Ridge Creek (32 page)

Intriguing. 

Curiosity fills me as I hear him rattling around with his
keys again before he opens and closes the sliding door with a soft thud.  As I
wait for him to invite me in, I gaze around his backyard and note that Jake is
not a gardening man either.  There is no formal backyard apart from the gravel
path leading to the shed.  The trees loom close to the house from both the left
and right sides.  The expanse cleared between the two buildings is sparsely
vegetated with dead, brown native grasses and plants and the area is littered
with leaves and twigs.  Jakes backyard fits my normal profile of him far better
than the house does.

I am not waiting long before I hear Jake cursing loudly from
somewhere behind me.  “Holy shit man.  That’s one of my favorites.  How the
fuck did you know?  You had a whole fuckin’ box full to pick from and you went
the Winnings.  Jesus fucking Christ man, it’s fuckin’ drowned.”

Torn between doing as I have been told (staying put) and
turning to find out who Jake is talking to, I fight the urge to turn around. 
Realizing that it is unlikely he would be talking to another adult in such a
tone, I start to wonder if he has a child in there.

Oh my God.

Jake has a kid?

How did I not see this coming?  I knew he had a wife but no
one ever mentioned children.  Visions of a smaller version of Jake leap to my
mind.  They are only there for a brief second before reality seeps in and I
realize there is no way Jake would have left a small child on its own in his
shed.  Especially not out the back of his house and for any length of time. 

Is there?

Surely not.  Jake’s nature is to take care of people, not
abandon or abuse them.  Unless the child was old enough to be out the back on
his own?  If that’s the case, then Jake became a father as a teenager. 

Holy shit.

I hear Jake muttering again;  not so loudly this time. 
“Just give it over man and I’ll let her in.  Man, let – the – fuck – go.”

With my curiosity piqued, I decide I can’t wait any
longer.   Ignoring Jake’s orders to wait, I turn and grab the handle to the
sliding door, whipping it open before he gets the chance to stop me.  As the
door slides smoothly open, I catch movement to my right and see that Jake is
far too preoccupied to notice my failure to follow orders. 

Bent over with his fine, jeans covered ass pointed in the
air, Jake is battling (and clearly losing) a game of tug-of-war with a big,
wrinkly, fawn colored puppy.  The huge baby has a black boxing glove in its
mouth and he’s leaning back on his feet, growling softly as he thoroughly
enjoys the impromptu game with his huge human friend.  The scene is rather
David and Goliath but it’s plain to see that David is
winning.

“Man, give it the fuck up,” Jake grumbles again, exasperated
with his futile efforts to get the puppy to let go.  “I’ll trade you a bone, a
shoe, or even a fuckin’ cat.  Whatever it is you wanna chew and drool on, it’s
yours.  Just give me back my
favorite
sparring glove.”

“Oh my God!” I squeal in delight as my eyes lock on the
massive puppy.  “A baby Dogue De Bordeaux!  You have a baby Dog De Bordeaux!”

Both Jake and the puppy startle before stopping their
tug-of-war.  Jake lets go of the glove, stands, turns and destroys me with a
huge shit eating grin.  The puppy drops the glove, plops to his butt, pricks
his ears and cocks his head to one side as he stares up at me with a cheeky
look on his face.

“I don’t have a baby Dog De Bordeaux, you have a baby Dog De
Bordeaux,” Jake announces before the grin slides from his face to be replaced
by a look of annoyance.  “But you won’t have a baby Dog De Bordeaux long if the
little fucker doesn’t give up my glove.  Those gloves cost me a bomb and he’s
destroying the leather with ungodly quantities of drool.”

A huge smile cracks my face as I watch the gorgeous little
creature staring up at me.  Jake’s glove is now forgotten.  “He’s already forgotten
about the glove,” I announce as I drop to my knees, my eyes not leaving the
little guys face.  Is it a boy?”

“Yeah, he was nine weeks old yesterday,” Jake announces as
he turns and quickly snatches the glove from the floor in front of the puppy. 
The puppy ignores him, his eyes locked on mine.  His eyes are a pale brown
color that almost match his coat.

I grin at him as I start patting my hands on my thighs,
“Come on, come cuddle mummy.”  The little guy does not hesitate.  With a look
of pure joy at having found another human to play with, he leaps up, slamming
awkwardly into Jake’s leg.  Jake grunts and the puppy nearly falls over before
quickly recovering his balance and trajectory and bounding towards me.  Without
hesitation, he launches into my lap.

