk.
“How are you feeling?” Ozzy asks, and Pops lets out a dry chuckle.
“Like I’m dying,”
“Shut up, asshole,” she sighs, and I hear the clicking of her shoes hitting the hardwood. “You know I meant with meds. I wanna make sure I only gotta do this once.” Pops laughs, and I am disturbed by their shared morbid humor. But also, it’s endearing. Pops has never taken to anyone outside of us, and even then, things were different. He is a great father, and I never doubted that he loves me, but I know that he and I could never sit in the same room and bust each other’s balls for hours like this.
“You gonna tell me why you’re limping?” Pops’ question grabs my attention. I hear Ozzy sigh as she sits back down.
“Hurt it doing all this work for you. Think I could claim a workplace injury?”
“Ah, deflection, my favorite.” He muses, and I can almost see Ozzy’s pretty brown eyes rolling. I have to roll my own eyes at that thought. You just had to add pretty in there, didn’t you, Rowe?
But it’s true, she is pretty. At first, it was a physical attraction, and I mean… it still is, but now, after the storm, the truck ride, last night, and now listening to her banter and laughing with my father in a way no one ever could. Fuck.
“I had a flashback last night,” I hear her confess. “Jackson found me in the woods. My ankle got messed up.”
“That bad?” Pops’ voice is soft and sincere. I hear her shaking intake of air, like she’s steadying herself to answer.
“I swear he was there Morris,” she whispers desperately. “I-I know he wasn’t, he couldn’t be. But I… I could feel him, smell him. But, I was wrong, and then Jackson was there, and, god, I was so embarrassed.”
I want to walk in and tell her not to be embarrassed, but I can’t. If Ozzy knew I was eavesdropping on their conversation, I would never hear the end of it.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Pops says firmly. “You can’t control it. Now what you should be embarrassed about is having your ugly ass bare feet up here on my bed.” I crack a grin at his comment and Ozzy’s loud laugh following it.
“You know, old man, there are people out there that would pay me mad dollars for pictures of these bad boys, and here I am, bestowing it upon you free of charge. You should be grateful.”
“And you could use an odor eater, but I don’t think either is happening anytime soon.” I can’t sit here anymore. If I do, they will hear me laughing. Standing up, I cover my mouth until I’m down the hall and in my room. I let out a breathy chuckle while removing my dirty clothes and tossing them into the hamper.
