by Dee Palmer
“Thanks.” I snort out a forced flat laugh that sounds a little too false. I hope I’m successfully hiding the sudden sinking feeling hollowing out my very full stomach with the notion that what he’s just said is the truth. I struggle to swallow down the emotional lump crawling slowly up the back of my throat. What’s wrong with me?
“It’s just one day, Buttercup. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“You’re right. Thank you.” After the day I’ve had, I want to say ‘famous last words’, but since Pink picked me up, it has improved, so I’ll keep my pessimism to myself and just enjoy the very nice company for what it is, a distraction.
“You said that already.”
“And I’m sure I’ll say it a few more times before the day is through.” My lilting response is accompanied with a genuine smile and a feeling of lightness that seems to lift my spirits from the pits they have been circling for I don’t know how long.
That’s a lie; I know when.
Resting my head on my hand and watching the open fields and pockets of woodland blur past, I close my eyes and let my mind drift. The air is warm and thick with the sweet smell of the meadows that were my playground growing up. Memories of running, screaming with laughter as my momma would chase me, playing hide and seek around our cabin, and teaching me all the things Gramps had taught her that were necessary to make it in the wild. Behind my eyelids, I can feel the tears swell. It’s a shame he never taught her how to avoid drunk drivers.
“So, princess, where to now?” Pink interrupts before that memory takes more of a dark turn. Possibly the last thing my day needs. I blink against the intense sunlight streaming into the truck, and it takes a moment to re-orient myself. I know this area like the back of my hand, but I didn’t realize I had my eyes closed for so long. I must have fallen asleep. We’re already almost there.
“Keep going on this road. It’s not far now. I know just where I’d like to take you.” He gives me an easy smile and floors the gas. The road is empty, and even flat-out, the old truck is barely pushing seventy. It’s noisy, and after a while of waiting for him to speak and realizing that that’s not going to happen, I decide to push my luck.
“So do you have a girl back home?”
“I do.”
“Oh, and you’ve left her?” I’m surprised and an unpleasant feeling washes over me at his revelation and my assumption.
“Sharing, Buttercup, I thought I made myself clear.”
“I know, and you did. It’s just I’d like to know.” Sitting with my back to the door, the seat belt pulled as loose as it will go, I cross my legs and ready myself for a story I really hope he’s going to tell. I’m not above begging, but I think some soft coaxing and some home truths will do the trick. He may look all tight jawed and steely eyes on the road, but I’ve seen the soft quirks on his lips and tender concern in his eyes. He’s not such a closed book; I’m sure of it. I just need to get him to open up a little. “It’s not like we’re ever going to see each other again after today, so what does it really matter?”
“I could use that very same argument, what does it matter?”
“It matters to me. I’d like to know more about the kind stranger that saved me.” My plea is playful, and when he lets out the longest sigh filled with resignation, I find myself clapping my hands with excitement. Yes.
“I haven’t left her.” His answer is reluctant. I know I’m still going to need to tread lightly.
“But you’re not happy.”
“I am.” His instant response is adamant.
“Because happy people always run away…sorry, take a ‘road trip’ to nowhere.”
“It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.” He’s dismissive, and I reel from the condescending tone of his comment.
“Thanks.”
“I’m sorry, Buttercup, but you won’t.” His tone softens, and when he looks at me, I can see he’s struggling with something more than just hurting my feelings. He pauses, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“It’s fine. You don’t have to explain. I’m sorry I asked.” I am, and the last thing I want is to give him a headache. He ignores my offer of renewed silence and glances my way warily before speaking.
“I know you understand the different levels of love but… but Buttercup, you’ve had one boyfriend since high school. Maybe you’ve had sex with more than one guy, but I seriously doubt that. You won’t even cuss, so trust me, there’s no way you’re gonna understand what type of relationship I have with Finn.”
“Oh, and I am more than a little intrigued now.” I lean forward encouragingly cupping my ear until I spot a road sign up ahead. “Pull off at the next junction and take the road heading west.”
“Where are we going?” He flicks the indicator and smoothly guides us off the main road onto the smaller one that winds around the edge of our farm to Coopers Forest.
“Camp.”
“Camp. I like the sound of that.”
“It’s my sanctuary. When my momma died, I would spend most days there, and if Gramps let me, some nights, too. It’s our cabin on the very edge of the farm, by the river. My momma taught me to fish there and build a fire. If it had electricity, I could live out there quite happily.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“It is.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment, and I’m in no state to go into those very painful details, so I persevere with the original topic of conversation. “So how complicated is complicated?”
