4 - Junior

The house was silent when she woke up in the dark. It took her some time to remember where she was and calm her breathing. She was sorry she'd missed dinner but decided to go see if there was any left overs in the fridge.

The clock on the stove read four fifteen. A smile ghosted on her face when she realized there was a coffee pot slowly dripping indicating that Brett and his uncle would be up soon. She found a light switch over the stove and began to pull things out of the fridge. Cautious of her hand she cracked eggs, cut vegetables and poured milk together, warming the frying pan she found in the drawer under the stove and making toast.

Brett and Ned watched her in silence while she worked, unaware that the two men were there. She pulled three plates from the cupboard and arranged slices of orange and apple, and half a banana on each plate then contemplated the other half. Her conundrum amused them and they smiled at one another.

"Well ma'am," Ned spoke up, "Unless you're going to eat it, throw it on Brett's plate, the boy could eat a horse." Maisey spun quickly, banana held at the ready to defend herself. "Easy there gal," he raised his hands as Brett turned on the main light, "I'm Ned, and it's been a damn long while since I had breakfast cooked by a female, I'm more inclined to take a plate and my coffee if that's what you intended all that food for."

"Sorry," Maisey flushed, and set back to plating the food. "I figured if the coffee was nearly done brewing you had to be getting up soon and I couldn't sleep anymore." She slid an omelette onto each plate with sausages she'd found thawed in the fridge.

"Thank you." Ned told her and grabbed two plates, "Now you sit yourself down gal and eat, you must be starving after missing so many meals!"

Ned was not much larger than Brett: muscled and lean and easily as tall. His dark hair was graying and his eyes the same bright green. He sat on the wooden chair that had been painted white at one point but had seen better days. The table was round and three chairs were more worn than the forth but all showed signs of regular usage. She wondered if his wife had been a stickler for having the furniture repainted or if the wear and tear had been normal. In a city like Vancouver it was uncommon for anyone to wear anything out, everything was considered disposable so when it started to show signs of wear it was tossed out or dropped off at a thrift store. She looked around at the kitchen now that the light was on and saw it was all well used: cupboard doors were missing paint, and in need of a serious washing, and what she could see of the windows was filthy with layers of dirt and dust. Despite the dirt and dust and the obvious wear she could see how charming it was and useful. Two ovens were mounted side by side next to the microwave in a spot where you wouldn't have to bend over to put items in and out of them. The microwave was held shut with a broken stick. The stove top was thick with grease—though she'd noticed that when she'd been cooking—and the floor hadn't been properly washed and waxed, there were paths worn in the laminate where it was obvious they walked or stood often.

"I need to go out in the field with Ned," Brett told her, "I'll leave you my cell number and Anna's but service is pretty spotty up here. Will you be okay to stay in the house alone while we're gone?"

Maisey nodded, feeling like a child but understanding his concern and appreciating it. Having the numbers was reassuring even though all she intended on doing was sitting on the porch swing and reading a book. "We should be back in around noon for lunch then I'll be in the barns this afternoon if you need company you could tag along."

Maisey wrinkled her nose, getting a chuckle out of both men, "Don't get me wrong," she laughed, "I've spent my fair share of time in a barn, but I am unfortunately allergic to so much to do with farm and ranch life it's depressing." She laughed harder at the twin looks of pity on their faces, "It's really alright," she told them, "I've tried my hand at milking and shoveling and watched the calving and branding, fed the cows and chickens and pigs and even slaughtered a few. I'm not missing out."

Ned raised an eye, "You don't look like a rancher's daughter," he said bluntly.

"Farmer's daughter," she corrected. "My dad was a herdsman for a dairy farm almost my entire childhood. He had to give it up when I was a teenager after he was hurt on the job. He's an engineer now."

"Pity," Ned snorted, "There's not enough ranchers and farmers anymore."

Brett took his uncle's empty plate, "Come on Ned, let's go get it done before we run out of daylight." He winked at Maisey, "Thanks for breakfast, but don't overdo yourself today, Anna will skin me." He scribbled two numbers on a scrap of paper and added it to the growing pile on the fridge.

