Husband Fur Hire (Bears Fur Hire Book 1) by Joyce T. S

Author:Joyce, T. S. [Joyce, T. S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wicked Willow Press
Published: 2015-10-24T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

The new rooster was going at the morning sun with all he had, squawking and crowing the ugliest sound Elyse had ever heard. That wasn’t what had woken her up, though. It was the smell of bacon and the soft sounds of Ian moving around the house that had dragged her from sleep. The rooster was too late. Elyse was already sitting up in bed glaring at the sunny sunshine that was filtering through the bedroom window. If the sun had a dick, she would kick it.

After hobbling into the bathroom, she washed the horrors of yesterday’s misadventures from her skin, careful to avoid the bandage. She was still too chicken shit to look under it, but when Ian strode wordlessly into her bathroom as she was towel drying her damp hair, it was abundantly clear he didn’t suffer from the same cowardice.

“Sit,” he grunted, jerking his chin toward the edge of the bathtub.

He looked in as foul a mood as she was, and she wasn’t up for a row this morning, so she waited an extra two seconds just to let him know he wasn’t the boss of her, then sat daintily on the edge of the plastic ledge of the tub.

Ian knelt on the floor and lifted her foot onto his thigh, then removed the bandage from her leg as if he’d done so a million times. Gentle and efficient were his hands until, at last, the damage was exposed. Huh. She leaned forward and squinted. It wasn’t that bad. Sure, it would probably leave four thin scars that would silver over time, but even the worst one was sewed tightly closed, and there wasn’t even any redness or swelling around it.

“I thought it would be much worse,” she admitted.

Ian didn’t answer as he poured some kind of cleaning solution over her cuts and, mother fluffer, it felt like he’d poured boiling water onto her injuries. She gritted her teeth, refusing to make a noise. Quick as a whip, he had fresh bandages firmly in place and strode out of the room.

“Are you going to give me the silent treatment forever?” she called.

“Nope.”

His boot prints echoed through the house as he made his way to and out the front door.

She narrowed her eyes at where he’d disappeared, then stood and dressed herself. The echo of the ax blasting into wood on the chopping block was loud. Much louder than the noise she made when she was chopping wood, but one look out the window explained why. It took her several strokes to get through a log. For Ian, it took one.

An overkill breakfast was on the counter in the kitchen, piled high on a plate and covered with a cloth napkin. It was cold, but good, and she ate every bite of it before washing her dish.

At the pump outside, she began to fill the bucket for the chickens’ water dispensers, but Ian, with a saddle slung over his shoulder, jammed a finger at her and said, “I already did it.

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