by Leslie Pike
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it does.”
Now what?
“You put me in a vulnerable situation. Now I’m going to do it to you. Tell me your real name. I have all the time in the world and the ability to follow you wherever you hobble off to.”
The choices flip through my brain. There is only one.
“Nobel. My name is Nobel.”
“You’re far from noble.”
She’s got me there.
“It is. But spelled differently. What’s yours?”
“Dove.”
“Dove? Like the lovebirds? Very nice.”
I get a side-eye for my transparent effort to sooth the beast who has me in her trap.
“I stand by my opinion. It’s a good name,” I say.
“What’s your last name, Nobel? And if I were you, I’d be very careful with my answer.”
“Are you threatening me, Dove?” I half-smile begging for mercy.
“Yes. I believe I am. And no court in the land would fault me for doing it. Remember who here is the man hiding in the tree and who is the vulnerable woman legally fishing.”
Unfortunately for me, she’s right. I know it as an attorney and as a logical human. So I decide to do as asked. Lay it all out and beg for mercy.
“I’m Nobel Lyon, and that’s the truth.”
Her eyes scan my face and if I’m not mistaken they take in the rest of me too. Dirty and disheveled as it is. It’s surprising my statement is accepted without pushback. She even brings the folded chair to my side and steadies it with her hands and feet.
“Try to get up.”
With a tilt of my head and an eye to eye connection, I question her satisfaction with my answer. She understands the meaning.
“I did my due diligence when I decided to fish here. I looked up whose property I was going to access.”
“Impressive.”
I’m not just impressed with her digging, but with the use of due diligence. It’s unusual.
As I attempt to stand, my next question rises without thinking it out.
“May I ask how old you are, Dove?”
“How old are you? I’d like to know if the reason you have to climb a tree to look at a woman is because you’re going through a mid-life crisis.”
I could start laughing right here, if it wasn’t for the stinging insult just lobbed over the net. Maybe it’s the grey temples. She thinks I’m old. Way to wound a man. I touch my heart and fake a fatal stab.
She giggles. That doesn’t suck at all. It almost makes up for what was said.
“I’m forty-three. Now if you think that’s old, it’s your lack of experience with men. You’re young, so that could be the case.”
“Touché. But I never said anything about you being old. I don’t think any woman would look at you and say that.”
“Okay. You redeemed yourself. Now answer my question.”
I make it upright and try not to reveal just how messed up my ankle feels. This excruciating pain doesn’t affect me. Macho posing bullshit.
“I’m twenty-nine. Not so young or lacking in experience as to make me a freak.”
Maudie’s weak bark sounds from the top of the incline. When we look, she is scoping the way to make it downhill to be certain I’m okay.
“No, girl! Stay there! Shit! She followed me!”
I try to take a step, but it’s impossible without help. The dog places a paw on the incline and tests the first step down. Dove reads my expression of concern. I’m going to need help.
“She’s ill. I don’t want her to try to come down.”
“Stay here. I’ll get her. And do what? Is your place close?”
“Thank you. Yes, through the thicket of trees and across the field. You can see it clearly. You’d be willing to do that? After I did, well, you know.”
Her stunning smile answers. The brown eyes do too, like sunlight through a bottle of whiskey. Despite my recent collision with earth, I feel gravity losing its hold.
2
Dove
It’s not just the old hound who watches. The younger one does too. Climbing the incline, I feel his stare landing on my ass like a laser beam. Zap. Don’t mind it. Not a bit. As he found out, I’m a free spirit. A woman who swims naked for her own pleasure. In fact, here’s a little wiggle. Right now he’s wondering if I did that on purpose.
Watch all you want, Nobel Lyon. I’ve already decided to trust you.
It isn’t because I checked you out online before planning the trip. Or because you are my version of physical perfection. Tall, dark, sexy, and a little shy. Well, maybe that’s ten percent of the reason. But ninety percent is how you love your dog. Grandpa would say you could tell everything you need to know about a person by how they treat their animals. And when Nobel told a little of Maudie’s story, it touched my heart. There was love between the words.
