by Dallis Adams
Proud of her students, Uma watched the children hop up from their chairs and file out through the door. As they left, she looked at new classroom, satisfaction warming her heart.
A new huge chalkboard lined the west wall. Cojocaru members as well as families had painted images on various posters on the other walls. They had used thin boards Uma had purchased with her inheritance from Boswell’s Lumber as canvases for their drawings. The whole project had bonded families and community even closer.
Lala had painted an alphabet chart with the appropriate animal to illustrate the sound of each letter. She particularly liked the h for horse since the painting depicted Twilightbolt. Every day she rode the lively horse, practicing simple tricks. The paint was surprisingly patient. All she had to do was talk to him. In secret. Because she wasn’t about to let Orchilo, Lala or Marco know.
Gildie, the musician, had painted the number chart where she’d used violins to count for each number. Yet another poster depicted the steps for the scientific method — question, hypothesis, materials, procedure, results and conclusion — drawn by Thora with the help of Tawni.
Catalina and her sons, Nelson and Devlin had painted an herbal poster with ten plants, listing the cures and possible side effects … and one of Uma’s favorites, was a series of inspirational thoughts, painted by Rosia, Orlando and Zada. Be a dreamer. Look on the bright side. You are what you choose to be. After Zada had thrown herself on the altar, so to speak, and gave her false confession to shooting Doc Elroy, because she thought she was saving either her mother or her father from a lifetime in prison, Jack and Uma had given Rosia another serious talk, warning her to take down her drama by several notches. Rosia had taken their words to heart, and had started arranging quality family time. Neither had her or Orlando fought since that day. And the couple had taken opportunities to be alone with each other, even going to San Francisco for a night of romance.
There were thin wooden posters on tripods as well, to be changed out as needed. A tripod held a poster depicting the inside of a frog, showing various organs such as the tongue, larynx, and heart. Uma had done that.
“Miss Uma?”
She turned to see that Zada was still at her desk. Zada had changed dramatically for the better. No longer was she a withdrawn, frightened little girl. She smiled a lot more and had color in her cheeks. “What is it, Zada?”
“Are you going to the dance?”
Zada was referring to the spring dance at The Wandering Axe, where Rick Ridley and his daughter, Gildie, would play their fiddles while everyone danced. Uma bit her lower lip. “I’m not sure.”
No, she wasn’t. Because this afternoon Jack was going to show her his secret project, one he’d been working on for the past month. Guilt swept through her because his project wasn’t such a secret anymore. No, because she despised surprises.
So she’d stealthily followed him last week. And what she’d seen had been nothing but a drab-looking shack. Ugh. She had wanted someplace to live that wasn’t right over the Sheriff’s Office, someplace more private for the two of them. Well, at least the place was private. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. Sighing, she decided she would have to act excited. If she could pull off the excited playacting. Because she was not good at pretending something she wasn’t.
“Well, I’m going. But before that, Papa is taking me and Mama to The Vine for fine dining cuisine,” Zada said as she waved her hand up high in an air of importance. “And then off to the dance, where Devlin promised he would be my partner. So will Tawni.” She suddenly frowned. “Is it alright for Tawni and me to dance together like we do at school?”
For the past couple of weeks, Uma had been teaching the children line dances as part of her physical fitness program so they would be ready for May, the month of weekly spring dances. “Of course. Everyone dances together in a line dance. You can partner with anybody you choose.”
“Alright, that’s great.”
“Zada,” Rosia called from the doorway. “Let’s get our chores done and then get dressed up for this evening.”
“Yes, Mama,” Zada said to her mother in a happy tone. “Goodbye, Miss Uma. Hope to see you at The Wandering Axe.”
The girl grabbed her mother’s hand, warming Uma’s heart. Rosia smiled and gave her a small wave before leaving with her young daughter.
Uma worked a while longer, putting away slates and sweeping chalk from the floor before hearing the door open.
Looking up, she saw Jack with a sexy smile as he leaned against the door jam.
“I’m almost ready,” she said, forcing herself to return his grin, even as her stomach lurched at the idea of having to act surprised or excited, when she wasn’t.
“Did you follow me last week?” He frowned, suddenly suspicious. “I told you it was a surprise.”
“Of course I didn’t,” she replied with a gulp, not able to make eye contact. She tried not to squirm under his speculation and, instead, to mold her expression into one of innocence.
