Page 12 of Big Trouble

We made cookies together. Chocolate chip with oatmeal. I told Winnie I thought oatmeal was gross, but she asked me to trust her and told me that trying new things is an act of bravery. She said if I truly didn’t like them after giving them an honest try, we would make regular chocolate chip ones another day. But I tried them and she was right, they’re yummy.

Daddy loved them too. He made yummy noises and told me they were the best cookies he’d ever eaten. That had made Winnie’s cheeks pink. She looks really pretty when her cheeks are pink.

Love,

Clementine

chapter

six

Official Rules for Wind from the East Nanny Service

Rule #5: Clients will provide a safe work environment for their nannies.

Brody’s take away: If Winnie screams in the middle of the night, I’m gonna run in there to protect her.

Brody

One of the things I’ve always loved about the ranch is that it’s quiet.

After living for years in the spotlight of professional football and going from stadium to stadium and practice to practice, I craved solace.

The quietness that I’d grown up with here in Big Wood, Tennessee.

Clementine had been asleep for a good hour, the night sounds of the ranch—crickets, the distant creak of the barn roof, the occasional horse snort, and those infernal chickens cooing and clucking—filling the dark. Peaceful. Predictable.

Until the scream.

A blood-curdling shriek echoed down the hallway. Something between a banshee and a chainsaw. Then a series of loud thuds.

I drop the political thriller I’ve been reading and run from my bedroom. My bare feet pad on the wood floors as I head toward Clementine’s room. I stop in the middle of my trek when I realize the commotion is coming from above me, in the guest bathroom.

I climb the stairs, two at a time, and carefully step into Winnie’s bedroom. I don’t want to intrude on her privacy, but I also don’t want her to be murdered inside my house.

Another series of thumps comes, more squeals, and some interesting curses.

“Die you hairy mothertrucker!” Pound, pound, pound.

“Winnie?” I knock on the closed bathroom door.

Another bang. Then her panicked voice: “I’m in my underwear!”

“Okay. But are you okay? What is all the screaming and banging?”

“There’s a spider in the bathtub, and he’s roughly the size of a small dog. I refuse to share a shower with him!” Thud. Squeal. “Do you have like a flame thrower?” she asks.

I suppress my smile because I refuse to be entertained by this woman when I need her out of my house.

There’s another muffled whack and a very unconvincing whimper.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—” I turn the knob, and surprisingly find the door unlocked. She hadn’t even thought to barricade herself. I push my way into the bathroom, then freeze.

There, standing half on the toilet, half on the edge of the bathtub, is my nanny. Wearing only a flesh colored bra and a pair of panties decorated with hot dogs. She’s wielding a broom like some sort of weapon.

Her skin is flushed, and her strawberry blonde hair is twisted on top of her head. She peers at me from over her shoulder.

“Stare at my ass later, big guy, this spider is about to eat me.”