The dog thumped his tail against the ground, sending up puffs of dust.
Luca leaned the shovel against the edge of the partition and unwound the leash from his grip. “You better not try to bite me again.”
Thunder boomed, followed by an explosion of wings erupting from the rafters. Luca whirled, catching the leg of his jeans on the end of the shovel. His ass hit the ground, and Buster yelped while fleeing from the barn. Feathers and dirt rained from the flock of pigeons retreating out a hole in the roof.
“Damn it.” Tufts of down floated to the ground around Luca. He shoved himself to his feet.
Buster continued to shrink in the distance in his mad run toward home.
Luca knocked the dust out of his hair. “Stupid dog.” At least it saved him a trip down the road.
He picked up the shovel and returned it to the nail on his way out, then made his way up the hill where he stopped at the back door. Luca flapped his shirt, shaking loose bits of straw and old shavings sticking to his clothes before going in.
He hung the makeshift leash back on the peg.
Tomorrow he’d call Mr. Oaks and see if the elderly man could fix his fence. Or at least put up a pen to keep Buster in when he let him out. Mr. Oaks had kids and grandkids: surely one or a couple would help him rig something up. Luca would have offered but most days he did well to take care of himself and the few chores needed to keep the house livable.
He pushed the back door shut and parted the curtain on the window. The sky churned with green clouds cut with gray, rushing in nightfall. Tree limbs tapped the back side of the house, and fat rain droplets met their fate against the kitchen window.
The rattle of the tin roof followed Luca into the living room. If the weather worsened, he might be spending the night in the cellar.
Luca grabbed the remote off the coffee table, turned on the TV, and plopped down on the couch. After a few commercials, the news came on. Most of it was the usual recap on the week’s worth of violence in both the US and overseas: countries torn apart, people displaced, prejudice, hate, poverty, suffering.
Why couldn’t people just let one another live? Why couldn’t they see how precious life was? How quick it could disappear.
How…?
A warm breeze tossed up sheets of paper with his medical bills on the end table and flicked his bangs. Luca turned.
The back door swung wide hitting the counter with a gentle thump. Wind tugged at the curtains and bits of hay tumbled across the floor. Luca left the remote on the sofa and walked back into the kitchen. The next gust caught the screen door and slung it into the side of the house. Luca grabbed it before it could smack the wall again, and latched it shut.
He closed the kitchen door. He turned the lock.
The ice maker clattered, and he startled. It shut off, leaving behind the voices on the TV. The newsman announced the upcoming weather report, and Luca headed back into the living room.
Movement blurred in his periphery.
The man wore no clothes and bits of straw stuck in his dark hair. A scar cut across the bridge of his nose, and the shadow of a beard almost hid a second scar on his chin. He tangled his hands in Luca’s shirt, cinching the fabric around his chest.
Luca slammed his fist into the guy’s jaw, sending a bone-sharp ache up his arm. He didn’t think the man had felt it until he opened his grip. Luca hit the floor, and kicked himself backward, tennis shoes squeaking against the hardwood.
The stranger lumbered, following Luca’s desperate retreat. With every step the man took, the muscles running down his thick arms and powerful thighs rippled with valleys.
Luca hit the wall with his shoulders and scrambled to stand. The stranger fell forward, planting his knees on either side of Luca’s legs, forcing him to the ground, pinning him in place with the weight of his body.
The man put his hand on Luca’s throat, and he bit back the scream trying to claw out of his chest.
Hard eyes burned into Luca, and spit flecked the stranger’s bottom lip with every hiss of air he pushed from between his clenched teeth.
Sweat dripped down Luca’s temple. Air burned in and out of his lungs.
The stranger’s furious gaze softened, and his thick eyebrows formed a vee above his slightly crooked nose. He skirted his fingertips to Luca’s jaw, tracing a line to his cheek, then the shell of his ears. Tattooed on the inside of his wrist were the letters N O X.
“Luca.” Even in a whisper, his voice was deep.
“How do you know my name?” Luca had never seen this guy. Yet the distinct air of familiarity surrounded him. Not like Luca had met him before, but rather he’d known him his entire life.
The stranger touched Luca’s lips.