Hazard and Somerset Gregory Ashe (the little red hen ebook txt) 📖

eyes were just as googly. The snoopy old bat looked like she might have an aneurysm she was so excited.

“Enjoying the fucking show?” Hazard shouted.

Her googly eyes got even bigger, and she latched onto the porch rail. A bulldozer couldn’t have gotten her back inside now.

“John!” Hazard shouted, kicking the door once, barefoot, and barely avoiding breaking his toes. Then he hopped in a circle, massaging his aching, frozen foot, swearing a stream of fucks as long as the Bible.

He shoved his feet into the moccasins. He dragged on the winter coat. He started around the side of the house, passing the garage. This was his house too. This was his fucking house too. And that meant he knew this house, knew all the ways in and out, knew it better, maybe, than Somers did.

The back window in the living room had a broken latch. Jiggle it, work it gently, and it would slide right up. Hazard was already picturing what he was going to do once he got inside. What he was going to say, hell, he knew what he was going to say. But what he was going to fucking do, that was the part he was really enjoying. He’d been threatening to give Somers a red ass for a year now. Maybe it was time to deliver.

He wasn’t entirely sure about that, he had to admit, but he enjoyed picturing it anyway. It helped him forget about the cold.

When he got to the window, he let out every fuck, shit, hell, and damn he had left.

Somers had braced a length of wood across the inside of the window. Broken jamb or not, wiggle or jiggle or try as Hazard might, there was no way he was getting the window up now. On the glass, Somers had taped a note with his bold, blocky letters: Nice try.

Hazard caught his watery reflection in the glass; daylight ran out early now, and it was almost dark, but he could still see the craziness, the sheer goddamn insanity, in his own eyes. And seeing it just poured fuel on the fire.

He went back to the garage. He got a ladder. The window in Evie’s room. It didn’t have a broken latch; Hazard didn’t care. He was going to kick the goddamn thing in, and then they could deal with it later. Evie’s room made the most sense for a broken window; she was staying with Cora, it was at one end of the house, and it would be easy to close off and insulate until they could get the glass repaired. Hazard felt a chilly satisfaction at his own logic under the blaze running across the top of his thoughts.

When the ladder was settled against the edge of the room, Hazard climbed. He picked his way onto the asphalt shingles, distributing his weight as best he could, and squirreled his way over to the dormer window.

This time, he screamed. Not a howl. Not a roar. Just a downright, fuck-it-all, man-at-the-end-of-his-rope scream. He managed to cut it off after a heartbeat, but it was too late. It had already gotten out.

Across the street, Mrs. Kasperick made a very appreciative noise. She probably had hot cocoa. She’d probably popped popcorn.

This note said: Don’t you dare break this window.

III

NOVEMBER 21

WEDNESDAY

5:08 PM

AS HAZARD CAME DOWN THE LADDER, Noah Harmon was pulling into his driveway next door. Noah and Rebeca had, in spite of their large brood of children, somehow developed an immediate rapport with Hazard and Somers. Somers loved both Noah and Rebeca. Hazard, he was slightly ashamed to admit, liked both of them. A lot. And as he dropped onto the brittle winter grass, he felt his cheeks heat.

Noah was staring as he brought the car to a stop.

“It’s fine,” Hazard said as Noah opened the car door. “Everything’s fine.”

Noah, tall and usually goofy, nodded slowly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hazard said. “Just go inside.”

“Sure. I mean, if you’re sure.”

“He’s locked out,” Mrs. Kasperick called. “John-Henry locked him out.”

“No,” Hazard said. “Not really.”

“Sure,” Noah said.

They stood there. Noah adjusted his coat, ran the zipper up, looked everywhere but at Hazard.

“You can just go—” Hazard couldn’t even finish it. He couldn’t stand sounding like such an idiot again.

“Yeah,” Noah said, nodding slowly again. He bounced his keys. “Mind helping me take the groceries in?”

Hazard almost cried; instead, he helped Noah unload the groceries and carry them into the house next door.

“Hi, Emery,” Rebeca said, looking up from a pile of books; she was obviously working on something, her research or her next article. “Where’s John-Henry?”

Noah gave a quick shake of his head. “We’re just going to unload the groceries.”

“Oh,” Rebeca said, her gaze ping-ponging. “Oh. Ok.”

They unloaded the groceries. Kids ran through the room, most of them stopping to hug Hazard and then dart off again. Hazard thought he counted twelve.

“Since you’re here,” Noah said, drawing out two beers, “maybe you want to sit down for a minute.”

Five minutes later, in the relative quiet of the dining room, Hazard had told the whole thing.

“Uh,” Noah said. “Maybe we should google this.”

Groaning, Hazard buried his face in his hands.

“No, no,” Noah said, patting Hazard’s shoulder. “That’s what the internet is for.”

“The internet is for pornography, bitcoin transactions, and pictures of cats,” Hazard said.

“No, I promise. We’re going to get some good advice. Look, here, ‘Ten Things to Make Your Man Happy.’ Let me just—oh, ok. Maybe not—I mean, you don’t even have that body part to shave, but I guess you could adapt it and—”

“What do you do?”

“What?”

“When Rebeca’s mad and you have absolutely no fu—”

A trio of children shrieked through the room.”

“No idea why she’s mad at you. What do you do?”

“She’s never mad at me.”

“You’re useless.”

“I’m the perfect husband. I’m an ideal physical specimen. I’m handy. I’m an excellent listener.”

“I’ll just ask Rebeca.”

“God, no.” Noah latched onto his arm. “Please.”

“Well?”

“I don’t know.”

Sighing, Hazard tried to disentangle himself from Noah’s grip.

“Fine,” Noah said, dragging him back into the seat. “I just tell her whatever