By
A. Wilding Wells
Copyright 2016 A. Wilding Wells
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
For more information, please contact A. Wilding Wells at [email protected].
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Table of Contents
1 - Your Heart
2 - The Future
3 - An Echo
4 - A Needle and Thread
5 - It Makes a Splash
6 - A Splinter
7 - A Wheel
8 - A Thorn
9 - A Fish
10 - A Book
11 - The Full Moon
12 - Time
13 - Darkness
14 - A Secret
15 - A Volcano
16 - Music
17 - Blue
18 - A Kiss
19 - Cards
20 - A Lantern
21 - A Choice
22 - An Iceberg
23 - An Hourglass
24 - A Cipher
25 - Appearance
26 - 1
27 - A Shadow
28 - Stable
29 - Justice
30 - Your Reflection
31 - Mask
32 - A Hole
33 - Electricity
34 - Footsteps
35 - Courage
36 - Gravity
37 - Death
38 - Mountain
39 - A Clock
40 - Nothing
John Keats, Bright Star: Love Letters and Poems of John Keats to Fanny Brawne
“My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you—I am forgetful of everything but seeing you again—my Life seems to stop there—I see no further. You have absorb’dme. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving—I should be exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing you…I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion—I have shudder’dat it—I shudder no more—I could be martyr’dfor my Religion—Love is my religion—I could die for that—I could die for you.”
1
Balthazar
If you break me,
I do not stop working.
If you touch me,
I may be snared.
If you lose me,
Nothing will matter.
Your heart
A Tinker Bell of a woman is dragging a bale of hay three times her size down the dust-covered aisle in front of me. Her shoulders drop as she grunts with every burdensome step. A skirt and heels? Odd choice for a feed mill.
I dump two fifty-pound bags of chicken crumbles off my shoulder at the checkout my mate Rowdy is manning. “Will you look at her, more colorful than all the Fourth decorations on Main Street.”
Soda flies out of Rowdy’s nose as he laughs and comes around the register to get a peek at her. “You mean the sister-in-law?” His face lights up.
“Sister-in-law? Dude. Last I recall, you’re not married. Bloody hell, she’s hot. Now that’s a muffin I could finally—”
He elbows me in the arm. “I’d call you blind if I weren’t offending you for the eye patch.” Then he clarifies, “Your sister-in-law. Not mine.”
My body becomes rigid. “My sister-in-law? She’s Lavinia’s kid sister?”
Rowdy thrusts his chest out as he rocks on his toes. “Yup. Matilda Pearl. And…clearly, she’s no kid. I’d put her at twenty-two, maybe three or so.”
“The fuck is she doing here?” Clenching my jaw, I grab my gloves from my back pocket and put them on. “I’m gonna help her. The bale is winning.”
“Don’t bother,” Rowdy says before spitting the remains of a sunflower shell into his hand. “Won’t take it, she’s stubborn as fuck.”
“The hell she won’t,” I mutter under my breath as I approach her. I easily pick the bale up as she glares at me then tries to grab the hay out of my hands. I can’t not laugh.
“I got this.” A flash of temper flickers across her brow.
“Yeah. Evidently so,” I chuckle. “Point out your truck. I’ll throw it in. You can wrestle it out yourself when you get wherever it is you’re going.”
She tilts her head up to my face as a playful grin forms on her mouth. I move closer, drawn into the unreal color of her eyes—violet.
“You British?”
“That’s my Wisconsin accent,” I tease. “I’m not going to stand here all day.”
She tugs an elastic band off her wrist then winds it into the long tangles of her sandy-blond hair, leaving wisps of it dangling across her face. “I’ll deal with it myself,” she huffs, wiping the sweat from her forehead then neck. My gaze follows her hand as it brushes across the tops of her no-wonder-bra-needed breasts.
“Right, then. Here you go.” I drop the bale at her feet and turn.
Rowdy snickers as he shoves a candy bar in his mouth. “Didn’t hear you introduce yourself. She’s your family. You ain’t even gonna say hello?” He chews through a grin.
An uneasiness stirs in my stomach. “I don’t need a damn thing from that family. Certainly not another strong-headed woman. We don’t need to know each other.”
Minutes later, she approaches the steps that lead to the parking lot. Huffing and grunting, she walks backward down them, dragging the bale, until she trips and ends up underneath the hay on the last step. I stride over to her, laughing quietly as she curses while thrashing around with her arms flapping. She bucks and jostles like a trapped animal. She’s pissing and moaning, all right, but not for a second is she asking for help. So I’ll wait for the magic word.
“Sugar lumps. Dammit!” She growls.
I shouldn’t look, but while scratching the back of my neck I lower my gaze. Her skirt is pinned under the bale, showcasing her muscular bare legs and lacy black knickers riding her hip. I study the dip on her upper thigh then follow a long white scar that runs down her leg, stopping before her knee.
A whirl of dust kicks up as my mate Duke pulls into the lot, then parks his veterinarian truck next to my old Ford.
“Hey.” I nod as he strolls over to us. “You happen to get out to the farm to check on Cock’s teat?”
