Laken’s pants were rolled up around his ankles, and I noticed he hadn’t put shoes on, just socks.A man who walks outside in his socks might secretly be an axe murder. Don’t ask me to explain.“Because I’ve done it before?” He didn’t ask, but his arrogant tone did.
I frowned and drew my attention elsewhere—or I tried to, but I couldn’t distract myself enough. “Hey… have you done the market before? Like selling the cream, eggs, and stuff?”
Sky Hollow’s market occurred the first weekend of every month. People from all over came into town; it’d be a couplehours’ ride for us. Everything magical would be sold there. It was one of the biggest sale days for McCarthen’s, if not the biggest.
Laken hummed anmm-hmm. “I went with your father twice.”
Good to know.Because as usual, I hadn’t the slightest clue of how selling at the market worked. I didn’t know where to set up, who to talk to, how much to charge, or even how to get there. The last time I’d gone, I was around seven or eight with my mother, when it was a fun family event.
“You know, if I weren’t mistaken, I’d say you weren’t too fond of milking the goats,” he accused, and despite the fact that he was absolutely right, my jaw dropped. “You know I can do both of them; you don’t have to.”
“I can do this as well as you can, you know. You aren’t anything special around these parts.”
“Oh, really? Is that so?”
“That is so, yes.”
Laken laughed to himself, nodding. He really thought I couldn’t milk a goat, as if it were so hard. Finnigan moved and my hand shifted and, as if the stars said, “To hell with Reece McCarthen,” milk shot into my open, shit-talking mouth.
A warm cream filled my mouth, and my throat locked up as a rush of retching and yelps escaped in a slobbery mumble. Jumping up, my stool shot back, frightening Finnigan enough for her to run in the opposite direction. I didn’t care; not one thought crossed my mind other than to secure the bucket and throw up. Laken wasn’t even there as far as I was concerned.
“You good over there?” he called, and I’d have liked to strangle him. His cheap laugh, the enjoyment in his tone.
Without turning, I said, “Go get Moon.” We needed Laken’s horse to get the milk to the shop. “I’ll be scrubbing my mouth with mint leaves.”
Metal rattled behind me as he presumably gathered the collected milk, followed by the sound of deepened chuckles. “Yes, milady. Be right back.”
Thank the Gods he listened because I might’ve actually tried to strangle him otherwise.
By the time Laken came back with Moon and secured the milk in the cart, my taste buds burned with the taste of mint leaves. Our mint plant sat bare and leafless in the window. The load wasn’t much, but carrying two buckets of milk wasn’t easy with the swooshing and sloshing. The risk of spilling and the inevitable outcome of noodle arms didn’t seem worth the work. Using Moon and the cart felt much easier and came with half the risks.
I didn’t know which was sourer—Finnigan’s tit milk or my attitude.
Riding in the front, sunlight slammed into my skin, and it should’ve made me feel better. It didn’t. Nor did the cool spring breeze, or the scent of wildflowers and honeysuckles in the air.
We dropped the milk off at Oron’s shop, our local lotion and soap maker. He used our milk and essential oils to make the healing cream, taking a percentage of his own, of course. Oron would have it done tomorrow, and Laken agreed topick it up. They knew how this worked; it was routine for them.
I waited outside in the carriage, the taste of goat milk faint in my mouth. If I moved much, I might’ve thrown up. So I waited. And my mind unraveled.
My gut twisted like someone had wrapped rope around it and double knotted. One more load of lotion and we’d be ready for market, one of our last chances to make up our debts.
To tomorrow, I thought.To tomorrow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The jaw-clenching sounds of Laken shuffling through my room forced my eyes open, despite how badly I didn’t want to. But the moment they did, and I saw him already dressed, it hit me—market day. Market day!
Even though I leapt from the bed, Laken insisted on feeding the animals himself because he “can do it faster” and I “take longer to get ready.” Both true, obviously, as I sorted through the dresses in my closet. Though I believed it had more to do with him not being able to sit and rest any longer, silently dying and wishing he could help more. Not that I needed the help, but I knew how he worked. He liked to be the one helping others, not vice versa. Which, in turn, worked perfectly for us because I don’t like asking for help. Ever. I’d rather drown in my own problems.
“Blaze,” I called to the baxlin as my hands flipped hanger to hanger, “I don’t know what to wear.” A woman’s worst nightmare, honestly. Blaze batted his tired eyes. Wanting to look nice and presentable, I decided against the pants because they weren’t exactly in good condition. And since I’d be selling products and marketing, I needed something friendly and maybe even a tad bit flirty, forcing me to leave my dark and edgy corsets in their place.
With the process of elimination, I grabbed a mauve dress and my brown corset embroidered with pink florals—friendly and showed just the right amount of cleavage.
I raced downstairs with energy pulsing through my veins. Laken had already finished feeding the animals and stood at the counter fixing up Blaze’s food and water. He wore a blue vest with metal latches, a white shirt underneath, and his nicer brown pants. Even if you didn’t know him, it was obvious from his build he had a better-than-good physique, one that could kill. And yet, those who did know him knew him as kind and selfless. A paradox, I supposed.
I wouldn’t hate having his hands around my neck every once in a while.
Reece McCarthen, what the ever-loving fuck are you imagining?