I too grunt as ten kilograms of wriggling puppy starts going
berserk in my lap.  His tongue lashes out at warp speed to connect with
anything within reach.  Chuckling at his sheer enthusiasm, I gently dig my
fingers into his soft, loose skin and start rubbing.  The extra attention
injects the wriggling mass with another infusion of happy and he redoubles his
efforts at wiggling and licking before suddenly launching from my lap to run
back across the room and bounce excitedly at Jakes feet. 

Jake stares down at him, his eyes dark and his brows stern
as he wipes wet, slimy, puppy drool from his boxing glove onto his jeans leg. 
“Gross man.  You’re a slobber machine.”

Oblivious to Jake’s disgust, the puppy starts sidling
joyfully against his legs, his tail slapping at a fast beat as his tongue sets
about drowning Jakes leg.  “He’s gorgeous!” I announce excitedly.  “Does he
have a name?”

“His paperwork has some long-assed French name on it but the
lady said to just call them whatever you want.”

I stare fascinated at the gorgeous little guy as he
continues to molest Jakes leg.  Tapping my hands on my lap again, I instantly
know what his name will be.  “Pierre, come here boy.  Come on Pierre.”

“Pierre?” Jake grunts and screws his face up at me.  “How
the fuck did you come up with that name so quick?  What about Tank or Hooch
like on the movie?  Something a bit more manly considering he’s gunna weigh
about eighty kilo’s when he grows up and be the size of a small horse.”

I grin happily at Jake for a few moments before Pierre
distracts me as he spins and bounces back to start smashing himself against me
again.  His whole body is abuzz with excitement.  “He’s French so his name has
to be Pierre,” I inform Jake as I try to grab either side of Pierre’s face to
look in his eyes.  An impossible mission as he throws himself about joyfully. 

Jake shakes his head but I don’t miss the small twitch at
the side of his lips before he turns to stride across the room and pick up
another boxing glove from the floor.  Realizing that Jake is on the move,
Pierre wriggles from between my hands and barrels off after him.

Jake heads for a boot-box near the side of the room.  As he
does, I take the time to look around and see the interior of his shed is fully
lined and decorated in similar colors to the main house.  We are inside a large
main room, but I can see a hallway off to a side that leads to more doors and
rooms at the back of the building.

This main room has a decorated timber bar in one corner. 
There is, of course, Harley memorabilia everywhere around and on the bar.   The
bar is flanked by half a dozen stools and there is a flat screen television
mounted on the wall nearby.  This shed is clearly the ultimate ‘men’s shed’.

The rest of the room is littered with gym equipment.  Lots
of gym equipment.  There is a treadmill, a cross trainer and a very modern
looking exercise bike.  There is a four-station home gym setup to one of the
side of the room.  On another side there is a bench press and a squat rack.  
There are two different sized boxing bags hanging in another area, as well as
two speed balls.  One of the speed balls hangs from a large exposed beam
jutting out from a wall and the other suspends between the roof and the floor
by tie-downs.  There is also a sparring mat near the center of the room.

I look back to Jake as he tosses the gloves in the
boot-box.  Bending down to rummage around, he straightens with an old red glove
in his hand.  Tossing the glove to the puppy he announces, “Here, slobber on a
dirty old Everlast.  Kill that one and you can have its partner.”

Pierre doesn’t hesitate to pounce on the glove with joy. 
Picking it up in his mouth, he lifts his head high to keep it clear of the
ground as he trots happily over to a doggie bed that Jake has set up near the
bar.  Climbing in, the puppy circles a few times before flopping down.  Letting
go of the glove, he sighs, rests his head on the glove and seems content to
just keep an eye on both Jake and I.  He looks tired.

“He wears out quick,” I comment as Jake shuts the lid on the
box to keep Pierre away from his precious gloves.  “Yeah, the woman said they
have short spurts of energy.  Seemingly they pour so much energy into growing
big they don’t have a lot spare to be too active for long.”

“That has to be a plus doesn’t it?” I murmur as I look back
to Pierre.

“Something has to balance out the enormous amounts of
fuckin’ drool they produce.  You should have seen the woman’s house.  She had
three of the big bastards living inside with her and she carried a towel with her
everywhere she went to wipe up the abundant streaks of slimy drool hanging off
her furniture.  I nearly left your fuckin’ puppy there and drove away.”

