Page 52 of Not Mine to Rescue

The trouble was, it was my dead carcass he was circling. This whole BS about redheads was him gearing up to hit me with a killing shot. One guaranteed to hurt worse than the personal shame I’d admitted to them. He was stalling until he got it loaded and aimed just right.

Sure enough, Walt chuckled again. “I bet she’s got carpet burns on her knees.”

This was my gallows he was joking about. I mused aloud, “I wonder, is it assault if she wouldn’t let go?” I’d ask Honoria, but...

Instant nope on that one.

“I think you can argue self-defense in that situation. What she tried is an attempted wombat-napping.” Nickel contained his smile with pursed lips and another twitch of his shoulders.

“You two are never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Hell no.” Walt had the gall to laugh again.

Nickel finally broke and almost rolled under the table as he struggled to contain himself.

“Too bad Kid ain’t here.” Walt wheezed out through his laughter.

“Fuck, please do not tell him,” I begged.

“He doesn’t have to. Walt’ll tell Boots.” Nickel dipped his head to Walt.

“...and Boots’ll tell everyone.” Walt barely got the words out with his shoulders shaking so hard.

Both men were on my shit list.

Who needed a tattoo around them? I’d wear this albatross to my grave.

That image cracked me up. I’d much rather wear an albatross hung from my neck than have Winter Fuller clinging to my leg.

The scene played out in my head, quelling the humor immediately. Patience hadn’t worked. Understanding certainly hadn’t. Pissing her off?

Well. Hopefully that worked. I knocked once on the wooden table for luck.

Thank goodness for witnesses.

Being the bad guy had its advantages.

Chapter Fourteen

Honoria

Lemon met me at the barn. Wombat was nowhere in sight, again. I shored up my smile and performed all the small talk and pretended to be interested in Molly’s day, but it was becoming such a routine, that I wasn’t paying attention.

“Are you okay?”

Her question caught me off guard. I almost spat out the usual, “I’m fine,” but it caught in my throat. “I need therapy.”

While blurting it out like that was likely proof I was walking the razor’s edge, Lemon didn’t seem surprised. “Everyone does. Or they don’t and it’s all a scam, but the world is a lonely-ass place and talking to another person always helps. So. Why do you need therapy?”

I glanced away, fixing on the farm buildings and the various sheds and pens they’d built over the years. “I’m a jealous bitch?”

“Are you asking for confirmation?”

“Maybe,” I admitted.

She hesitated. “Is it Wombat? Are you worried that he’s cheating on you?”

That came out of nowhere. Suddenly, I had a new fear. But... “It would be hard to call it cheating since we’re not really together.” I glanced at her to watch her reaction. Maybe I’d be able to tell if he’d already moved on. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did.