“Alright, then,” he grumbled. “I just wanted my project to be a surprise to you.”
“Of course.” After a couple more sweeps of the broom, and centering a wooden poster on its tripod, she decided she could make the most of Jack’s new house. How could she not? As she approached Jack, and stared into those deep blue eyes that sparkled with love, for her, she knew she could do anything and would be happy anywhere as long as she was with him.
And he’d sacrificed for her. Even though Jack obviously wasn’t a carpenter, nor did he have a calling to be one, he had tried to build a new house with his own hands. He had put in a lot of time. She remembered last week when he’d come into their small apartment with a throbbing thumb, one he had obviously hit with a hammer. His thumbnail had fallen off eventually. Another time he’d gotten a nasty cut on his hand. Yes, he’d worked hard and had the scars to show. So she would be happy about it. No matter where they were, or where they lived, she would always be thrilled with life, as long as she was living it with him.
He held out his hand. “Come on. I can’t wait to show you what I’ve been doing with my time. Even though I had to be away from you, I think it’s worth it in the long run.”
His hand cocooned hers in a warm grasp. As always, her heart rolled over at his touch, his nearness.
She followed him past Caravan Row and into the forest. A path had been recently cleared of underbrush. But the Redwoods had not been disturbed to her relief. They walked about a hundred yards toward the west where she knew the shack was that Jack had toiled over. It was a pretty location. There was a stream a few feet from the back side of the old structure. And the ocean could be seen through the large trees.
“Close your eyes.” He drew out his bandanna and held it in front of her, his intent obvious.
“I’ve never been blindfolded.”
“Do you trust me?”
She looked into those sea-blue eyes. No matter what happened, Jack was always there. Twice she had been in mortal danger, and although she helped herself … or some other interference, like Twilightbolt, helped her … Jack had always been near, as backup. “Yes.”
Gently, he tied the bandanna around her head, her vision cloaked in a blue haze created by the paisley cloth. Scents of cloves, cinnamon and something that was all Jack clung to the fabric. He leaned over and kissed her cheek, then found her lips. The musky clove scent of him swirled over her. The coffee, cinnamon-like taste of him as he slid his tongue against hers seemed amplified.
“Hmm. We’re going to have to explore this blindfold more thoroughly in bed,” she murmured.
“I like how you think,” he said, tickling her ribs, making her giggle. “I’m all for it.” He led her several feet, holding her by the waist. His nearness warmed her, assured her as nothing else ever would. As he led her forward, he warned her of obstacles and led her in the right direction. “There’s a dip here.” Or, “Step over this root.” And, “We’re going to turn slightly to the left.”
It see
med to take much longer than she’d remembered. Then he stopped, spooning her, pulling her close to him. Carefully, slowly he lifted the blindfold and then leaned over to watch her expression.
She looked. Blinked hard. Then looked again. It was a fairytale house.
“How? Where? What happened to the shack?”
“So you did follow me.” Jack shook his finger at her.
She started to deny it but then realized she’d ratted herself out.
Then she looked from the direction they’d come and realized he’d taken her around the facade, a single side of the old shack, siding that had blocked the real project.
He gave her a knowing look that was full of admonishment. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist seeing what I was working on. So I had some of the fellows help me erect this side of the Boswell’s dilapidated barn to hide the real home I was building.”
Narrowing her eyes at him, she gave him a frown. “Sneaky.”
But she couldn’t blame him. She was terrible about accepting surprises, and she usually discovered what the surprise was.
She walked around the structure. Three vardos had been hooked together in a zigzag fashion. The front half of the foremost vardo had been changed to a covered porch. Walls were gone. In place of the walls was a low turquoise fence. Thin copper shaped like flowers were embedded on the turquoise fascia. Red curtains hung next to each aqua post that supported the rounded roof.
Slowly taking every detail in, touching the railing, and skimming her fingers over the fascia, she walked up the stairs to stand on the porch. A bright yellow velvet empire swan settee resided on the porch with two French tub chairs covered with a velvet fabric that was deep red with yellow spotted diamond shapes. A low table in front of the settee completed the grouping.
“What do you think?”
She simply stared, touching everything, taking it all in.
Jack chuckled. “This has to be the first time I’ve ever seen you speechless. Well, other than our times spent in the bedroom.”
“Jack,” she replied, her tone reverent. “I can’t believe this.”
Smirking, he leaned against the railing leading up to the porch. “You didn’t think I could do it, did you?”
