Cyrus: Swamp Heads by Esther E. Schmidt Page A

empty house, some new stuff to put in it and the ability to put my feet up, relax and think things over.
    I need this; getting back to my roots. Ever since I smashed my goal of becoming a millionaire before I turned thirty, I kinda feel lost. Dagnammit , I’ve just turned twenty-four and I’m whining because I’ve got tons and tons of money in the bank. To be honest… I never thought I’d live up to that dream and now I feel like there’s nothing more to do. Like I said… I need to get back to my roots. Gotta figure out what I want in life.
    For the second time today I plant my shoes in ankle deep mud. The moment I slam my car door out of frustration, I look up to see if anyone is on the porch. Yeah, I really don’t want anyone else shooting rounds at me.
    An angry female voice floats from the house. “Get your ass in that rocking chair, Pa. You know you need to stay the hell out of my way when I’m cleaning. And why did you let the chickens inside. How many times do I need to tell you they shit all over the place?”
    An old guy stumbles out of the door. He’s wearing a dirty union suit that’s half open and hiking boots that he didn’t even bother to tie. Even his beard looks dirty, like he’s been eating beans and didn’t bother to wipe it off. For like a week. That’s effin disgusting.
    The minute the broom smacks his ass the old man spins around with two chickens flying out on each side of him, I see her. I am in awe. Ropes of dirty blond hair tumble out from underneath a cap, making it hard to see her face. But that body… Smoking. A great set of tits wrapped in a red and black lumberjack shirt with a knot tied to show off a smooth belly I’d like to lick right down to the…
    How the hell is she allowed to walk around in that shit? Her cutoffs can’t even be called shorts ‘cause if you’d say shorts… the damn things would disappear. That’s how effin short and high up her effin long legs they are.
    I brace my hand on my car to keep me upright. Grounded. I need to catch my breath or otherwise I’ll have my tongue on my effin shoes, lapping dirt. While all I want is to lap that sweet pussy and…
    “Cyrus. Close your damn yapper man… Bertie will kick you in the balls if you look at her like that. I ain’t shitting you. She doesn’t allow it, not from anyone.” Leave it to my brother to set me straight and drag me out of my lust filled moment. And…doesn’t allow it? What the hell is that all about?
    “Too late now…” My brother uses a low sing song voice.
    Turning, I see the hot chick stalking right up to me, raising the broom like she wants to hit me in the head with it. Stepping forward, I deflect; grab her wrist and spin her around. Crushing her tightly against my chest.
    My eyes sweep over the side of her face and see it’s jagged with scars. Leaning in, I brush my mouth over the angry red skin. She freezes the moment she feels the touch. Her breath hitches.
    Angling closer to her ear, I whisper. “Gonna have to do better than that, Ma Poupée. ”
    I feel the change in her body when I breathe out that little term of endearment at the end. I let her go and step back. She spins on her heel, eyes blazing.
    “I am not your doll. And if you ever…” She steps closer to me and grabs my shirt in her tiny fist to drag me closer to her face.
    “ Ever , touch me again, I’ll cut you up and feed you to Nana. You might be high cotton and all that, but rest assured, that means nothing down here.”
    Leaning in some more so I’m just a breath away from her lips. “Didn’t your pa tell ya to never underestimate your opponent, Ma Poupée ? I was born a few miles from here, so I know everything… apart from you. With you throwing a challenge on the table, I gladly accept.”
    The grunt or scream that slips from her mouth is adorable. Yeah. She might chase others away with her hard shell, but that stuff just draws me in all the more.
    “Get off my property. Right. Freaking.