Wrangled Mess Page 2

  When he pulled out a squirmy little pink and grey piggy I almost crashed into him anxious to get a better look. “Oh my God!!! Look at his little piggy nose!!” I took the little piglet that’s swimming through the air like he’s in a marathon.

  “He’s a mini pot bellied piglet. He’ll get to be about eight pounds, give or take a couple pounds. He needs to eat salad, but he’ll want to eat everything. Can you handle some potty training? I haven’t had a chance to work with him past his shots.”

  “How old is he?”

  “I’m guessing a few months, more than three, less than a year. I’ll take some pictures and ask Stan. He’s better with the farm type animals than I am.” His voice isn’t deep, but it does have a warmth to it I like. Reminds me of warm brandy.

  I hugged the little piggy body to my neck and looked up at Wrangler, “He’s so freaking cute!!!”

  A low chuckle escaped from somewhere deep in his throat as he struggled to suppress a smile. “He’s going to need watching closely. You’ll want to put him in his case while you’re at work, or he’ll get into everything.”

  “I work from home. He’s had his shots?” I asked wanting to sound like the responsible piggy mommy.

  “Yes ma’am. He’s got a bed and blankets, some vitamins, and a little dry kibble I picked up you can give him. I hate to drop him and run, but we’re swamped tonight. Here.” He set a business card on the table behind the sofa. “This is my private line. Call me if you need anything, doesn’t matter what time of day or night. I’ll bring the cookie container back tomorrow for more.”

  “More? You want more cookies?” I followed him to the front door again.

  He turned around on the welcome mat and tipped his hat, “As long as you keep filling it, I’ll keep emptying it. Goodnight ma’am.”

  Piggy and I watched as he backed out of my driveway and pulled away with just a flash of his brake lights at the stop sign.

  I turned the front porch light off and locked the door behind me before heading to the kitchen. Under the bright lighting of the kitchen I held up the cutest little pig on earth. His little snout is sniffing the air as he looks back at me like “When do we eat lady?” I love him already.

  “You are just the cutest little bit of bacon I’ve ever seen!! I just want to eat you up! I hugged him again. “Bacon Bits. Don’t tell anyone I named you that. We’ll call you Bits for short. Nobody will ever know.” I lied then took him outside to see if he’d potty in my small patch of shallow grass.

  From then on Bits stuck to me like a little drunk shadow. My floors are either tile, or hard wood, way too slick for clumsy little hooves. Towels don’t work. Within seconds he learned to turn them into cotton snow sleds and began running from the one large throw rug to the other at full tilt, smashing his little piglet butt into the wall. He bounced off countless tables and chairs.

  I don’t know how many times I had to get up to rescue him from eminent danger, like the flower pot he tried to crawl into, but almost toppled instead, or the towel he got himself so tangled up in he couldn’t get out, then started squealing for help at the top of his tiny baby lungs.

  He’s an adorable menace. I’m starting to think he’s part cat with the agility he’s displaying. I thought feeding him might make him sleepy, so I fed him a nice little salad from my kitchen, and some of his kibble.

  That threw him into warp speed. Now I have a fat happy piglet training for NASCAR tearing through my house having himself a blast. He doesn’t seem to care that it takes him ten times the effort to try and run around a corner as it would if he’d just walk.

  I finally couldn’t take it anymore and took him outside where he could run on concrete and grass. I had to show him the edge of the pool so he knew where not to run. He fell in twice anyway. He’s cute, but he’s not very bright.

  On our way outside I’d picked up Wrangler’s business card in case I needed to make an emergency call to him regarding Bits. I can’t believe I named him Bacon Bits. I know, it’s wrong, but he’s just a little bit of a pig!

  Speaking of Bits, he hopped up on my lap, did a full circle, plopped down, and promptly began to snore. I’d been watching him from the patio sectional.

  “Runout of gas little buddy?” I pulled the blanket that’s covering my feet up to cover him little body.

