Ogreness, Black Lake-book5

Chapter 24
~

A cousin, maybe fourth removed, closer to Ezra’s clan, gave me a come-hither wave from the veranda as Nuel and I neared the Inn. She weaved her way through the crowd, leaned over the rail.

We exchanged a brief nice-to-see-ya, how-are-the-younglings before she pointed at the long pier that wanders seventy-five yards into the Lake. “Yar folk are here. Last I saw ’em they were headin’ to find a place to sit in the shade yonder.”

“Folk?” I asked.

“Yar mama and papa,” she clarified.

Heat flashed across my face. My throat may have tightened, just a tiny bit.

“What?” Nuel whispered.

Maybe the emotion snuck out on my face with the heat storm. I thanked my cousin and maybe stumbled a couple steps, unsure whether to run and hide, or act a little suicidal, and search for my parents.

“What?” Nuel repeated.

I sighed, and studied my feet for a moment. “Not good news for my papa to be here durin’ council.” He says to be myself, but that’s hard when he’s loomin’. The bull’s bigger than life.

“Why?”

“He isn’t much for talkin’.”

“Meaning what?” Nuel pressed.

“He’s, uh, a doer. Not above crackin’ a few heads when he’s ticked off.”

“That sweet old bull?” Nuel whispered. “He’s an incurable flirt, worst case. I know ya’re exaggerating.”

Yeah, the flirty-side, that’s why Darshee and Wizper love ’im. He treats them like his grandkids. A side of him he puts on like a favorite leather vest. Makes him a stranger to me. I may not even be his real youngling. Never been a DNA test, to my knowledge.

“Well,” Nuel said. “Let’s go find ’em.”

Was certain I was at least conflicted. My fingers were dancin’ across my sore cheek, without me meanin’ to do that. Papa here durin’ council, Mama when I’m surrounded by three gorgelicious hens she’d love to see me wooin’—not all at the same time.

Nuel grinned wide. “Ya’ll have to explain the double shiner, that’s for sure.”

I let out a youngling whimper. Nuel chuckled and thread her arm through mine and turned me toward the boardwalk, and the pier. Besides shakin’ my hand, had we ever touched before?

The folks weren’t hard to find, midway out. A passel of Range friends surrounded ’em. Mama blew me a kiss and quickly returned her attention to the folk she gossiped with. Papa eyed me severely for a three-count, before replyin’ to the bull he jawed with.

I walked Nuel to a bench, to give the folks time to divorce themselves from the catchin’ up. The breeze off the Lake enacted a chain reaction of shivers across my forearms, over my throat and cheeks.

This was as bad as sittin’ outside the principal’s office, waitin’ for the sensation of the swat board to warm up my backside.

“Ya look like ya’re waitin’ for a judge to announce yar innocence or guilt,” Nuel said.

I told her there was no reason for her to hang around. “Darshee and Wizper may be in the dining room.”

“Or some bar flirting with a handsome troll,” she said.

They had mentioned doin’ some hang glidin’. They might not be back from the cliffs. Wherever they are, I wouldn’t mind being with ’em.

“Ya can take off if ya’d like,” I tried again.

She smiled. I took note she had sat close enough to me on the bench our hips now touched. Didn’t disgust me or anything—just noticed. That’s all. She didn’t act disgusted either, which is new.

Some of the elders turned and walked our way, so I hurried to stand and greet them, tortured Nuel by introducin’ her, though she acted excited to meet more of her Range foes. Since she seemed to be holdin’ her own, I slipped away and strode up to Mama and Papa. Mama was givin’ a hen a partin’ hug, who turned around and planted a heavy, tusked kiss into my cheek, grinnin’ wide over my shiner, I think.

“I didn’t raise any bull to be fightin’ in bars,” Papa rumbled. “How’s the other guy look?”

Uh. There was no good way to answer that.

“Ya look cute with that puffy eye,” Mama said. “Purple suits ya.”

That all but changed my diaper.

“Ya warmin’ to that delightful hen?” Mama’s eyes were all over Nuel, twenty-five feet away visitin’ with the clan folk.

“Mama,” I drawled.

Her broad hand raised. I twitched just a tad, but instead of bashin’ me aside the head lovingly, she caressed the lesser bruised cheek.

“Understand he was some NFL mucky muck,” Papa said.

“She sure is a handsome hen.” Mama’s eyes twinkled a little. May have just been the afternoon light. “Where are those other two trouble makers?”

“A lot of folk are tryin’ out my phone number lately,” Papa mumbled.

“Ya could do a lot worse, than one of those three,” Mama said.

I might as well keep my mouth shut. They rarely say anything to me I ever need to respond to anyway.

“Rumor about yar plan to gut OI is already out and has the OI-15s gettin’ oiled and loaded,” Papa said.

“So are ya leanin’ toward one or the other?” Mama asked. “Ya could do worse.”

“Are ya crazy?” Papa whispered. “Splittin’ up OI? Yar great, great grandpa Ike is rollin’ in his grave.”

