Disclaimer for the story: Sadly, I do not own Strange Magic, although I do have the DVD that I play once a week.
Hooray! I managed to write something that wasn't a plot bunny, though this is not connected to my work-in-progress or any of my other older Strange Magic plot bunnies. Constructive advice is appreciated but please refrain from criticism. Enjoy!
"They're judging me!"
Bog blinks at the sudden announcement and shifts his focus from the papers on his lap to the distraught woman that just stormed into the living room. When she doesn't continue, instead grabbing his empty glass and going to the kitchen to refill it, he wracks his brain to figure out who could have possibly offended Marianne. There wasn't anyone on the ranch to do so and he doubted that his closest neighbor would attempt to tangle with the feisty tough girl again after the horsewhip incident.
Which reminds him. Bog hastily stuffs a certain ordering form into his chair cushion while keeping an eye on the doorway. It would ruin his surprise if Marianne discovered that paper.
The noise emanating from the kitchen tells him that his ranchhand-turned-housemate-turned-nurse was fixing him lunch, so he continues musing over the list of possible suspects. There weren't any visitors today so far except one, something he knows for certain since he's facing the only road on his property that connects with the highway, and he couldn't think of anything the mail carrier could have said or done that could have been mistaken for an insult. Although, Ian might have mentioned about something being said in town.
It was possible the gossipers were responsible. That hadn't bothered Marianne before when she first moved onto his ranch and they started their speculations of her unchaperoned presence in the local bachelor's secluded house but that didn't mean they couldn't have added new fodder to chew on that might upset her.
The sound of approaching steps alerts him to the finished meal and he moves the papers from his lap to the nearby table before grabbing the crutches propped against his chair.
"Don't even think of moving," Marianne warns, carrying a tray into the living room.
"I told ye before, tough girl, Ma don't like anyone eatin' in the house 'cept at the table," Bog comments.
"And I told you, Beauregard King, your mother isn't here and would most likely agree with me in this circumstance. The doctor's orders were to keep your leg elevated, moving around only when necessary, and this isn't necessary," Marianne argues.
Bog playfully huffs at the reprimand, barely managing to hide his smile when she gently pushes him back into his chair and arranges his encased leg back onto the cushioned stool before settling the tray on his lap.
"Ye left to the kitchen before I could ask. Who's a judgin' ye?" Bog asks.
"The cows!" Marianne cries in distress, her peaceful mood forgotten.
The cows? Turning his bewildered face toward the distraught woman, he raises an eyebrow in question as she paces a short trek in front of him.
"You told me that the holding pasture needed to be mowed down so new grass could grow before the new calves arrived, so that's what I was doing, and they were standing alongside the fence, giving me judgmental looks! Accusing me of wasting food!" Marianne explains.
He couldn't help it. Not even when Marianne's face turns to give him an almighty glare could stop the laughter erupting from his chest. Of all the things that could have offended the city-born woman in his patch of heaven in the middle of nowhere, the only thing that managed to do so was his jealous cows.
Tea Blend.