  When I was sure Bits was warm enough to linger outside for a while longer, I picked up Wrangler’s card again. I want to call it, let him know how Bits is doing, but I know I shouldn’t.

  I don’t need anything. Bits is fine. It’s late. Almost ten. Then there’s Jackson. We’re supposed to be a couple, but I’m not feeling it right now. I should be wanting to call him, tell him about my day. About Bits.

  The idea doesn’t appeal to me nearly as much as calling Wrangler to tell him about the last couple hours of my day with the piglet he left behind. Would he be mad that I called? Would he even talk to me? Or just ‘uh-huh’ me until I took the hint and said goodbye.

  I decided to put his number in my phone instead. Save it for later. Why is my finger is shaking?? What is wrong with me?? I’m acting like a fifteen year old girl on her first date.

  Oops. I hit the number by accident starting the call. I quickly hit End, hoping to God I’d caught it in time before it went through. Shit shit shit.

  My phone rang two seconds later from his number. I answered with an apology and excuse ready, “I’m sorry. I was just putting your number in my phone and tapped the wrong icon dialing you by accident.”

  “Too bad. I was hoping you’d call with some lame story about the piglet just to hear my voice.” He sounds relaxed. Is that The Doobie Brothers in the background? There’s something about a man that likes classic rock that comforts me. Strange.

  I blushed, despite being alone, “The idea crossed my mind.”

  “Good. How is the little guy?”

  “Good. I had to take him outside to run some energy off because he kept crashing into my walls. I guess I need to invest in some throw rugs he can’t use as sleds.”

  “What’s he doing now?”

  “Sleeping on my lap. I was trying to watch a movie, but he was more entertaining. You know he fell in the pool twice??”

  There’s that low chuckle again, “He’ll smarten up as he gets older. I had a couple growing up. You said earlier you work from home? Did you mean the catering business? Or do you do something else?”

  “You sound like you already know the answer to that question.”

  “I’d rather hear it from you Cookie.”

  “Celeste.” I corrected. “Dr. Celeste Skye, and before you laugh at the name, my mother is to blame.” It’s an old rhyme my sister and I came up with years ago. If he laughs I’ll know he’s a fellow nerd deep down.

  “I prefer Cookie. Are you a doctor of poetry my funny little Cookie?” Yup, he’s a nerd. Great. Now I’m crushing on him.

  “No, that’s the only poem I’ve ever written, and even that masterpiece took the help of my sister Aurora.”

  “If you tell me her middle name is Borealis I’m going to have to ask where to get the weed your mom smokes.”

  I laughed hard enough to disturb Bits. He settled back down when I did. “Sorry Bits.” I rubbed his back and scratched his ears. “Actually it’s Bee, because mom couldn’t spell Borealis.”

  “What’s your middle name?”

  “Are you ready for this?”

  “Not until you opened the door this morning.”

  “What?”

  “Your middle name. What is it?”

  “Oh, it’s Summer.”

  “Celeste Summer Skye?”

  “Actually it’s Celestial Summer Skye. I changed it to Celeste when I was about ten, it’s a lot easier to say.”

  “Hm. I like it. My mother will too. She likes all that spiritual sky stuff.”

  “You talk like I�
�m going to meet her.”

  “You will, eventually. Ow, shit.” He sounded like he was sucking on his thumb.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Hanging drywall.”

  “Why are you hanging drywall?”

  “Because the walls are bare.”

  “Ha ha. Where are you hanging drywall on bare walls?”

  “My house. I bought it to fix up and flip for some extra cash to buy a bigger building for my company. We need a larger interior space, at least three hundred more square feet, and a good acre of land. Right now I have about a third of that.”

  “Sounds like a solid plan.”

  “Seemed that way at the time. Back to our previous topic, do you operate the radio show from your house there? Or do you go to an office?”

  “I converted a guest room and den into a studio. The den is the sound room for my crew. The guest room is my where I put my office and studio.”

  “Is your house one of the models?”

  “It is. I’m not very good with decorating, so when they offered me a deal on a furnished model, I bought the whole shebang.”

