Free Bravado's House of Blues by John A. Pitts Page B

ways back the road made me clean all his stables before he’d give me the first whiff of food. Spent two days di-verting a quick running stream into the stables, and out towards that yonder valley.” He pointed to the west with pride. “Cleaned the stables and fertilized the land thereabouts at the same time.”
    The bear grunted, and sat down. The cart nearly tipped over and Jack blanched. “We woulda needed to cut all the hay in his fields to get the use of a pony,” he grumbled. “But we worked it out.” He unbuckled the bear from the wagon and bowed in my direction.
    I strode up the hill to inspect Jack’s work. The wagon was full of barrels and boxes, buckets and bags—each holding all kinds of good food, from goose and bread wrapped in brown paper, to tubs of sweet cream, sacks of apples, salted pork, a barrel of pickles, and three types of cheeses. “Mighty nice work here,” I said to him, slipping an apple from a sack and hefting it in my hand. I set it back down in a puddle of honey.
    “Better’n you asked for, I do believe,” Jack said with a bit of pride in his voice. “So how about that gold?”
    I thought about it for a moment, then shook my head, walking away from the wagon. “I’m near drowned in honey, and that ain’t no way for a woman to be.”
    The bear nodded and licked his jowls again.
    “If you were any kind of gentlemen, you’d fetch me a kettle for a bath.” I sighed heavily, swooning toward the side of the wagon. “I need a good hot bath before I can even think about eating a fine meal. “I batted my sticky lashes at him. “You wouldn’t want me to do a disservice to your fine deed?”
    The bear moved to the cart and began snuffling around the spilt honey.
    “Bath?” Jack asked, flummoxed.
    “Yes,” I said. “A nice hot bath, plenty of fire under a big kettle of water. You understand.” I held my hands out in front of me, the honey dripping in great dollops.
    “Where am I going to find a kettle big enough to put you in?”
    I knew right where to get such a thing, as a matter of fact. That old giant I’d just killed, and the witch he lived with, had a kettle you coulda easily fit me inside, seeing as I was almost their supper a few days before.
    “Run back over to the next holler away south,” I said. “Past that knobby hill that looks like a porcupine, you’ll find a mean old house tucked in the shadow of the hill. In it you’ll find a black pot big enough to suit a bath.”
    Jack looked up over the hills to the south. “How far?”
    “No more than a night’s walk,” I said, striding back to the oak.
    “A night’s walk,” Jack said, the anger rising up his neck to his cheeks. He was as cute as can be, that’s for sure, but he tended to anger and rashness.
    “A bath before I’ll take a bite, it’s the only lady-like thing to do.”
    The bear lapped at the honey pooling at my feet. I giggled when his great raspy tongue tickled my toes.
    “And why wouldn’t I just be taking my gold now, and going on about my business?” Jack asked, watching the bear lick my left ankle.
    “I’d surely add another of them sacks for you to have, if I could get a bath,” I said.
    At the thought of another sack—notice I never said gold—Jack began to pull all the food out of the back of the wagon. “Come on, fool bear. We gotta go get this here woman a bath.” He spent the next while hooking that great big bear to that wagon again, climbed up on the buckboard, and pulled it around to the south.
    I blew a kiss off my palm toward Jack, who blushed all a sudden. “You may just save my life, young Jack.”
    “Come on, bear,” he called, snapping the reigns. The bear snatched his head to the side, nearly pulling Jack from the wagon. No bit or bridle, but the reins lead to the back of the halter.
    “Thank you, mister bear,” I said, holding my hand out toward the great beast.
    The bear took a long swipe from my palm with his tongue, and he took off at a gallop. Jack