The "Handy" Men
By Lady of Spain and Naked Heat
Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns Twilight. Banner by Lady of Spain
. . . . .
Billy sat in the kitchen, a scowl playing across his face. There were pots and pans lining the surface of the table, and all over the house, as the constant drip from the leaky roof plinked in an erratic rhythm into the receptacles.
His son was awakened in the other room by a pesky stream of water aimed unerringly at his head. How could he sleep with that persistent annoyance, drip, drip, dripping on his nose and chin? Ugh! This was in a real sense, an actual wet dream. Jacob had put off repairing the roof for some time now, but when it interrupted his sleep, that was another matter. He got up, and muttering under his breath, staggered groggily into the kitchen, where he faced yet another annoyance—an unhappy parent.
"Son," Billy started, "I know you've been busy with school and patrolling, but I'm running out of pans. Something's got to be done."
Jacob ran a hand through his black mane and sighed. "Okay, Dad, I'll get right on it after breakfast." He peered up at the ceiling to avoid Billy's accusing glare when another drop trickled down, landing in his eye.
Damn, he didn't have time to repair the leaks, not now—he had other plans for today that included the love of his life, Bella Swan. She'd be here this afternoon. He'd take care of this other concern next Saturday.
Running out into the rain, he grabbed an old tarp from the Taj. That should fix the stupid thing for a little while 'til he could get to doin' it up right. Freakin', leaky roof! He looked around his beloved garage feeling guilty. In the corner sat the boards, tar paper, and shingles for the repairs. Yup, they'd been sitting there for at least a couple of months if not longer.
The storm passed, and Billy, still pretty upset, wheeled up next to Jacob. He wagged a finger in his son's direction, threatening him. "Jacob, this can't go on. If this situation continues, I'll have to get my cousin, Lamar over here. I'd rather give you the money for the carburetor you need, but if the roof doesn't get fixed, it's going to Featherstone Roofing."
Jeez, you won't do that to me, will you? Nah, I can hold you off a little longer. "Dad, I promise—next Saturday."
. . . . .
Bella showed up as scheduled, and she and Jacob cobbled up some lunch. Afterward, Billy retired to his room to take a nap. Ah—alone at last, and Jacob took advantage of it. They were on the sofa not watching a movie, and languorously experimenting with their lips and tongues.
The storm began raging outside the house again, the wind whipping around, and wailing like a banshee. Inside, Bella and Jacob were snug and warm, and getting warmer by the minute.
"Mmn, Jacob," she moaned. "Do that again . . . please?"
His head leaned back, and he smirked at her before returning to his amorous inventions. "What—this?" His nose traveled from her neck up to that instant insanity spot behind her ear.
"Mmmn," she moaned again. "I like that too, but no, what you did before."
That Jacob grin appeared out of nowhere and one eyebrow quirked. "Oh, you mean this?"
He pulled the collar of her shirt aside just a smidge as she threw her head back, exposing more of her throat. Inching up the creamy column with his seductive lips, he was suddenly startled by her gasp. And no, it wasn't from his advances. The tarp had blown off the roof, and the water was seeping through the ceiling, splattering on Bella's upturned face. She sputtered and sat up.
"Holy cow, Jake. I already took a shower today, but if I knew you had added a water feature in your living room, I'd have brought my bathing suit along."
"Sorry," he answered, sheepishly.
Bella stood up, her arms crossed in front of her. Crap, his arms were now empty.
The flames of desire so evident in her eyes previously were now … just plain … flames. "I thought you were supposed to fix your roof months ago."
His head dipped lower, avoiding the chocolate circles that were quickly turning into burning coals. "Well, yeah," he countered, "but I've been really busy—protecting you, I might add."
She pulled on the roots of his hair, lifting his face up so she could read his eyes. "But—nothing … you better get busier and make this house water tight if you expect your hands and mouth to do any more exploring with me on this couch. I'll help you place some pots around to catch all these dribbles, and then, I'm heading out. You can call me when your roof's patched."
Somehow, arranging a bunch of pans to absorb the cascade of rain drops was not what he envisioned when he planned this afternoon, damn it!
There were no more pots left, so they resorted to using some worn out towels to sop up the water, then Bella excused herself. Jacob walked her out to her ancient vehicle, holding an umbrella over her head. He kissed her goodbye sorrowfully, and watched as the truck pulled out into the rain-slicked street and back to Forks.
That did it … He wouldn't last a day without his Bells, so with renewed determination, Jacob made some phone calls. Seth, Quil, Embry and Paul all agreed to be his slaves for tomorrow. He was one person short of a six-pack, but Jared was out of town, and no one wanted Sam there, bossing them around.
. . . . .
His pack brothers arrived at 9:00 A.M. all set to work. Seth and Embry brought a couple of their own hammers with them; Jacob had an old rusty one in his toolbox and his nail gun loaded and ready to attach the shingles. The first order of business was to get the tools and supplies laid out on the roof.
