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She’d had her hands on his belt buckle, clearly intent on getting his clothes off him. And he wondered if she would’ve gotten down to her knees in front of him if he would’ve let it go on for just a little bit longer.
Wondered if she would have...
He was standing in front of her kid.
And he had just told himself that it was a good thing that nothing had come of that.
A good thing that it had stopped.
It just didn’t feel very good, when he felt irritable, and still really wanted her.
“Yeah. But I wanted to go out in the snow anyway.”
“Because you like the snow.”
“Yes,” Benny said, continuing to speak to Brody as if he was thick.
“I bet you like Christmas too.”
“That’s another thing that everybody likes,” Benny said with authority.
Brody lifted one eyebrow. “I assure you, they do not.”
He stopped in front of the woodpile and grabbed the axe that was leaning up against the side of the shed. “Okay. We’ve got some logs to split.”
“Can I use the axe?” The kid was keen and eager.
“No. Because your mom will kill me. Probably with the axe. And I don’t want to go down like that.” Not without seeing her naked first.
“She wouldn’t really kill you.” Benny sounded confident in this. But you could never really know your parents.
“I think you might underestimate her.”
“What can I do?” Benny asked, practically hopping in place.
“You can bring me new logs, and then when I split them, grab the split pieces and put them over in the bed of the truck.”
“Okay,” Benny said, gamely running over to the woodpile and grabbing a piece of wood, hefting it in his little arms as best he could.
Brody grabbed hold of it with one hand, set it up on end on top of a big stump, and put an awl at the center of the top wedging it in a natural split in the madrone. Then he lifted the axe and brought it down swiftly, sending the two pieces of wood flying opposite directions.
“Wow,” said Benny.
He was not used to garnering admiration for a simple ranching skill. Kids really were a trip.
“More,” he said, gesturing toward the woodpile, and Benny scurried into action. He chuckled when the kid picked the next biggest piece of wood he could find and brought it over with great effort. And he relieved him of it with one hand yet again.
They continued on like this, him cutting wood, Benny collecting the pieces and putting them into the truck.
It was an old, borderline rusted-out pickup truck that they used for carting around less desirable things, things that you wouldn’t want rattling around in your nicer truck. They always left the keys in it. If somebody wanted to steal it, they were welcome to it.
Finally, they had a neat pile, and it was a quick drive up to the cabin.
“You want to ride in the back?”
“Yeah,” Benny said enthusiastically, climbing up on the tailgate.
“Here,” he said. “Sit on the toolbox right up against the window.”