“No,” she said. “I honestly didn’t. My fault for doubting you.”
“What compensation do I get for your slight?” he asked teasingly as he stroked her hair.
She threw her arms around him and gave him a fierce hug. “You are so good to me. How about a night of doting,” she replied, still squeezing him with one arm as she cupped his cheek with her other hand. “I’ll rub the kinks out of your back. After we go to the dance. Zada wants us there.”
“Dancing and doting it is,” he agreed with a grin with a tickle to her sides, making her giggle and squirm, which delighted him, if his chuckle was any indication. “Come inside. Wait until you see the dining room and kitchen.”
“We have a kitchen?” She followed him up the stairs and past the porch seating area.
“Yup.” He opened the arched red door and ushered her into a small dining room with a sturdy-looking table hewed out of Redwood. The walls were lined with both vertical and horizontal shelving for dishes and cups.
“Don’t worry. I found a fallen tree and made the table out of that. So I didn’t kill one of your friends.”
Heat rose to her face as she realized Jack was referring to her absurd behavior when she spoke to the Redwoods, thinking she was alone. “I’m not a Dryad, or whatever nonsense Marco was spouting. Nor am I a Linguist Zoo. Neither do I believe in such ridiculous things.”
“Are you certain?” he teased. “You seem pretty magical to me. I get lost in the magic of you whenever I’m near you.”
She smiled. “You know just how to woo me, you sweet talker.” Pulling his head down to hers, she gave him a smack on the lips. She walked through another doorway and into the kitchen. And marveled at the simple yet efficient design. A wrought iron stove and oven stood in the center against a wall. Built in cabinets surrounded it, with a nice sized countertop next to the stove. Pots and pans hung from a wrought iron rack, secured in the rafters. Another countertop stretched the length of the opposite wall, with more cabinets underneath.
“I guess I’ll need some cooking lessons from Troy,” she said, referring to The Vine chef. “In fact, I might make it a field trip and have him demonstrate how to cook a thing or two to the students.”
“Sounds like a plan, although I’m not too bad in the kitchen.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You know how to cook?”
“Of course. Why do you think I opened The Vine? In fact, I love to cook. I’ve been known to take over the chef position when Troy needs a break.”
“Why didn’t I know this?” It was amazing to her that she was still finding out things about him.
“Because, ever since you’ve been living in Cryptic Cove I’ve been mainly a lawman, busy with finding murderers and what not. Not to mention being married to you.”
“Are you saying that I’m work?”
“The best kind,” he replied. “If lovemaking is work, I’ll be with you in the bedroom all day and night. At least now I don’t need to leave our love nest when I cook for you.”
Her heart spilled over with a sappy love, so much so that she felt as if she would burst. “Nice save.”
“I thought so,” he responded with a smirk. “Which leaves the final piece of our vardo. The bedroom.” With a gallant gesture, he held out his arm and bowed her through another doorway.
She walked into the small hallway and into a room that rivaled any French boudoir. The bedroom winged out to the west. A wardrobe set on each side, against opposite walls, with scroll trim and curved legs. She stepped up on the raised flooring to a cozy alcove with a rounded opening. The opening was surrounded with red paneling, embossed with leaf-shaped copper filigree. A rounded staircase was to her left. She walked up the stairs to see an enclosed balcony with windows overlooking the ocean through the mighty Redwoods. The wooden floor was covered with a red and gold Turkish rug. A cozy-looking couch with extra silk-covered pillows completed the room. “Everything is beautiful. Looking at this fantastical home surrounded by nature, it’s hard not to believe in magic.”
“So, do you want to dote on me now, or do you want me to dote on you?” He stepped up with her on the dais that held their bed of paradise.
“How about both of us? Dote, dance, dote?” she answered in a sultry tone of her own. “As long as I can be sheriff first, and you can be the outlaw. Then we’ll switch roles after the dance.”
Jack gave her a slow, sexy smile as he tumbled her onto the bed. “I can live with that.”
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I’m a romantic at heart. And I always write happy endings. Some snark and lots of humor comes naturally to me. My goal is to provide readers escapism from sadness in the world.
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Special thanks go out to Jacque Hendricks and Audrey Little for correcting errors that creep into a work of fiction. Audrey also creates my wonderful book covers, so I’m doubly thankful for her creativity and help.
Any and all errors are my own, although I did take some of that special leeway called "fictional license." For instance:
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