A swirl of smoke rises from his lips as he exhales then tosses his cigarette butt to the ground. “Yep. Just came from there. Little blockage is all.” A smirk forms on his face as he glances to the bale. “Show the boys how to pull. Squeezing causes the problems.” He clears his throat. “That you, Matilda?” He squats down to her side. “You need some help, girl?”
She wiggles her petite foot around. “Hey, Duke. I’m fine. Just spoonin’ a bale.”
“You ready to give me the magic word?” I chuckle, standing over her as Duke climbs the steps.
A bright pink washes over her cheeks. “Please.”
I lift the bale from her straightaway. “Truck?” Looking across the lot at my truck and one other, along with Duke’s vet mobile and Rowdy’s cycle. The only other vehicle—if you could call it that—is something akin to a cherry-red golf-cart-looking thing with wicker seats. An albino, red-haltered mini donkey is in the back seat, along with a case of champagne.
“There.” She points to the impractical—but obviously hers—car. “Just jam it in the passenge
r’s side. Thank you.”
“You ever heard of a thing called a trailer?” I ask as I wedge the bale into the car while she stands, not looking the least bit flustered.
“You mean those things they play before movies?” She kicks her gold glittered heels off before tossing them in the backseat. Every toenail is a different color. This girl is unquestionably not one of those tanning-bed types I see a lot of around here. But she’s not her sister Lavinia either.
Polished. Perfect. Dead.
“Beastly brit.” She laughs under her breath as she flicks her hand as though she’s dismissing me.
“What was that, muffin?” She walks a few limpy steps, then slides into the driver’s seat while I lean on the bale, eyeing her up.
Rowdy saunters down the stairs, scribbling on a pad of paper. “You want to open an account, sweetheart? Or cash?”
“An account, please. I’ll be at the farm for a while,” she says after kissing the donkey’s nose. “Might have it brought out next time. You still deliver?”
“Yup,” he says with a cocky smile. “Nothing’s changed ’round here. We’ll be the same a century from now.” He leans against the hood of her car as he licks his lips and runs a hand along the scruff of his jaw. His eyes stop for a long pause on her breasts before he moves his gaze down then back up again. “You staying on?”
“Mmmhmm.” She looks into her rear view mirror. “I have some family business to attend to since…you know… Did you hear?” Her eyes bounce to his then down to her hands, which are fidgeting inside her purse.
So, she’s the one he’s sent?
He toes the ground as our eyes meet. “I did. I’m real sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks. Well…it’s been a few years now, anyway. We never were close... Not that… Never mind.” She huffs out with an hmm sort of sound trailing off at the end. “Her husband is apparently helpless, that’s why my dad sent me.”
Rowdy chokes out a cough. “You don’t say?”
“I’ll be getting my hands plenty dirty out at the farm. Diapers and…god knows what else I’m in for.”
I nod to the donkey, which is now braying. “What’s its name?”
“Aesop”—she purses her lips—“as in fables.”
“Yeah, I know Aesop.” I force a laugh. “Muffin.”
A tiny smile lifts on one side of her mouth as she holds out her hand. “Matilda. It’s Matilda Pearl. Beastly brit.”
I take her hand in mine. “Balthazar. It’s Balthazar Cox. Crab muffin.”
Her doll-faced mouth opens for a few seconds, pulling the side string on my widening smile as she realizes who I am. She sucks in a quick breath as her posture stiffens. “You’re British?”
“I think we cleared that up earlier,” I chuckle. “Stop picking on my Wisconsin accent.”
She laughs with one hand covering her mouth. She really had no idea. Didn’t know I was British? Guess we’ll be learning plenty about each other since she’s here for at least a year, according to her father.
She tips her sunglasses down her nose while gazing at me over the top edge of them. “I’ll see you at home.”
So this is her. This beautiful wisp of a girl? Violet eyes that storm with challenge. A mouth so dramatic, it looks bruised with color. Curves that make the countryside hills and valleys seem level. This is the woman Everit Pearl has sent to live with me? A girl with a donkey named Aesop. “As in fables.”
2
Matilda
I never was, am always to be. No one ever saw me, nor ever will. And yet I am the confidence of all. To live and breathe on this terrestrial ball. What am I?
The future
Flat Broke Road, well hello again, you winding, hilly thing. I take a left and drive toward our two-thousand-acre farm, likely the choicest piece of land in this neck of the woods, on a road with a name that currently defines me. And likely the beastly brit, since he’s agreed to this arrangement as well. Why else would he? Dad tells me that, if I can snag Balthazar a nanny-come-wife, he’ll hand the farm over to him, and I’ll get my trust fund on my twenty-third birthday. I’m sure a trust says cars, jewelry, and fancy clothes to most. All I see is me being surrounded with animals of all kinds. A shelter-type farm or sanctuary, where I could feed and house strays and drop offs. I could make the kind of place where any creature who was no longer wanted or cherished could feel loved. It would be a haven they would call home, me too.
Home. Hell, I thought I had that in Paris, with Cort, until my life was flipped upside down. Agh, no sense in going there. I have had to move on. Not that there was any choice.