  “Shebang? Is that a real word?”

  “I have no idea.” I can’t believe we’re having a real conversation!!! This is so cool!! What am I fifteen?? Maybe, for just one night…

  “What hours do you lock yourself away in the studio?”

  “Noon to four, Monday through Friday.”

  “Oh good, we can do breakfast. I’ll cook. Eight sound good?”

  Huh? What? “Breakfast?”

  “Yeah, you know, the food you eat first thing in the morning. Derived from the words break and fast.”

  “I know what it means you goofball.” I laughed interrupting him.

  “Eight it is.”

  “No, wait. Wrangler, I’m seeing someone.”

  The line went quiet long enough I thought he’d disconnected.

  “Wrangler?”

  “I’m here. How serious is it?”

  “I, uh… wasn’t prepared to answer that question tonight.”

  “Be prepared to answer it in the morning. I’ll be there at eight. Good night Cookie.” He disconnected this time, hanging up on me.

  Being hung up on should have made me mad, but instead I found myself more bothered by the way the conversation ended. He was happy when I called, but not happy by the end of the call. Why do I feel so bad??

  2

  Jackson lives closer to downtown Phoenix, in a new condo, that looks like a giant sail made of mirrors. I know they did this on purpose, but it’s almost as hideous as the giant bedpan they built for the poor Cardinals out in Glendale. The team sucks bad enough as it is, do you need to make them play in a giant toilet??

  As per our routine he called me at seven to catch up during his commute. “Good morning. How was family day?” His voice irritates me suddenly.

  “Good. We had a snake in the shed. I had to call a guy to come out and get it.”

  After a short pause he replied sounding annoyed. “See? This is why you should move to the city. We don’t have poisonous snakes over here.”

  “I like my view.” I argued wishing this call was over so I could get ready for my breakfast date.

  “And I don’t want to drive forty miles to work every day. I also don’t want to have this same old argument with you this morning. There’s a big meeting… .” I tuned out. Big meeting, blah blah blah about blah blah blah.

  My mind wandered to Wrangler. This is just wrong. I can’t be thinking about a man like him! Tall, broad shouldered, long legs. Oh wait, long legs means tall. God he’s tall. I feel like a little forest nymph compared to him.

  “Celeste! Are you listening??” Jackson’s voice cut through like a dull jagged knife.

  “No. Sorry. I’m going to have to call you tonight. Someone is at the door. Bye Jackson.” I hung up on him.

  How oddly liberating. Is that why Wrangler hung up on me last night? Had I irritated him with my talk about Jackson to the point he felt the need to hang up on me?

  Men. Big tall, dark, sexy, hat wearing, men. I wonder if he’ll wear the hat to breakfast. I wonder if he’ll take it off. I wonder what he looks like without it shading his eyes. Those eyes. Those silver eyes I could easily find myself lost in for long periods of time.

  Stop thinking about him!! I scolded myself.

  I left the front door unlocked as usual. My neighbor, Denise, comes over for coffee and muffins almost every morning. I used to try to keep up with her schedule, but she’s got three kids. Now I just leave the door unlocked. If she shows up, great, if not, I enjoy a peaceful morning without her crazy stories.

  Not this morning. “Bits!! Get out of there!!” He’s ass deep in a trashcan that was in the cabinet under the sink.

  He backed his little piglet truck up with wags and wiggles, that made me laugh too hard to sound convincing with my disciplines. His snout is covered in mayonnaise from one of the salads, or maybe a half eaten burger. Who knows.

  I shooed him back, “Bad Bacon Bits!! You stay out of the garbage!” I began scooping scattered garbage back in the can while trying to fight off a stubborn hungry piglet. “Stop! Bad Bits! Get out of here! Oh you’re a mess!!”

  Just then large working mans hands appeared and scooped up the messy piglet. “I guess I should have warned your mother what a menace you little pigs can be.”

