Free Venture Untamed (The Venture Books) by R.H. Russell

couldn’t keep the eager smile off his face.
    “No.”
    “If she’s mad at you, why’d she tell me to come help you?”
    “I guess she’s not mad enough to want me dropping dead out here.”
    “Were you about to drop dead?” Bounty asked, sounding almost hopeful.
    “Do I look like I’m about to drop dead?”
    “I don’t get it.”  
    “You don’t have to get it. Just stop yapping and help me get this wood in here.”
    Bounty silently helped Venture load the wheelbarrow, but he wasn’t finished bothering Venture yet. With the wheelbarrow full, he clambered on top. He was a heavy boy, the result of too much of Mrs. Bright’s good cooking and too little work on Bounty’s part.
    “Come on,” Bounty said. “I’ll bet you can’t push it.”
    Venture took another long drink of water, all the while giving Bounty a warning look.
    “Could you teach me to fight?” he asked in response to Venture’s silent threat of bodily harm.
    “Why?”
    Bounty shrugged.
    “Well, who do you want to fight?”
    “I don’t know. Just, anybody messes with me, I could fight them.”
    “Who messes with you?”  
    “Nobody,” he admitted.
    “How about this. Anybody messes with you, you come tell me, and we’ll figure things out.”
    Bounty spewed a curse at him as thanks for the offer, and Venture’s already dark blue eyes turned to midnight. He grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow and hoisted it up as fast and hard as he could, flinging Bounty’s chubby body a good two feet up in the air before he fell to the ground with a crunch and was subsequently pummeled with firewood.
    “Ow!” Bounty scowled up at him, and began to swear again, rubbing his elbow, looking shocked.  
    Bounty mouthed off to him weekly, at the least. And always before, Venture had dished out a lecture on how he would never get anywhere in life until he learned to watch his mouth, a warning about what would happen if Mistress Rose heard him talking like that, or, at the worst, he’d made some sort of empty threat involving a bar of soap. Unfortunately, the kid was too young for him to teach him a lesson with his fists.
    Venture shoved several pieces of wood out of the way and stepped toward Bounty, surprised at himself, half wanting to laugh and half sorry. With one bloody hand he pulled the boy up by his dirty shirt collar and set him down a few feet clear of the mess.
    “Anything broken?”
    “No, dung-hole!”
    “Good. Then you can take care of this.” No longer sorry at all, he gestured at the scattered wood, turned, and strode toward the house.
    “What? Where’re you going?” Bounty protested in a high-pitched whine.
    “Inside,” Vent said casually, without a backward glance. “Don’t fill the wheelbarrow too full. You won’t be able to push it.”  
    A stream of insults followed him as he left the outbuildings behind, but along with them came the gratifying thunk, thunk, thunk of firewood filling the groaning wheelbarrow.
    Venture lifted his face to the still, cloudless sky. It must be getting close to supper time. He wondered what Mrs. Bright was making. Maybe she’d give him a nice bowl of cold water to soak his hands in. Maybe she’d even have some ice to spare.
    He meandered through the gateless opening in the stone walls of the service courtyard and ducked under the rows of dishtowels and nightgowns standing on the clotheslines, stiff and dry in the windless heat. Lightning trotted hopefully behind as he passed the two large bake ovens and reached the little washroom connected to the kitchen at the back of the house.  
    “You stay here, girl. No dogs in the house. I’ll bring you something tasty after supper.”
    He opened the small wooden servants’ door and stepped through, remembering the day he’d first been able to reach the top of the frame with his fingertips. Another year, and he’d have to duck. The stone floor of the dim, windowless room was so invitingly cool, he yanked his boots off immediately just to