Reaching the top of the hill, I lift myself upright. Maudie slowly pads her way over. The cold nose against my bare leg sniffs a hesitant question. Can you be trusted? Her tired head angles to get a look at the stranger, and cloudy eyes scan my face for signs of goodness.
“Hello, Maudie. I’m Dove. You’re a pretty girl. Yes, you are.”
My outstretched palm gets a sniff and a lick, sealing a hesitant approval. As we turn to walk off, she stops and gives one final look at her human.
“I’ll meet you there! Just go home, girl,” he calls from the river.
He’s talking to the dog. Oh, my heart just melted a little. With a wave, he starts for the hidden pathway known only to him. Looks like the walking stick is working fine. That was one of my better ideas. We unloaded the ammunition and wrapped the rifle in the blanket. Luckily, Duct tape is always included in my gear. I easily find the sweater left behind, then head through the trees. In a few minutes a sliver of an open field comes into view, and then the whole picture.
“Look at all the beautiful flowers! Do you like smelling them?”
Maudie is used to human to dog conversation, because she does the same thing Poko did whenever Grandma asked him a question. He’d stop and make eye contact. Just in case the words walk or treat were about to be part of the conversation. He wanted to be ready. The spaniel’s big brown eyes would plead the case. Grandma could be played like a violin by her furry friends.
“You’re going to get something special when we get to the house. Promise, girl.”
The violin plays for me too.
As we come out onto the field of wildflowers, I’m taken by the riot of color. Each blossom known to me and appreciated. I could give a course in the botany of Montana. Or at least write an article on the flora of the state. Every day, in prayer, I thank my favorite people in the world for teaching me to see and appreciate the beauty we live among. It is everywhere you look. Flowers, trees, herbs. Having the knowledge has been a wonderful addition to my life. Even if all I do is bask in their glory.
“There it is,” I say to the dog.
Nobel asked that I take it slow for Maudie. But it’s the hound that picks up the pace. Her eyes are locked on the beautiful log house up ahead.
“Wow. Not what I expected.”
The home sits on a clearing that borders the open field. It’s dramatic and kind of majestic looking in an American way. The first thing you notice are the expansive windows, which offer wide views of a glorious scene. The Yellowstone River and Paradise Valley are on display in a three hundred sixty degree view. The Absaroka Mountain Range acts as backdrop. Gorgeous.
This home, a two-story copper roofed dwelling, is the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen. That’s an understatement at its finest. Who wouldn’t want to live here? The wide two step entry onto a wraparound porch greets in the most welcoming way. Substantial wooden chairs, with thick cushions, sit waiting for an audience. Like orchestra seats in a theater, they’re front and center facing the vistas. Though each cushion is a different hue, they relate in variations of earth tones, moss green, golden amber, the rus
set of autumn leaves.
Maudie has her own path to the house. A ramp rises from the ground to the porch, and the hound knows the way. She heads for a large sheepskin dog bed to the left of the front door, and curls in a comfortable position. Like a Queen assuming her throne, she surveys her kingdom. Taking the steps onto the porch, I walk to the end and round the corner. I’m curious to see what the front view is.
I inhale at the sight. “Oh!”
A rush sweeps through me. Like a ghost. No. More like an enchanted spirit. There is something special about this moment. This spot. I’m looking at something my soul finds familiar. These are the kind of feelings I pay attention to. Grandma had the gift, and I do too. I’ve always thought it could be explained easily. It’s a common gift, but only some pay attention to these instant perceptions. Most don’t.
For a while all my senses are enhanced. The scent of the blossoms, sun on skin, the call of the regal hawk flying overhead. Appreciation is easy. It bubbles up and comes out in a smile.
When I turn around, the two-story window gives me a peek inside. Cupping my hands I try to get a better view. The glass is treated, and it’s hard to see details, but what I can see is the oversized furniture pieces, and a huge fireplace that rises high. I’m going inside.