“Oh no!  It can’t have been
that
bad,” I cry as I
climb back to my feet.

“No shit.  It was worse.  You know I’m not the tidiest
person but fuck me, even I felt like grabbing a towel to help clean up.”

“Oh dear,” I mumble as I wander over to inspect Jake’s bar. 
“I suppose this means that he can’t come in your house?”

“No, it means that you have your work cut out for you
cleaning up behind the bloody thing as it tries to drown everything it comes in
contact with.  The dog is supposed to be a guard dog in training.  He stays
with you at all times.  Where you go, he goes.  Get used to it and start
carrying baby wipes and a towel or whatever shit you need to clean the fuck up
after him.”

I grin as I run my hand along the polished timber bar before
walking behind it to inspect the array of bottles lining the shelves.  I’ve
just been ordered to take care of and clean up after a puppy and I couldn’t be
happier. 

“Thank you for buying me a puppy,” I murmur as my eyes
settle on some shot glasses.  “Wanna celebrate?”

I do.

Even though less than half an hour ago I once again thought
my life was over, somehow Jake has made it a lot better.  Again.  I’ve wanted a
dog all of my life.  Tony would never let me get one.  I’ve had my new puppy
all of five minutes and I already know there is no way I want to give him up. 
I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep him and me safe.  Until he grows up, at
which point I assume he will be able to look after himself.

“Fuck yeah,” Jake rumbles as he follows me over to the bar. 
Settling himself onto a stool, he grins up at me.  “Are you gunna play barmaid
for me?”

Sliding my eyes sideways as I reach for two shot glasses, I
cock my head slightly and grin back.  “If you want me to.”

Jakes eyes darken as his grin fades to a smirk.  He stares
at my eyes for a beat or two before his gaze wanders slowly along the length of
my body.   His eyebrow ring lifts as he leans forward to drop his elbows on the
bar.  At the same time, his eyes come to rest on a point at my back where my
t-shirt has lifted above the hem of my denim shorts.  “Hell yeah.  Any chance
of a topless barmaid?”

“Every chance,” I murmur as I return my attention to the
shot glasses.  Lining four glasses along the bar, I reach up high to grab a
bottle of Bookers bourbon that caught my eye earlier.  Stopping midstretch to
glance back at Jake I see his eyes have moved and are now pinned on the small
piece of bare stomach now revealed.

I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been smoking pot, or
whether it’s because of my latest emotional breakdown, but the sight of his
dark green eyes pinned on my stomach sends a shiver down my spine.  I feel goose
bumps jump on my arms and it’s as if all my hair is standing on end.  He licks
his lips slowly continuing to stare.  My goose bumps vanish as a hot flush
courses through my body and I swear the temperature in the room has risen by
five degrees.

Holy shit.

Turned on.  Much.

Dropping my arm back down I smirk as I realize what I am
about to do.  Something I have most definitely
never
done before. 
Before I have a chance to change my mind, I grab the hem of my shirt and rip it
over the top of my head.  Tossing the shirt behind me, I glance back at Jake to
see both of his eyebrows have now lifted and he looks amused.  Giving him a
wink, I turn back and reach for the bottle of bourbon.

“Nice,” Jake murmurs softly as his eyes lock on my pale blue
lace bra. 

Surprised by my own lack of self-consciousness, I struggle
to ignore him as I focus on the job of pouring drinks.  Placing the bottle on
the bar with a resounding thud, I bend down to look under the bar for a bottle
pourer.  Hearing Jake hiss, I grin to myself and decide to throw a butt wiggle
into the show.

“Should have bought you the fuckin’ dog earlier,” Jake
mumbles as his eyes move to lock on my breasts hanging loosely right before his
eyes.

Finding a pourer, I wink at him again as I straighten
again.  His eyes remain locked on my chest.  Another chill spirals down my
spine and I feel my core muscles clench tight.  I think I am enjoying this
almost as much as he is.

Screwing the lid off the bourbon bottle, I push the pourer
into the spout and quickly set about pouring four shots.  Thudding the bottle
back down on the bar, I slide two shots across to sit directly in front of
Jake.  His eyes release their lock on my breasts to move lazily to his drinks. 
He smiles softly as he reaches out, lifts a glass and throws back his first
shot.  Swallowing slowly, he slams the empty glass back on the bar.