Page 23 of Claimed By Ruin

I stood, grabbed his shoulder, feeling much too much like Jack. “No, there wasn’t.”

The screen door opened and slammed closed, much quieter now. It seemed that when he wasn’t wrecking the tiny bit of peace I’d managed to scratch out, Jack found the time to fix the screen door. I’d wanted to myself but had no idea how to do it. But I was way too petty to thank him for it.

“How are things looking this morning?” Miles asked when Jack entered the kitchen.

I didn’t look at him, but I didn’t have to look to know that he was staring at me.

“Quiet. So perfect,” Jack said as he went toward the coffee.

“There’s oatmeal on the stove. And when I come back, you wanna walk the fences with me?” Miles asked.

“You don’t ever sound that excited to walk the fences with me,” I said. I kept my gaze firmly on Miles, trying—failing—to pretend that Jack didn’t exist.

“No offense, Miss Newman,” he said sheepishly.

I chuckled, the sound high, false. “Yeah, guess I know where I stand.”

“Where are you going?” Jack asked.

I risked glancing at him, but only held his gaze for a split second.

“To clean up,” Miles said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I felt his gaze burning into me. “And what is clean up?”

“The dead ones, they sometimes get caught in the traps. We take them out, then burn them.” Miles took a big gulp of water.

My heart twisted, thinking about Miles having to do that. It seemed normal, but hearing him explain it to Jack like he was talking about mowing lawns to save up for his first car ripped at something in me.

“You’re not going,” Jack said.

“What? Miss Newman said, and Lourdes said⁠—”

“Can Jack and I talk, Miles?”

The boy blinked, and I watched understanding dawn on his face. He nodded, then scurried out of the kitchen.

Jack didn’t give him a second glance.

He was too busy glaring at me.

I looked in his general direction. “We’ll be done in a couple of hours and can use a hand with some stuff around the barn later.”

Then, for need of something to do with my hands, I took a bite of the oatmeal. Only after I choked it down did I feel the disgust that so often plagued me.

I took another bite.

Who said spite didn’t have its uses?

“You heard me,” he said.

“Yeah, I did, and I’m ignoring you.” I tilted my head to stare at him.

“I don’t know what the fuck kind of game you think you’re playing⁠—”

“None of this is a game, Jackson,” I said, my voice on edge.

“Then fucking act like it.”