I cleaned out the rest of the pantry and then the closet under the stairs. Most of the jackets and things that were hanging had been shredded, as though something was searching for food. One looked in decent shape, so I put it aside to wash.
There was a box on the floor that squeaked. I dragged it out of the closet and quickly stuffed a stray scarf into the hole that had been chewed in the side. If there was a nest of rats in the box, I didn’t want to know anything about it. Ever. I hauled it out to the porch, and then pushed it to the far end, wanting it as far away as possible. I pretended not to hear the scratching coming from inside. Nope. I didn’t hear a thing.
I stuffed all the sheets and towels that had been used as varmint beds into a large garbage bag and threw it down the stairs. After I’d gone through the closets and tossed everything that had been gnawed or defecated on, I went back downstairs and stared at my nemesis, the couch. That rat had probably come back during the night, burrowing into the soft, warm couch, laughing its little rat ass off at my sleeping in the car. I wasn’t letting that asshole win. That couch was out of here. I didn’t care if I lived on lawn furniture for the next year, I wasn’t settling for a rat’s sloppy seconds.
I glared at the piece of furniture another minute and then started pushing it toward the door. Chaucer hopped up on the couch, because rides are fun, and let me struggle to get the damn thing across the room.
“Not helping, buddy,” I gasped. He grinned at me and rolled over.
“Need some help?”
My heart seized. For one terrifying moment, I thought the rat was taunting me. Aiden stood in the doorway, watching. I looked down at Chaucer, who was still pretending to sleep. “Some guard dog you are.” His rear paws kicked into the air.
Aiden didn’t wait for an answer. He walked in, nudged me out of the way, and pushed the couch across the floor, Chaucer and all. At the doorway, he tipped my dog out and looked at me. “Can you get the other end; help me get it out?”
As long as he was going to do all the heavy lifting, fine by me. I climbed over the end, leaned down to grab the couch arm and yelled, “Pivot!”
Staring at me a beat, he shook his head. “I can’t decide if you’re insane or...”
I raised my hand in the air. “Oh. Oh. I know!”
Rolling his eyes, he shoved the couch out the door. He pushed it all the way down the porch steps, dragging it up into the bed of his truck. When he was done, he jogged back up the steps and picked up a mattress, shouldered it back to the truck, and tossed it in.
I watched as he did the same with the other mattress and the bags of chewed-up linens. When he went for the rat box, I felt the need to advise caution. “You’ll want to be very careful with that box. You may hear squeaking and scratching. Ignore it. And for goodness’ sake, do not open the lid!”
When he studied the box warily, I knew we were on the same page. He glanced at me and then at his truck bed. “Is this all of it?”
“Nope.”
“Then why are you just standing there watching me?” He placed the rat box securely in a corner, where it wouldn’t be jostled. Smart man.
“It’s fun to watch other people work. Duh.” I walked back in the house to see what I had missed.
“Insane!” he shouted from the front yard.
“P’fft. As if.” I walked through the living room, dining room, kitchen, and bath on the first floor. I would need to mop the floors again, but just about everything seemed to be cleared out.
“Are we done?” Aiden was back in the doorway, looking at the empty rooms.
Pointing at the squashy chair, I said, “I haven’t had the nerve to check that yet.”
He strode over to the chair and cautiously lifted the cushion, looking underneath. When he jumped and threw the cushion, I screamed and ran for the porch. I was hiding around the corner when I heard his booming laugh. Bastard.
Strolling back in, my arms crossed, I said, “Hilarious.”
Chuckling, he put the cushion back. “Good news. You have somewhere to sit.”
“Yay, me.” I looked around the empty rooms, wondering if I’d be able to sleep in that chair. “I didn’t get the box springs upstairs. The mattresses just about killed me.” I looked at my right arm. “I think I pulled something.”
He looked me up and down. “How did you get the mattresses down the stairs and out the door?”
“Terror is a great motivator.”
He jogged up the stairs. “Okay. Two box springs coming down.” When he returned a few minutes later, he said, “You’re going to want to pick up some traps. Oh, and don’t go in the bedrooms for a few minutes.”
“What? Why?” It’d probably be easier to just sell the house and start again.
“No reason.” He tossed a box spring onto the tower of crap in his truck. When he came back in, he detoured by the dining table, picked up two empty garbage bags, and checked the gun in his holster.
