Witness Protection Program (Tom Hiddleston)

Chapter 7: The Jumpsuit

Tom woke to the sound of banging and shouting the next morning. He sat up in his bed and looked about wildly. He had completely forgotten where he was. However, once he realized he was in his bed in the hand house an a cattle ranch in Texas, he calmed down and flopped back across the bed.Sunlight streamed into his room, and he laid his arm over his face to block out the glare.

“I know my damn cereal didn’ just disappear!” shouted the voice of Chad from downstairs. “You got it somewhere, you bastard!”

Tom sighed and rolled out of bed. This was only his second day and Chad was already starting to get on his nerves. He stretched and cracked his back, yawning in the process, and looked at hinself in the mirror above the dresser. High cheekbones, reddish blond hair, and striking blue eyes made up his major features. He was distinctly British, and proud of it.

He showered then, and walked back into his bedroom to change, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist and water dripping down his hard chest and sharply defined abs. There were millions of women who would have drooled at the sight, but for now he was alone. His lonliness bothered him.

The shouting downstairs sounded again. “Goddammit, Mat! I want my damn cereal!”

Tom rolled his eyes and slid on his clothes. He put on a red t-shirt that had come from Europe and a pair of loose-fitting jeans. Last, he slid on a pair of socks and some tennis shoes and headed downstairs. He found a fuming Chad in the kitchen with a very pissed off Mat.

“Who the hell are you?” Chad asked, squinting at Tom.

“Not surprised you don’t remember, seeing as you were drunk when you met him yesterday,” said Mike gently from the other side of the room.

Mat laughed and poured himself another cup of coffee. “You gonna join us in doin’ some stuff today, Tom?”

“The hell is he gonna do?” Chad jeered nastily. “Look at them hands. He must rub lotion on ‘em every mornin’ and every night. I kin tell by lookin’ at him he don’t know a damn thing about cows.”

“Actually, I thought he might like to go with you to help move that cow,” said the voice of Ad as the old foreman trudged slowly in the kitchen, already with a cigarette between his lips. “Mornin’, Tom.”

“Good morning, Ad,” Tom said.

“The fuck?” Chad said, stepping closer to Tom. “He’s a damn Englishman? Can I get you some tea, your highness?”

“Knock it off,” Mat cautioned, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Or what, you damn cereal theif? You gonna fight me? You ain’t never fought nobody in your life. Ain’t nobody you can beat, except maybe softie, here.”

“Chad!” Ad scolded. “You oughtta be damn ashamed. You’re gonna move that dead cow all alone.”

“Ad!” Chad protested.

“Serves you right, you damn imbecile,” Ad hissed. “Now you git goin’. I ain’t got much patience left for you.”

As soon as Chad left the room, Mat shook his head. “He’s gettin’ worse about his temper, Ad. Should we tell Wyatt?”

“No,” Ad said, staring out the window as Chad walked angrily to the barn. “He’s just got a little soul searchin’ and prayin’ to do is all. He’ll be fine.”

“Tom, would you like to come help me ride fences in the south pasture? A neighbor of ours says his damn bull’s gone missing again and he thinks he mighta tore through the fence between the two pastures because our heifers were in heat,” Mike offered.