Utter chaos exploded in the Taj as they decided who was gonna bring what. Paul finally picked up a long plank and started out of the garage. Embry was following with another board. Paul swung out at an angle suddenly, nearly taking Embry's head off.
Embry snorted, "Ha, ya missed me."
Jacob shouted to Paul to be careful, that Embry was close behind him. He pivoted the second time, in the other direction. Paul didn't catch what he said with all the noise goin' on, and yelled, "What?"
Ooh—too late—he hit poor Embry squarely on the back of the head, knocking him flat on the ground.
Paul felt the board shake as it connected with the unfortunate victim. He swiveled his head around and noticed Embry lying in the dirt. Acting like nothing had happened, Paul callously remarked, "What the hell are you doin', laying there? Get up, man, we gotta get this show on the road. I've got a date tonight. I don't want to be here all freakin'day. Sh**, do I have to do everything around here?"
Too stunned to answer, Embry sat up, shaking his head, to clear away the stars that had appeared momentarily. He rubbed the lump emerging on his head. It was throbbing painfully. Quil helped him stand, and Embry picked up the plywood board, carrying it over to the saw horse that Jacob set up earlier beside the house. Paul had already deposited his there, and ran back to the garage for some shingles. Seth was there chatting continuously as he worked, annoying Paul to no end.
Huffing in irritation, Paul spouted, "Seth—shut it, okay? You're getting on my last nerve. Just grab a pack of shingles, and keep your trap closed."
His brow furrowing, Seth picked up some shingles and slung them over his shoulder. "I don't know why my talking should get you so riled up. It's polite to talk to people, especially when you're rubbing shoulders with them. Jacob likes to talk; nobody tells him to shut up. Why should I have to shut up? No one else seems to mind."
Paul crouched down, hoisting up two bundles. He stood, readjusting the weight. "That's because they're too polite to tell you to quit your yammering. Well, I'm not polite, so would you please just shut the hell up?"
Seth frowned. "I'll keep quiet, but not because you told me to. I'll be saving the rest of the pack from hearing you going off as usual. Why are you always in such a bad mood anyway? Who licked the sugar off your bun?"
Where the hell did he get that weird expression? Scowling with a look that said, Who licked the sugar off my bun? Paul was really annoyed now. "Look, kid, just stay outta my way, and we'll both be happy, okay? That's all I'm sayin'. Now beat it!"
"Jeez, what a grouch," Seth muttered as he carried off the shingles.
The rest of the supplies got carted to their respective places without further incident.
. . . . .
Quil and Embry were sawing the plywood to the correct lengths. Embry held the wood as Quil zipped through it with the circular saw, Embry still seemingly in a daze. Jacob had climbed up on the roof, along with Seth, waiting for the boys to hand them the plywood.
Seth sidled up to Jacob. "Can I ask you something?"
Nodding his head, Jacob replied, "Sure, sure. What is it?"
"Well, how do you get a girl to like you?"
Paul overheard Seth's question and snorted, "Stop blabbin' long enough for her to get a word in edgewise, Motormouth."
Apparently, Quil had decided to get even with the notorious bad boy for that crack, along with his nasty remarks to Embry, 'cuz when Paul climbed up the ladder with his load, Quil seized his opportunity. He gave the ladder a mighty shove. The ladder moved sideways, and Paul, jiggling to get his balance, walked it like a pair of stilts 'til he had it aligned with the wall of the house once more.
Leave it to Quil, he set Lahote straight. "Whadja do that for, idiot," Paul groused.
"Hey, Paul, jeez, it was just an accident, like the one that you had with Embry, here."
So, he wanted to play rough, huh? Paul stepped over the edge of the roof, and searched in the toolbox for the crowbar. He used it to remove some of the rotted timbers and chucked them over the side, missing Quil by a hair's breadth.
"Ha, that'll teach ya, Ateara," he whooped. "Don't be messing around with me."
There were still a few boards to be sawed, and Paul wanted to get things movin' a little faster. His date, you know … "Get outta my way, chump. You're too damn slow. I wanna get the hell away from this freakin' place sometime this century, if ya don't mind. Let me show ya how a real man does it."
He pushed Embry aside, and positioned a board, holding it in place with his foot. Quil proceeded to saw the board in half. The saw slipped, and he managed to cut clear through Paul's shoe, removing one of his toes in the process. Paul, in pain and raging like a bull, ran up the ladder, and grabbed the nail gun. The injured guy, being an excellent marksman, swiftly took aim and shot one of the metal darts into Quil's hand, essentially nailing it to the saw horse. Damn, he nailed that sucker but good!