“Hmm, you’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Nope.”
“I have three brothers, not blood-related, but brothers nonetheless, and we share one wife,” he states, and I think his complicated comment is spot on, as is his assessment of me understanding. What?
“Oh…my.”
“You asked.”
“I did. Are you Mormon?”
“Um, no. I don’t practice any specific religion.”
“Oh, then, yeah, I am confused.”
“Finn is our wife. She’s amazing, and we all love her very much. She could only marry one of us, though, and last year, she married Charge. They had a connection. We all saw it, knew it was different. We didn’t think anything had changed because we were all happy. Then over a period of time, being alone with her felt…different…and it didn’t quite sit right with Tug, Toxic, and me. All of a sudden, intimacy with her felt wrong. I mean we still slept together, cuddled, kissed, and were close, and, you know, it’s not just that. I mean, if we never had sex again, I’d be fine with that, as long as she loved me the way she loves Charge.”
“You’d be okay with no sex? Really?”
“I’d rather not, but it’s not everything. I want more. We all do.”
“So you left to find it.”
“No, not at all. It just got a little messy when Hope, her best friend, came to stay. And when that all blew up, I needed some space.”
“You fell for Hope?”
“I thought I did.”
“And she didn’t feel the same?”
“No.”
“Wow, she must need her head examined.” I may not be an expert about men, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see he’s one of the good ones.
“She was married.”
“Oh. Now I’m really confused.”
“She came to stay, but she never told Finn she’d gotten married. She didn’t say a word. We hit it off, and Finn got the wrong idea. We both did. Honestly, I think I was just so desperate to find my ‘one’, I didn’t really see the signs.” He shrugs it off, pain pulling the line of his lips thin and flat. He closes his eyes briefly, and I have to touch him, squeezing his bicep and failing to make any headway on the rock hard muscle. Still, the sentiment is there, and he reaches across himself and rests his hand over mine.
“I’m sorry.”
He slips his fingers through mine and grips. The heat and roughness of his skin send a warm wave of something through me. The contact is brief, yet the
impact is seismic, and when he looks at me, I know he feels it too. Maybe this day isn’t just for me.
“It was my fault. I’ve had a bit of time to think about it, driving for hours with nothing but the radio blaring, and I’ve gone over and over every conversation. Hope never said anything to make me think she liked me like that.”
“Still hurt, though, I’m sure.”
“My pride maybe, but I’m a big boy.”
“A big boy on the run.”
“I just need to get it clear in my head, what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“I want the real thing. You don’t know there’s a difference until you witness it yourself, until it touches you. Life is too short to settle.” The truth of this hits me hard, but not as hard as the way his stare sears right through me, shakes my core, and leaves me speechless. I have to turn away to break the intensity of what’s firing between us. He’s not even looking at me, yet I feel something profound shift deep inside me. I don’t know what it is exactly. I do know that I’ve never felt anything like it.
You’re just emotional, Buttercup. Stop looking for something you can’t ever have.
The road narrows, and on the hairpin bend, Pink slows right down, and I see something on the verge that looks horribly familiar. Large circles of the grassland have been flattened with wide tire tracks and there’s the bloody carcass of a deer that was not quite able to make it to the safety of the woods.
“Stop the truck!” I yell.
He slams the breaks and we both jolt against our belts. “What? Why?”
“Didn’t you see that?” I’m twisting in my seat, only I can’t quite see, so I stick my head out of the window to look back.
“See what?”
“Can you back up?”
“Sure. What did you see?”
“There.” I point to the brown heap flattening the long grass. The truck rolls slowly back until we reach the deer. Pink pulls the truck onto the shoulder and parks. He jumps out of the truck and helps me to my feet. Fresh pain shoots up my legs, and I’m hesitant to walk on the rough, rocky ground. He squats low, and I jump up onto his back, without fuss this time. Walking closer, he’s cautious as he approaches the deer.
“I think it’s dead, Buttercup,” he whispers.
“I need to check.” Wiggling out of his hold, I slide to my feet and crouch low enough to check. There’s a lot of blood, and it’s fresh. The bullet wound pumps out more blood in sporadic shallow spurts. The doe is in shock and the injuries are too severe to help her, even if I did have my medical kit with me.
“Do you want me to take care of it? I can get my gun.” Pink offers, and I shake my head.
“No, no, it’s fine.”
“We can’t leave her like this.” He touches my shoulder, and I know he’s trying to comfort me. I’m just so angry my tone is clipped and harsh.