Retracing my steps, I open the unlocked door. Maudie follows me inside. Wow. First impressions count and this one is one hundred percent positive. The first thing my eyes settle on is the stone fireplace that reaches the second story. I think a person could almost stand up inside. Stunning.
The entire room is an open space, the living room, kitchen, dining room, all can be seen on entering. A wide desk and a high-end office chair sit angled with a view to the outside. Three monitors and a closed laptop take up part of the surface. It’s very neat. No paperwork. No drawers. Where does he keep the paperwork? He’s an attorney, as I found out in my digging. An organized one I see.
The dog has made it across the living room, to the stone island in the kitchen. She stands frozen, staring at the legs of the perfectly angled barstools in front of her. For a moment I’m stumped. Is she having a problem? But then I see the lidded glass container of dog biscuits on the counter. Smart girl. Nobel’s sweater gets placed on the back of the maroon leather chair, as I pass to the kitchen. Once the lid is removed, Maudie lifts her head and takes a step back, nails clicking on the wood floor.
“Here you go, sweetie.”
The biscuit is gently taken and carried to one of her “spots”. It looks awfully comfortable there on the rug in front of one of the leather chairs. I’m guessing it’s where the human sits every night. I can picture the idyllic scene. A snifter of brandy comes to mind. No. That’s not who he is. Maybe a whiskey.
My attention lands on the far dining room wall across the kitchen. It’s covered in photographs. But this is no half-baked display put up randomly. It’s well thought out. Each picture framed in the same way, and professionally. How did he space them so perfectly? Black matte wood against the light grey wall stands out.
Oh, this is going to be fun. It will give me a good peek into Mr. Lyon’s world. I lean over to catch a look out the side window. Is he coming? Not yet. Good. Let the snooping begin. There’s not a lot of time. My first impression is he’s from a happy family. The older couple have a kind of cool chic style. The man wears Uggs and bracelets. My kind of people. There’s a picture of Nobel and his siblings from the eighties. Three brothers and two sisters. So cute. The two teenagers in the next picture must belong to one of them. Lookers all. There is one sister grown, with another man and one of the kids. All three wear big funny hats.
Dogs. These people love their animals. That’s a good sign. This could take me an hour to look at all the pictures and glimpse his life. Why am I not seeing any women? Odd. Only one of the brothers stands next to a woman. And that’s an old New Year’s picture from two thousand and twelve.
I could get sidetracked here. Think I’ll save the photos for last. I need to take a look around first. No one will ever know. Anyway, I’m pretty sure he couldn’t accuse me of crossing any lines of privacy. After all, he was spying on me first.
So I head down the hall, looking at a guest bathroom, and two bedrooms that share another full bath. Nice. Where does he sleep? Neither of these say master bedroom, or even show one thing out of place. Okay, guest rooms. Is there time to go upstairs? If I got caught it would be embarrassing. Not quite as embarrassing as falling out of a tree, but close.
Do it!
I exit the hallway and take the stairs two at a time until I reach the landing. When I look back, Maudie is watching. Good thing she can’t talk. There’s a wide open space with a bar, a big flatscreen, a game table, and six chairs. Looks like a poker table if I’m not mistaken. So he’s a card guy. Cool. I can play a mean game of Texas Hold ‘Em.
Quit wasting time!
I head down the hall to the one room it leads to. Are those horns I hear heralding my arrival? Double doors are closed, but that doesn’t stop me. I swing them both open.
“Ohhh! Jackpot!!”
I expected a pristine bedroom. Not a pillow out of place. Instead, I’m greeted by an unmade bed and discarded clothes at its foot. There’s a half-eaten bowl of popcorn sitting on the side table, alongside a beer bottle. Obviously he was in a hurry to spy on me this morning. I have to chuckle. But there’s no time to waste.
First I run a hand over the pillowcase he didn’t sleep on. Yep. The man knows and buys quality. That’s one in the plus column. Actually the plus column began at the river. By now, I’m on number one hundred. A giant flatscreen on the wall opposite the bed is another. This man likes his TV. Most women I know don’t like one in the bedroom at all. That’s where I part ways with my gender.