Jacob quickly grabbed the nail gun away from Paul, handed it to Seth, and ran down the ladder with his old rusty hammer in his grasp. He winced as he took the claw of the hammer, removing the nail. Quil was looking away, holding back the yelp that was screaming to escape his throat.
"Get off, get off—you're stepping on my toe!" Paul shouted at him.
Turning toward, the agitated guy, Jacob answered, "What are you talkin' about? You're nowhere near me."
"Yeah, but my toe is. It's under your foot."
Sure enough, Jacob glanced down, and there was the toe, all torn and bloody, under the heel of his work boot.
Paul sat down on the roof and took off his tattered shoe. He inhaled a big gulp of air and told Jacob, "Can you bring me my toe?" Then he turned to Seth, "Hey, kid, hand me that duct tape, will ya?"
Seth took the tape out of the toolbox, and placed it next to Paul. "That's really bleeding bad—really bad. My mom says if you put evaporated milk on it, the bleeding will stop."
Jacob gingerly climbed up the ladder, with the bloody stump of flesh in his palm. Paul snatched it from him, and tearing off some tape with his teeth, set his toe back onto his foot and wrapped it securely into place.
Shaking his head, Seth asked Jacob, "Do you have any evaporated milk in the house? My mom swears it works wonders with bleeding. Do you want me to get a can?" Looking at his wounded comrade, he inquired, "What about a crutch? Do you think you'll need one? I might have a set at home you can borrow. I broke my leg once, and had to have a pair. It's no problem; I can go home right now and get them for you."
Paul motioned with his index finger for Seth to lean down a little lower. Before Seth could say another word, the older boy had a piece of duct tape stretched firmly across Seth's mouth, then tossed it into the toolbox.
It took Seth a while to peel the silver strip away from his mouth. In the meantime, the action seemed to relieve the pain from Paul's toe—or at least distracted him from it for a few minutes.
After removing the sticky line of tape, Seth complained, "My lips are numb. Thanks, Paul, I was ready to kiss a girl tonight, too."
"Aw, shut up, and get to replacing the old wood. We still gotta nail the shingles in place. Where's that nail gun?"
Jacob's mouth fell open in shock. "Are you kiddin' me? No way would I let you get even close to that thing. Here, you can use this hammer. No nail guns for you." What? Does he think I'm crazy?
Paul yanked the hammer out of Jacob's hand and glared at the decrepit tool. The head was loose and the handle was split out. "Gee thanks, Jake. State of the art!"
Quil stepped up onto the roof, still whimpering, and immediately scooped up the tape with his good hand. He used two squares of it to seal off the wound. Well, if it worked for LaHote …
The boys divided up the roof, and each worked on their own little portion.
. . . . .
A police car drove up and one of the Native American peacekeepers got out. He yelled up to the boys. "Hey, guys, I just got a report from one of the neighbors that they heard shouting and some gunfire over here."
Paul stood up and peered over the edge of the house. "Uh, it was just an unfortunate accident, officer," he explained.
Growling under his breath, Quil snorted, "Accident, your foot!"
The officer trained his eyes on the bad boy, not convinced. "Seems like there are always unfortunate accidents whenever you're around, Lahote," he stated.
"Is that a fact?" Paul shot back at him.
He pointed a finger at Paul. "I've got my eye on you, Lahote, so watch your step." The policeman, got in the vehicle, and they left without further ado.
Paul returned his attention to the task of hammering those nails. "Hey, someone hand me some more shingles," he brayed.
Embry started toward him, and suddenly was nearly gone from view. His legs had fallen through some of the rain-weakened plywood.
Billy was watching TV in the living room when he heard the loud crack and was startled as two legs appeared, flailing wildly, from the ceiling above his head. He wheeled away from the scene quickly afraid the rest of the body might be joining the wiggling extremities.
"I just hate it when people drop in unexpectedly. " Billy muttered.
. . . . .
Seeing his buddy in trouble, Quil swiftly ran to his aid and tugged on Embry's torso until he finally extricated him from his predicament. As soon as he was freed, Embry shrugged, and nonplussed, went back to work.
"What's taking so long? I said—I need more shingles," Paul repeated. His request was a bit muffled since he held several nails between his lips.
"Hold on, I'll get them." Sauntering over to a new bundle, Jacob grabbed a stack and headed toward Paul. "Comin' right up," he sang. He set the shingles behind Paul, who had just drawn his arm back to deliver a blow to another nail. The head to the old rusty hammer came flying off, hitting Jacob in the chest. Being near the roof's edge, the force of the projectile caused Jacob to lose his footing and so he went careening off the side. Luckily a nearby tree broke his fall, but he still got scratched up a bit, not to mention a big bruised welt on his chest.
Quil ambled up behind Paul, and clapped him on the back. "Damn, Paul, did you see what you just did to Jake?"
The sharp thump made Paul jerk suddenly and the nails got sucked into his windpipe. Paul turned purple and was dancing a jig, pointing to his throat.
