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Authors: D Jordan Redhawk
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bed and shoved her feet into her boots, not lacing them. She paused long enough to stretch her full height with a light groan before heading down the stairs. At the door, she grabbed a light jacket from a peg. Opening the door, she stepped outside.
The air was crisp and cool. She trembled as a light breeze caressed her bare legs. Stepping off the porch, she made her way to the outhouse, the path familiar after years of travel. When she returned from her nature call, she stood silent on the landing, listening. It did not sound like Lainey had risen, and Scotch wondered if she should venture into the woman's space to roust her. She hung her jacket up, and continued down the steps. She would wait until the coffee was done. If Lainey was a morning sourpuss, it would be better to have some sort of offering to appease any ill humor.
Scotch had laid wood in the stove the night before to save time. Now she lit scraps of paper and kindling with a match, watching until she was positive the wood had caught flame. While the stove heated, she measured coffee into the percolator's basket. She pushed on the lever until water spouted from the pump and filled the coffee pot. Once it was full, she continued pumping to fill a couple of water jugs. One she poured into a large pan, and set both it and the percolator on the stove to heat. The kitchen warmed, and Scotch began to feel drowsiness return. She yawned and scrubbed at her face. Testing the pan of water, it was just hot enough for her purposes. She cast a glance at the ceiling, assessing her chances. It still did not sound like her visitor had awakened. Decided, she transferred half of the heated water into a large bowl, returning the pan to the stove. She pulled a washcloth and towel from a cabinet, and grabbed the soap from the sink. A quick sponge bath would wake her right up.
Lainey drowsed, half awake. She heard movement below her, and vaguely wondered what Scotch was doing. Her curiosity was not enough to force her to rise. Instead, she wandered the halls of her mind, memories and fancies mixing and melding with the sounds and smells from the kitchen. Scotch laughed at a joke, her face lighting up until she glowed like copper, her lips curled in invitation, her eyes beckoning Lainey to cross the kitchen table, the other people there disappearing. Lainey felt free to experience what she desired, stood, leaned across the green laminate, their lips nearing, breath mingling. What was that smell?
She became more conscious, the dream dissipating, intrigued by what her nose was telling her. Coffee. Definitely coffee. And something else. She finally moved, rolling onto her back and inhaling to identify what it was. Soap. Yes, that was it. Pleased with her deductive abilities, she drifted a little longer.
A frown crossed her face as her body reminded her how much coffee she had imbibed the night before. What had Scotch said? There was an outhouse around here, somewhere. Groaning, Lainey rolled into a ball and covered her head with a pillow. The sun teased from behind the curtain, but she did not feel rested. She did not want to get out of her toasty bed. She toyed with the idea of introducing chamber pots to Scotch, though the thought of leaving her bed for even that was not appealing.
Lainey uncovered her head. Was it early or late? It had to be late, else why was Scotch making coffee? And she thought she had heard an alarm clock. Or was that part of a dream? Her bladder became insistent, washing away any other considerations. Partially reluctant, partially in a hurry, Lainey tossed off her quilt and jumped to her feet. She rubbed her bare upper arms, resolving to sleep in her long johns instead of t-shirt and shorts as she jammed her feet into her boots. She barely registered Scotch's empty bed as she passed through, intent on relieving her demanding bodily functions.
Outside, Lainey cursed. She had forgotten to grab a sweatshirt. Shivering almost set her bladder to release
The air was crisp and cool. She trembled as a light breeze caressed her bare legs. Stepping off the porch, she made her way to the outhouse, the path familiar after years of travel. When she returned from her nature call, she stood silent on the landing, listening. It did not sound like Lainey had risen, and Scotch wondered if she should venture into the woman's space to roust her. She hung her jacket up, and continued down the steps. She would wait until the coffee was done. If Lainey was a morning sourpuss, it would be better to have some sort of offering to appease any ill humor.
Scotch had laid wood in the stove the night before to save time. Now she lit scraps of paper and kindling with a match, watching until she was positive the wood had caught flame. While the stove heated, she measured coffee into the percolator's basket. She pushed on the lever until water spouted from the pump and filled the coffee pot. Once it was full, she continued pumping to fill a couple of water jugs. One she poured into a large pan, and set both it and the percolator on the stove to heat. The kitchen warmed, and Scotch began to feel drowsiness return. She yawned and scrubbed at her face. Testing the pan of water, it was just hot enough for her purposes. She cast a glance at the ceiling, assessing her chances. It still did not sound like her visitor had awakened. Decided, she transferred half of the heated water into a large bowl, returning the pan to the stove. She pulled a washcloth and towel from a cabinet, and grabbed the soap from the sink. A quick sponge bath would wake her right up.
Lainey drowsed, half awake. She heard movement below her, and vaguely wondered what Scotch was doing. Her curiosity was not enough to force her to rise. Instead, she wandered the halls of her mind, memories and fancies mixing and melding with the sounds and smells from the kitchen. Scotch laughed at a joke, her face lighting up until she glowed like copper, her lips curled in invitation, her eyes beckoning Lainey to cross the kitchen table, the other people there disappearing. Lainey felt free to experience what she desired, stood, leaned across the green laminate, their lips nearing, breath mingling. What was that smell?
She became more conscious, the dream dissipating, intrigued by what her nose was telling her. Coffee. Definitely coffee. And something else. She finally moved, rolling onto her back and inhaling to identify what it was. Soap. Yes, that was it. Pleased with her deductive abilities, she drifted a little longer.
A frown crossed her face as her body reminded her how much coffee she had imbibed the night before. What had Scotch said? There was an outhouse around here, somewhere. Groaning, Lainey rolled into a ball and covered her head with a pillow. The sun teased from behind the curtain, but she did not feel rested. She did not want to get out of her toasty bed. She toyed with the idea of introducing chamber pots to Scotch, though the thought of leaving her bed for even that was not appealing.
Lainey uncovered her head. Was it early or late? It had to be late, else why was Scotch making coffee? And she thought she had heard an alarm clock. Or was that part of a dream? Her bladder became insistent, washing away any other considerations. Partially reluctant, partially in a hurry, Lainey tossed off her quilt and jumped to her feet. She rubbed her bare upper arms, resolving to sleep in her long johns instead of t-shirt and shorts as she jammed her feet into her boots. She barely registered Scotch's empty bed as she passed through, intent on relieving her demanding bodily functions.
Outside, Lainey cursed. She had forgotten to grab a sweatshirt. Shivering almost set her bladder to release
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