“After you take that ugly-ass chair out, I’ll help drag out this smelly couch.”
Celia was so damn determined he didn’t bother reminding her about her injured ribs. After he returned inside from dumping the chair, he tossed her a pair of gloves.
“Am I on the front end or the back end?” she asked.
“The front end bears more weight, so it looks like you’re the caboose.”
Cheeky woman shook her ass at him and added a husky “Aye, aye, captain.”
Kyle lifted his end. When Celia had hers raised, he tilted it slightly to fit through the doorway. The couch wasn’t heavy, but the damn thing stank to high heaven and he held his breath until he was out in the fresh air. “Set it down.” He maneuvered it around the porch post. “All right. Let’s take it slow.”
Celia picked up her end and everything was going great. They’d made it to the driveway when she suddenly screamed bloody murder. She screamed like he’d never heard outside a horror flick. Then she dropped her end of the couch, which put him off balance. He lost his grip and the couch hit the ground with a loud crash.
He glanced at Celia, hopping from foot to foot as she smacked her palms on her head, her shoulders, and her stomach like she was slapping mosquitoes, shrieking, “Get them off, get them off, get them OFF!”
“Get what off? Spiders?”
“No. Mice! They skittered out when the couch tipped! They ran up my arms. They were in my f**king hair!” Celia kept beating on herself until he grabbed her hands.
“Stop. You’re hurting yourself. They’re gone.”
“No, they’re not. I can still feel them! They scrambled up my arms with their scratchy little mice feet and their furry bodies and their wormy tails slithering across my skin.” She shuddered so hard he feared she’d gone into some kind of convulsions.
Kyle pulled her into his arms to try to get her calmed down. And to keep his laughter hidden because in her panic-stricken frame of mind she’d rack him if she heard it.
She finally stopped shaking. She buried her face in his neck and breathed deep. “I hate mice.”
“I know you do, baby.”
“That whole f**king couch was a mouse hotel. And graveyard. That’s why it smelled so bad. It was filled with dead mice.”
“Hey, now. It’s out of the house.”
She sniffed. “I probably smell like mouse piss.”
“No. You don’t.”
“I probably have mouse shit in my hair.”
“I haven’t seen any. I promise.”
One last shuddering breath and she stepped back.
His cell phone rang. He glanced at the number. “Cele, it’s the lawyer.”
“Take it. I’m fine.”
Kyle ambled down the driveway, half listening to the lawyer while keeping an eye on his wife, who seemed…too calm in the aftermath of her hysteria.
Celia glared at the offending couch. Suddenly her body seized up. She threw her arms in the air, shouted, “That’s the last f**king straw!” and stomped up the porch, disappearing into the garage.
What the hell?
Celia returned. Holding a gas can.
Oh. This wasn’t good.
“Bill, I’ll have to call you back.” He hung up and approached her very, very cautiously. “Celia? Sweetheart? What are you doin’?”
She was muttering to herself as she emptied the entire can of gas all over the couch.
No. She wouldn’t.
Kyle watched, his mouth hanging open, as Celia yelled, “Fry, motherfuckers!” and then lit a crumpled piece of newspaper and tossed it on the gasoline-soaked couch.
A ball of fire shot into the air.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
She’d set the couch on fire.
In the front yard.
Maybe his kitten wasn’t as tamed as he’d thought.
And yeah, maybe he was just a little afraid of her.
Celia turned around and beamed at him. “Will you keep an eye on this while I shower?”
“Ah. Sure, honey, no problem.”
Kyle was still watching the flaming couch when Josh’s rig pulled up.
Josh stood next to Kyle without saying a word.
Finally Kyle said, “She really hated the couch.”
“I guess.” Josh pointed to the easy chair teetering on a snowbank. “Is that one next?”
“No. I’m afraid she’ll use it as target practice.”
Josh laughed. “So besides your flambéed furniture, how are things goin’?”
“Besides the shit ton to do around here?”
“Ready to sell yet?”
“Ask me next month.” Kyle sighed. “In the interest of keeping the fire danger down, will you come inside and help me remove the bed from our room?”
“Why? Is she planning to roast marshmallows and weenies on it later tonight?”
“Funny.”
“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it off your hands.”
Kyle wondered if Ronna would have the same objections to a used bed that Celia did. “What do you plan on doin’ with it?”
“Putting it in the barn so I’ve got a place to crash during calving.”
“It’s yours.”
The couch was mostly cinders, but they covered the smoking remains with snow anyway before they went inside and dealt with the old mattress.
Right after they’d loaded it into Josh’s truck, Celia bounded down the steps in her long black duster, looking as fresh and pretty as a spring flower.