Disclaimer: This story is fiction. All the characters are my own, completely fictional with borrowed names to comply with the fan fiction genre. They should not be confused with any person living or dead. I am not now nor have I ever been affiliated with any professional wrestler or wrestling company. No disrespect intended.

Chapter 7

(Baylee)

"Hi, Mr. Ellis." I waved at the elderly next door neighbor. He smiled and dropped the garden hose. He limped over to the row of hedges that divided our property. His clothes were heavily soiled and his long white beard was dusted with fresh black earth.

"You've been working all day haven't you?" I asked, then reached inside the trunk plucked out a grocery bag.

"Eleanor would kill me if I let her garden die." He said sadly.

I gave him a sympathetic pat.

"Bless you, child." He said in a hoarse voice, choking back tears.

"Oh Mr. Ellis." I embraced the man, who had been a stone pillar all his life. "How is she today?" The man shook his head.

I glanced over the man's shoulder. A grey haired little lady sat in a rocking chair on the porch, staring out at nothing.

"Let me pay you." He pulled his wallet out of back pocket. "What's the damage today?"

"Five." I smiled impishly and the old man laughed.

"My Maybelle taught you well." He gave me a single bill then he produced a tiny little figurine, made out of wood that he'd carved himself. It was a milk maid. I loved farms and always wished I had one. Mr. Ellis had carved me an entire plantation and I kept it on a shelf in the living room.

"I think it's the most beautiful one. I love it." Baylee touched his shoulder. "I'll be over right after diner."

"Oh, I don't think I should keep going to the meetings. I was thinking about getting out of the club."

"Oh, no Mr. Ellis. You should go. You need to get out once in a while. I don't mind sitting with Miss. Maybelle."

"Ok." He relented.

Every week he said the same thing. I think it was a hard decision for him and he loved his wife, but it seemed she had drifted away even though her body was still there. It was the the saddest thing I'd ever seen. Even sadder than losing a spouse to death I imagined.

"Mrs. Lesnar." A turned toward the kid running from the back yard.

"You are a popular woman." Dean shook his head and loaded his arms with bags. "I'll take these in for you."

"Thank you, Dean." I touched his shoulder then turned toward the sixteen year old who had stopped a few foot from me. He had run so fast he'd ran out of breath. "Hi Denny. You finished already?"

"Yes ma'am. Those bushes could use trimming."

"Yes they could. How about you work on that this weekend?" I handed him a twenty. "How is the car fund coming? Adding up isn't' it?"

"Yes maam. Nearly a thousand in the bank."

"Well, that's nearly two hundred since last week." Denny was a good kid. He helped me carry the remaining bags into the house, then hung around and helped put everything away too.

Dean took a seat in the corner and just watched. I knew the expression he wore on his face. I could always tell when someone was judging me. It seemed someone always was.

"I better get home. Mom already called me twice."

"Tell her I said hello." I walked him to the door. "He works so hard. He has two jobs and goes to school. He lives two blocks over and he walks to this neighborhood every day. His father is sick and he helps pay the bills at home."

"What's he trying to buy?"

"His neighbors BMW." I giggled. "Oh, I hope he can get it. It's an old one, but I know he'll just cherish it."

"You do have a lot of men in your life." Dean crossed his arms and leaned against the wall as I began to prepare dinner. "I wouldn't have pegged you for a smart ass."

"It didn't seem like you would be happy until I gave you a name."

Dean grinned. "I don't know what to think about you."

"I know you're judging me. Everyone does. So … have you made up your mind what kind of a rich bitch I am?"

"You're not a bitch." He grinned. "You don't find women like you wearing those brand name tags."

"It's just a label. I buy what I like. Doesn't matter what store it comes out of."

"Sure it doesn't."

"So I'm a bad person because I grew up shopping in certain stores and I happen to like those same stores as an adult?"

"I think you like to keep people on their toes. You dress and act a certain way and then bam, you shock them by being … this … this … kind, compassionate person." He stood and crossed the room, leaned on the counter and snatched a carrot from the vegetable tray I was preparing. "What I can't figure out … is if this persona is honest … or if it's an act covering up some ulterior motive."

"Hmmm." I stuck a piece of cheese into my mouth and turned my back on him. I headed to fridge and took out the whole chicken I had marinated the night before. I was honestly hurt by his accusation.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"Everyone is entitled to their opinion, Mr. Ambrose."

"Now I'm Mr. Ambrose. You've called me Dean all day."

"It was a mistake to treat you as a friend." I opened the oven placed the bird inside. "I know better now. I'm sure you collected the information my husband was paying you to get by now. You'll be gone by tomorrow, I'm sure."

"Tell me about the bruises."

"It's none of your business."

"What the hell is that?"

Brock walked in that evening and pointed at the little dog that laid at Dean's feet.

"Attack dog." Dean spat from his spot in the corner. He had his legs kicked out and his arms folded and he didn't bother to lift his head. "Don't let his size fool you."

"I don't allow pets in my home."

"If he goes, I go." Dean informed him. "He's as important as this." He tapped the gun he carried on his side. "You wanted the best, right?"

"Just keep him quiet."

With that, Ricky gave a short bark. My husband groaned and walked off. Dean peeked through one eye and caught my smile. I was sure Ricky would lose his home as soon as Brock came though the door. He despised animals. He barely tolerated humans.

I had given the little dog a good bath as soon as I'd gotten the chicken in the oven. I also cut his hair as well. I had spent a lot of time in animal shelters grooming and bathing animals, so it wasn't a difficult task. He looked like a new dog, but I was sad that he would leave with Dean. That little dog was the closest to a pet I had in my life. I guess I didn't realize how badly I wanted that kind of companionship until Ricky was there in my home. I didn't want him to go. I knew I could have put up a fight with Brock to get what I wanted, but I feared how angry that would make him. I was so tired of giving up so much just to keep the peace. It was so hard. And so exhausting. I wondered if this was how marriage was. It sure wasn't the happily ever after I had dreamed it would be.

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