  “He just ate!! Can you put him in the sink please? Now he needs a bath.” I complained shoving the trash bucket back under the sink.

  “I think the shower is a better idea. Do you have some old towels to use on him?”

  “Not really, just use the ones that are in there.” I got a quick glance at his butt before he left with Bits. Nice. I bet you could bounce a quarter off it.

  Once the floor and the piglet were clean Wrangler began unpacking grocery bags and hunting down pans in the kitchen. I showed him the basics before taking my fresh cup of coffee to the other side of the bar to watch.

  He grabbed his hat and slid it across the bar to me. “Hang that on the back of your chair.” I watched him fix his hair into a neater ponytail. He caught me with those incredible silver eyes, “What?”

  “Nothing.” I looked away long enough to hang his hat.

  “You were staring.”

  “I’m not used to being on this side of my kitchen.”

  “The boyfriend doesn’t cook for you?”

  “No, ‘the boyfriend’ doesn’t cook. He prefers restaurants to home cooking.”

  “Which do you prefer?”

  “I’m the home barbecue kind of girl. I like screaming kids, family yelling at each other, either in argument or over some crazy story. I live for days like yesterday.” I didn’t realize how true that statement was until I said it out loud. I also know what I need to do about Jackson now.

  “Do you want a large family of your own?” Wrangler’s warm voice brought me back to the present.

  I shrugged. All these personal questions with someone I barely know should be more unnerving, but I like talking to him. Wrangler doesn’t look like the kind of guy people spend hours chatting it up with.

  “That’s a yes. What’s Jackson say?”

  “Maybe in a few years. Typical guy, he wants to wait.”

  “Is that what turns you on? A typical guy?”

  “You’re fishing.”

  “I am. You don’t look happy Cookie. Not today. Yesterday you had a sparkle in your eyes. A confident shine I found impossible to resist. This morning you’re still beautiful, but your luster is gone. It’s gone from your voice too. What happened since we spoke last night?”

  I looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, “Are you spying on me?”

  “No. Why would I do that?”

  “How did you know something happened?”

  “I
didn’t, you just confirmed it. I suspected something happened because you aren’t glowing. Something stole your sparkle. Was it Jerry?”

  “Jerry? You mean Jackson?”

  “Whatever. Am I right? Was it Jason?” He started cracking eggs into a pan.

  “Fine. You’re right. What are you? Some kind of Native American psychic?”

  “One quarter Cherokee, and no, I’m not a psychic, but I do have impeccable instincts. Right now my instincts are telling me something is bothering you. Here.” He slid me a bowl of fruit he’d been washing and slicing while we talked.

  I picked up a strawberry and turned it over in my fingers. “Cherokee. That’s pretty cool.”

  “Stop avoiding the question. What did Jason do to piss you off this morning?”

  I sneered playfully at him, “Jackson.”

  He motioned for me to continue. Obviously he’s not going to bother remembering the guy’s name.

  “He didn’t really do anything. I guess I just woke up in a mood. I was up half the night worried about that little brat.” I pointed to the floor where Bits waited for me to pick him up. He’s a cuddly little guy. I scooped him up and fed him some of the fruit Wrangler had prepared for me.

  “What did you name him?” He looked up from the sausages he’s placing in the pan.

  “Bits.” I said biting my lip and looking to a little wiggly snout for distraction.

  “Bits. What does that mean?”

  “Like bacon bits. He’s just a little bit of piggy. A bacon bit.” I pouted trying not to look as guilty as I feel. Maybe I understand my mother’s pension for strange names after all.

  “You named a miniature pot-bellied pig, Bacon Bits??”

  I tried not to laugh, “Who me?? I would never do that. Would I Bits? Nooo. You’d have to be sick in the head to name a little piglet Bacon Bits!!” I wiggled his nose while he sniffed for more grapes.

  “I can’t begin to tell you how wrong that is.” He slid his phone across the counter landing it almost under my nose.

  I look down and see it’’s calling ‘Ma’. “Wrangler!! What are you doing???”