Moving to the bathroom I’m surprised by its size and general awesomeness of the space. Never have I seen a bigger shower. Or a better one. It’s big enough for four people. Fancy water heads point in every direction, and black and grey tile stacks high.
“Cool.”
Dare I open his medicine cabinet? Hell yes. It’s set into the wall, modern in design and large. What’s he got in here, a years’ worth of cologne? Opening it, my eyes scan the tidy shelves for surprises. Tylenol, floss, deodorant, all the usual players. Two prescription bottles. Xanax. And what’s this one? Viagra! These are both old prescriptions. It was filled two years ago. Both look like they are almost full. Well he is in his forties. Didn’t know that would happen so young. What’s this huge bottle? Gas pills!! What the hell? Why does he need an industrial sized bottle of anti-gas pills? I can’t stop laughing.
A sudden urge to pee grabs my attention. At least I’m in the right room. I find the nook, push down my shorts and sit on the fancy toilet. Obviously it’s a bidet, but what are all these other choices? This is like the James Bond car. Maybe there’s an ejector button, or a secret weapon hidden. He could get rid of a lingering guest or defend himself against intruders.
Maudie’s bark lifts to the second floor.
“Oh shit!” I yell.
I finish my business and reach for my shorts. They’re up and zipped in a few beats, before running out of the room. At the bottom of the steps, the dog sits looking out the window. The sound of heavy footsteps on the porch stairs announce his arrival. Her tail is swinging back and forth at what she sees approaching. Shit times ten!
I hit the floor, and slide into the leather wing chair just as the door swings open.
“I made it!” Nobel says, stepping inside.
“Are you in pain?” I say, noting the pinched expression and an out of breath voice.
I rise and go to him, taking the rifle. Maudie gets a head scratch and a conversation from her guy.
“Hey, girl. Have you been entertaining our guest?”
“Sit down. Rest your ankle.”
When he looks up at me I kind of melt with the effect. He is one sexy looking hunk of man. His heavy dark eyebrows knit together but the corners of his mouth lift.
&nbs
p; “Your cheeks are flushed. And you’re out of breath. Have you two been wrestling with King Kong?”
He gestures toward the soft monkey laying curled on the floor. It takes a few beats before I can come up with a reason that he might buy.
“No. We actually just got inside, because I thought I’d look at the view from the porch while Maudie was taking a rest on her doggie bed outside.”
I swear the dog is calling me a liar. Those soulful eyes ratting me out. Then she proves it by walking to the edge of the island counter and looking directly at me. Payment for her silence, canine blackmail at its finest.
“She wants a cookie. That’s where I keep them,” he says, innocent of my crime of entering and snooping.
“Oh! Let me get her one.”
Maudie gets her treat, the second in twenty minutes, and takes it to the spot in front of the chair.
“Come sit with us,” Nobel says, hobbling behind the dog and taking a seat in the chair I imagined him occupying.
I push the matching ottoman the last few inches and stand by as he lifts his leg and sets it down. A sigh follows.
“Let me help you with your shoe,” I offer. “You should take it off. Here.”
He lets me untie the knot and remove the boot. This man has some big feet. Hope that theory holds.
“Let me get the other one. You don’t want one shoe on and one off.”
There’s a restrained smile on his face.
“What?” I say, smiling myself.
“I’m not sure. Except to say this all seems funny. I never expected you to forgive my…”
His voice trails off and his eyes lower. The embarrassment is very sexy.
“Thank you,” he offers.
The shoe gets dropped to the floor and I make eye contact. “We should have a look at your ankle. It may have to be wrapped.”
“Do you know anything about twisted ankles? It wouldn’t surprise me. It seems you’re good at lots of things.”
My fingers wrap around his foot and the sock gets removed.
“I probably know more than you do. My grandparents were big believers in self-reliance. I can’t count the times we handled scrapes and cuts and minor mishaps ourselves.”