"What the hell …? You practicin' for a pow wow?"
Seth stepped up closer. "I think he's choking. Jeez, he's really blue." Paul was gesturing more frantically now, his hands holding his throat, and nodding his head up and down. His eyes widening in terror, he fisted the front of Seth's shirt, and shook him 'til his teeth rattled.
"Yeah, he's choking all right," Seth agreed. "Better give him the Heimlich maneuver."
Quil wrapped his arms around Paul from behind, making a fist just below his chest and pushed forcefully. The nails flew out of his mouth like they were jet propelled, and one of them pierced Jacob's thigh as he climbed back onto the roof.
Jacob was now frothing at the mouth. "God dammit, Paul! Stay away from me. You're a freakin' jinx." What the hell was I thinkin'? I shoulda known better than to ask Paul to help. He's been a menace since the start of this whole project.
Paul was doubled over; too busy catching his breath to snap back at him.
Gritting his teeth, Jacob pulled out the nail as Seth timidly handed him the duct tape.
. . . . .
Embry was still out of it. He was goin' through the motions, but it was like he was there in body only. At one point, he got a little giddy, and told Quil, "I wonder how far I could spit from up here. I'll bet ya a fiver I can spit farther than you can."
Glancing over his shoulder at Quil, he hesitated, then remarked, "Hey, buddy, whadja say your name was?"
"Man, you musta hit your head really hard. It's Quil."
"And what's mine, again?"
Quil was bug-eyed with shock. "Embry."
Embry appeared confused for a second. "Embry?" What kind of a crap name was that? It sounded really dumb to him, like it had come from a soap opera or something. What was his mother thinking? He wondered … did he even have a mother?
"I have a last name, right?"
"Yeah, you're Call."
"Called what?"
"No—Call—that's your last name, Call. C.A.L.L."
Looking over the edge for the second time, Embry asked, "Oh, okay. So, Quil, do you like to bet?"
"Yeah, sure." His friend realized that Embry was a little addle-brained right now, but he couldn't turn down an easy five bucks. Embry never could spit worth a damn. "You're on, Call."
Quil took the first turn and aimed at a rock below. Hit his mark too. "Bingo," he exclaimed, a smug expression on his face. "Let's see ya top that one, Embry."
Bella's truck was just pulling up to the house. She stepped out just as a wad of spit, landed in her hair.
It was definitely farther than Quil's attempt. "Hey, good shot—I win. Pay up!" Embry chortled.
Quil didn't seem as happy. "Oops! You hit the wrong target there, Pal. Sh**, Jacob's gonna pound us."
Embry looked confused again, "Who's Jacob?"
Bella reached up, and her hand came away covered in frothy slime. Her eyes narrowed as she zeroed in on the culprit. "Embry Call, is this your idea of fun?"
"Yeah, you can join us if you want. But first, you gotta tell me your name."
Bella gawked at the grinning fool. He was acting kind of strange. Was he drunk? Clicking her tongue, she put her hands on her hips and sighed heavily.
Jacob caught a glimpse of her, and waved. "Hi, honey, I thought you weren't comin' by 'til the roof was done."
She called up to him, "Leah phoned me and said you and these handy men, here, were actually plugging up the holes in the roof. I thought I'd drop by and see how things were going."
"Good timing, we're just about done."
Bella went into the house and waited. The boys finished up and put away the ladder and all the tools. It was in the nick of time, 'cuz all at once the clouds burst and a torrent of rain fell from the sky, along with the gusty wind. Seth and Paul left; they both had dates. Jacob would find out later if Seth's lips had recovered from Paul's previous abuse.
Quil and Embry stayed for dinner. While they were laughing and joking afterwards, there was an ominous rumble, and all at once, part of the roof caved in. Shingles and splintered plywood littered the place, and the water was everywhere.
. . . . .
As they struggled, putting yet another tarp over that section of the roof, Jacob couldn't understand what had happened. The shingles, the boards, and the tar paper were either scattered from the wind, or fallen through the hole into the living room.
When they returned to the house, Jacob shoved his massive frame right into Embry's personal space. He nudged Embry's shoulder, and barked, "What the hell … Embry, you were responsible for fixing that part of the roof. Didn't you put enough nails in it to hold it down?
Embry blinked a few times. "I was supposed to use nails?"
Billy was a statue in his wheelchair, looking despondent with his chin perched on his fist. "Don't give up your day jobs, boys," he muttered sarcastically.
Jacob was pensive for a whole thirty seconds. It wasn't that hard a decision. I can live without the carburetor a few more weeks, but I swear to god, I'll die without seeing my girl. He reached for the phone sitting beside some broken pieces of wood on the wet coffee table. He locked eyes with Billy, and blurted, "Dad, what's Lamar's phone number?"
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