The tang of freshly cut hay and a trace of sweet manure lingers in the air, as I slow along the stone hedge then make a gradual turn in the drive of Broken Arrow Farm, my home for the next year. Mom’s old camper sits parked above the ditch, with a crudely painted sign hanging from the awnings bottom.
Bookmobile—Free Book for a trade.
“Balthazar Cox… So, you’re not just easy on the eyes, you’re a romantic too?” I mutter as I continue driving.
Split-rail fences and hickory nut trees line the one-mile gravel drive to the farmhouse and barns. My sweaty hands tremble as I grip the steering wheel. There he is—Balthazar. Shirt off, muscles tan and buttered in sunlight, jeans slung low. He looks like the sort of guy who makes midnight conversations turn into morning pancakes. A strange comfort wends its way through me as I park next to Balthazar’s truck and turn my engine off. After grabbing Aesop’s lead rope, I invite him out of the backseat via the driver’s side. I scream as he steps on my bare feet while the naked little boys run at us in full assault.
“Pony, pony!”
“Donkey, guys. That’s a baby donkey.” Balthazar’s voice is deep and serious as he saunters over, looking like he owns the earth.
I’m doubled over, laughing at the two miniature beings. What are these little creatures? They want to be cherubs, but they’re real-live, freckle-covered, perfect boys with mops of red, glistening curls that… Oh, mother of god… I’m already in love with. Goose bumps chase along my back as I squat to greet them. Four tiny hands flutter as drool slides down their dirty chins.
“Pony and pincess,” one of them says. His pudgy fingers fist the edge of my tulle-lined skirt as he drags it over his head.
Princess? “Oh, sweet baby.” After wrapping my hands around his plump belly and pulling his back against me, I press my face to the curve of his neck to inhale a sweet whiff of child baby boy—along with something else…
Poop.
“Hey there, muffin. Welcome home.”
When I look up, Balthazar is towering over us with a mile-wide grin. “Hey.” I gaze at his tatted chest and sickeningly muscled arms. Who would want those wrapped around them? Brother-in-law, I remind myself. Repel him. Based on his stare, it looks like it’s working already. I’d call it “disgusted meets go away.”
“They’re cute.” I pat the twins’ heads and shrug.
“Times a million. Jinx and Jax, this is Matilda.”
One of them says, “Mamama.”
At hearing Mamama, I feel Lavinia’s fingers pinching the tendon in my right shoulder. I slap that spot and find nothing.
“Not Mamama!” I screech then cringe.
They scurry behind Balthazar’s trunk-like legs. One of them starts crying as he peeks around at me. The other one follows suit.
Balthazar’s nostrils flare as he draws in air. I swallow over a dry patch and toy with the bottom of my top while wanting to sink into the earth.
“Mean pincess,” one says as I stand and mosey over to my car. I go from princess to evil queen in seconds as he picks the twins up and walks into the house with them.
The old farmhouse, while looking more gray than white these days and in much need of some TLC, is mostly unchanged. I trudge up the creaky, paint-chipped steps with my cumbersome bags and donkey.
“That’s not coming in our house,” Balthazar snarls as I open the screen door and wander in with A
esop.
I march forward. “The hell he’s not.”
“Watch your mouth,” he scolds. “These two are parrots.” He points at the boys.
I unsnap Aesop’s lead rope and hang it on a hook by the door. As I wander to the other side of the room, I pass Balthazar who is slathering peanut butter on white bread. A chattering noise from the back corner of the kitchen catches my attention. A real parrot?
“Mamama,” the parrot says. I walk toward a massive, wrought-iron cage with the elegant gray bird perched inside.
“Mean princess,” it says multiple times as it lifts its gnarled scaly foot to its mouth. I’m fascinated by the way its black tongue slides across its sharp claws while it glares at me. Balthazar Junior?
“Is it British or Midwestern?” I ask as I study the creature.
One of the twins meanders to my side, holding his tiny, naked penis in his hand, and points up to the parrot. “Dat Fuck, Mamama.”
The other boy—I clearly need to figure out who is who—runs at us, yelling, “Fruck! Fruck!” I burst out laughing. Maybe I can deal with the beastly brit. His sidekicks are quite possibly the most adorable things I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Ruck.”
That rough voice of Balthazar’s makes my stomach muscles contract. I twist my head and look at his piercing sapphire eye, then his hands, which dwarf the slices of bread he’s drowning with preserves. Why do I wonder what it would feel like to have those hands sliding up my legs? Good question—he’s repulsive. In that sexy, I-just-died-and-went-to-heaven sort of way. I swear under my breath as I picture his naked, hard body. He’s most definitely not soft. Anywhere.
“He’s an African gray parrot, will repeat anything you say.”
“Ruck as in Rugby?” I ask, attaching his muscles to a sport.
Balthazar laughs low in his throat. “Not just a pile of glitter?” He could make pig shit sound sexy with that accent. “Yes, Rugby. Played in high school.” Did he just call me a pile of glitter?
How To Tame Beasts And Other Wild Things Page 1