She nodded and watched the two men go about their routines while she sat holding the last of her glass of milk. Maisey finished her glass, stacked the breakfast dishes together and with one last pained look at the kitchen decided to explore the rest of the house. Each of the rooms looked much the same: quaint, feminine but with a lot of dust, dried mud—or she hoped it was mud—and furniture that looked used instead of like it was brand new. All the doors stood open on the main floor except for one: she decided not to open it in case there was a reason it was closed and made a mental note to ask Brett. The house was rustic and exactly like she expected to find a house full of men on a ranch. She found bits of rope and sharpening tools in the living room and a horse bridle hanging off the top of a china cabinet in the dining room. The furniture there was in better repair but the table was covered in towels as a way to protect it and various tools.

She slipped back into her room and picked a book off the shelf that she'd never read before and made her way to the porch. She noticed a cushion and throw blanket had been added to the wooden swing and was grateful to whomever left it. She settled into reading while she waited for the men to come in for lunch.

Anna called to check on her around ten thirty and promised to stop by the next day. She put her book away, brought her knees up and rested her head on her knees. The view was beautiful though she wondered what the fenced square was to the left of where she sat.

In the far distance she could see mountains but everything between looked flat, as flat as she'd always heard and remembered from her few childhood trips. There were structures she could barely make out in one direction and trees in another, but nothing was distinct or definitive. She could hear the rumble of an engine somewhere distant and hear animals moving around.

She'd missed the peace of country life, she realized as she turned back to her book.

Boots on the porch woke her with a start, the book dropped to the ground, a quick glance in the direction of the noise told her it was not Brett or his uncle and she found herself glancing quickly at the phone that was still lodged in her lap: it was 12:37. She wondered if Brett and Ned had come for lunch and gone already, letting her sleep or if they were still on their way in.

"Well hello there ma'am," the man's voice had a definite country drawl. "And who might you be?"

Maisey fumbled for her book and wished she'd thought to program Brett's number in her phone that morning. Her insides twisted but she forced herself to be friendly, like she had when she met Brett. "No one you need to concern yourself with," she responded, "Can I help you?"

The man gave her a funny look, his green eyes narrowed as he looked her over, "Lippy, ain'tcha?" he asked leaning on a rail post.

"Pert, my therapist tells me," she retorted, fighting waves of panic, "Either tell me what you need or move on."

He laughed and Maisey froze, it was the same barked laugh that Brett had. He pulled off the dark cowboy hat he work pulled down over his face and wiped his forehead on his sleeve, "I'm Ned Junior," he told her matter-of-factly, "Who might you be and why are you sittin' on my Pa's porch?"

"She's my guest," Brett's baritone responded, much to Maisey's relief, "She's staying for a while. What brings you by Junior?"

"Maybe I'll have to come visit Pa more often," Junior responded and Maisey felt disgusted by his once over.

"She's spoken for," Brett growled, moving to stand between Junior and Maisey, "I'll break your fool arms if you try anything."

Junior scoffed, "Where's Pa?" he changed the subject.

"He'll be along shortly," Brett retorted, "He's putting fuel in his quad."

Junior nodded and the three of them shared awkward silence for a minute, "I should make lunch," Maisey stood.

"I'll help you," Brett said and followed her. He watched her open the fridge, "We usually just have a sandwhich or leftovers unless its winter, then we usually stick stew or chili in the crockpot."

"Thank you," Maisey said softly, "I feel like I'm saying that a lot lately."

"Don't mention it," Brett told her, "Junior's an ass." Loud voices came from the porch and Brett indicated she should stay put before bolting out the back door. "That's enough Junior!" he snarled loudly, "You'll speak to your father with respect!"

"He's being a fool!" Junior snapped, "I've got a buyer who wants the entire property and will pay double what it's worth!"

Maisey felt a wall shake and knew Brett had slammed his cousin against it, the fear in her gut continued to grow, "How many times does he have to tell you that he won't sell Junior? Not for twice or three times its worth!" His tone was menacing, "I aughta knock you into next week, but I don't want to sully myself."