When Papa slides into Ogreish, he’s not foolin’ around.

Mama placed the flat of her hand against Papa’s broad chest. “Can ya at least greet him first, dear?”

“Fine.” He stepped toward me and extended his giant hand.

On the inside I groaned. He’d break bones. But I couldn’t get around the handshake. I grabbed his paw. Mama hissed at him to be kind. But knuckles still popped, about three times each, includin’ the wrist and elbow.

Bliar son of Klow is a well-built ogre. Doesn’t look like a bull who would be a successful entrepreneur. A head taller than me. Chest and shoulders of a troll. Should get that DNA test. Would it break his heart to prove Mama strayed on him?

Mama raised her hands in the air, interest elsewhere, Nuel, who’d found herself free from besiegement, strode toward her with her arms out. The poor Northern hen would be gettin’ a warm Southern greetin’ includin’ a tusk plunged deep into her jaw. I grimaced for Nuel, since she couldn’t rightly do it herself, being under Mama’s eye.

Maybe Mama was gentle on her, because when they separated, Nuel’s eyes weren’t welled up.

“Split up OI. Really?” Papa said. “She’s an attractive hen.”

“She loves ya too,” I whispered.

Papa’s lip on the right side traveled up his tusk. “What’s there not to love. I’m adorable.”

“Compared to what?” I asked.

“A five-week-old kitten,” Papa said.

Kittens love Papa. “Maybe an evil, zombie orc.”

“Yar brother says ya can hide out on the ranch, if ya need to when things go bad.” He was stickin’ with Ogreish. There was a bit of turmoil there.

“The council took it surprisingly well,” I said.

“Ya better fill me in. I’ll get on the phone. We have to get ahead of this.” He’d dropped the Range accent. He strode away from me though, arms wide to give Nuel a hug.

The greetin’ was efficient before he told Nuel to take care of Mama, since he had work to do, “with my youngling.”

Nuel shot me a smirk.

Papa dragged me past them as she and Mama chatted.

“Ya’ll have a lifetime to spend with her,” Papa grumbled.

“I’m not wooin’ her, Papa.”

“Why arncha? Ya a fool or something? Gorgeous to look at. Smells sweet. Just an ornery enough edge to make her interesting. Educated. Wide hips. Provide grandyounglings. Which yar mama needs. Those idjit siblings of yars haven’t pumped ’em out like we hoped. She hoped.”

I guess my sister’s seven weren’t enough. “Retirement is ruinin’ ya.”

“Of course if this one isn’t right, I could put up with Darshee or Wizper. They’re funny as all get out. Ya have plenty in common with both of them.”

“Ya came here because—” I said.

“I’ve always been good at multitaskin’.” Papa finally stopped propellin’ me down the pier. “But now that ya’ve brought it up, give me the skinny on this ignernt plan ya have.”

“Isn’t ignernt,” I grumbled.

“It’s yar plan, so it’s prolly half-baked.”

“Ya get up on the wrong side of yar walker this morning?” I asked.

He shot me a glance. His lower lip wrinkled as he hid the smile. “Ya do any probin’ yet on whether the companies ya want to absorb are interested?”

“Very subtly.”

“How subtly?” he pressed.

“On the basketball court after swearin’ secrecy.”

“Means the world knows more than any ogre at OI,” he said.

“Prolly,” I said. “But the interestin’ thing is not one peep has hit the business journals.”

He nodded. “Don’t expect me to participate on that fool committee ya idjits funded this afternoon.”

I shook my head. “Did ya have a microphone on us?”

“I recruited and hired most of those attorneys,” he said. “All highest in their class, I might add. May yet feel some loyalty to me.”

That figgered. “I don’t want ya on the committee. Need folk with patience, people skills, who have a few brain cells that light up, and that lets ya off the hook.”

“Ya got that right.”

We’d made the boardwalk and he propelled me left. I followed without askin’. Ten seconds later he pushed me into the old art studio. He only waved to the proprietor without slowin’ down, pushin’ me up the stairs for the offices above. I wouldn’t have guessed this would be his favorite place to conspire and collude.

I’d never been in the twenty-foot ceilinged office he herded me into and closed the door. The archin’, multi-paned window facin’ the Lake looked original, with yellowed glass smeared in age, as though veneered in frost. The view was still amazing.

We sat in overstuffed leather wingbacks that faced the view more than each other. Seemed as though we should have held lit cigars and a brandy sniffer, though I wouldn’t dare puff on a cigar. Disgustin’ habit. And I’ve never known an ogre to consider brandy as a thing, but the up-style, country charm of the place promoted the vision.

“Talk,” Papa said.

~ Nuel ~

I watched the two bulls stroll up the boardwalk, wishing I could go with them, be privy to their conversation, but Ike’s mama held me tight against her, as though she knew if I broke free I’d be embarrassing myself in front of papa and youngling, who needed some time together.

Trying to smile to the hen, my lungs expanded. They were getting away. That conversation, that’s what I came to the Range for.

~