“I am aware of that, Pink, but her fawn is just there, and if you shoot its mom, the shock is likely to kill it.” He removes his hand and uses it to shield his eyes in an attempt to see what I’m looking at.
“Where? Oh, I didn’t see it there. Why is it still there?”
“I don’t know.” I move around to the head of the deer, firmly take hold of the antlers and quickly jerk it until the neck snaps. The floppy weight of the animal slips from my hands, and I close my eyes. It never gets easier, and the anger bubbles so much it takes several breaths before I am able to unclench my jaw and breathe normally. Pink looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. Death isn’t a problem for me, and no hunter would ever leave an animal in distress like this, but these aren’t hunters. They’re animals.
“This is someone’s idea of fun, and it makes me sick.”
“I hunt.”
“This isn’t hunting. This is sociopathic monsters playing god, and I don’t have time for it.”
“You know who did this.”
“No, I’ve just heard their trucks and gunfire, and the next day, the aftermath always looks like this.”
“Oh.”
“Kurt says it’s just kids letting off steam, and his uncle feels the same. The police won’t get involved.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.” My eyes fill with tears, which I blink away and shake myself, filing my rage away in another drawer labeled ‘things I can’t change’. The fawn is trembling with eyes so wide I think it will be a miracle if it doesn’t die from fear. I crouch and coo some soothing sounds as I crawl closer. It’s a female, and a quick visual assessment reveals she has some minor lacerations, which aren’t too bad. The angle of her rear left leg however, indicates a significant break, and that is much more serious.
“Do you have a blanket?”
“I have a towel. Will that do?”
“Yes.” Pink jogs over to the truck and returns with a large cream-colored towel. I grimace at the color. She may not be covered in blood, but it’s still going to get ruined.
“Hope it’s not your only one?” He hands it to me, and I lay it over the fawn.
“Buttercup, are you sure you want to do this?”
“I’ll buy you another towel.”
“Not what I meant. That looks like a nasty break.”
“It is. She’s going to need some care to bring her back to fighting fit.” She’s in shock, terrified, and trembling. I tuck the towel around her body, careful not to move the injured leg and stroke her ears and neck.
“She’s got no momma; she won’t survive. Especially with a broken leg.” His assessment is irrelevant, no matter how softly spoken and well-intended. I snap.
“I’ll fix the leg. I’m not letting her die, Pink.” Pure rage rides on each word I push out through a painfully clenched jaw. I want to scream to the heavens, this makes me so mad, and Pink just isn’t helping by stating what I already know.
“Okay. I wasn’t suggesting—”
“Yes, you were, and you’re not alone. Most people would draw their gun and end it here and now. I’m not most people.” Looking up at Pink, anger ebbs in my veins and allows me to speak normally.
“Yeah, I’m getting that much.” He rubs the back of his neck and shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. I feel awful for biting his head off like I did. It’s not his fault. He’s the one who’s been helping me from the moment he turned that truck around.
“Can you carry her for me?”
“I wasn’t going to let you do it, given you can’t manage on your own two feet as it is.” Concern filters from his face. He seems eager to make amends, kneeling down beside me. I’m not sure what he thinks he needs to make amends for; he’s done nothing wrong.
“Thank you.” I lay my hand on his as he reaches for the fawn. Our fingertips touch, sparks sizzle, and I wonder if he feels that too. I search his eyes—for what, I’m not sure—but I can’t see anything other than the deepest blue pools I wouldn’t mind drowning in. He turns his head, and I feel my whole body deflate. Scooping the towel around the fawn, he lifts her easily into his arms.
She must be completely traumatized, making no effort to get away. Even in pain, their flight instinct is so strong they would try and escape any which way, if they could. I struggle to my feet, irritated to distraction that I still can’t bear any weight, and I’m as helpless as the poor fawn. I watch him place her in the back seat of his truck. He leaves the door open, turns, and strides over to me. He barely stops, sweeping me into his arms and carrying me the short distance. My heart hammers with the rush, and I don’t fight the pleasure as it spreads from deep in my chest to bursting wide across my face.
“Thank you.”
“You said that already.” He arches a knowing brow, affectionately repeating his comment with a wry smile. “Do you want to sit in the back with her?”
“Yes, please. It’s not far. There’s a dirt track about half a mile up this road on the left. Turn there, and it’s at the end of that road. Should only take about ten minutes.”
“Okay, if you’re s
ure?” He puts me on the seat, and his eyes soften with genuine concern. The pleading edge to his question makes me see this situation from his perspective.
“I’ve got some supplies at the cabin, and I can do a proper examination. I’m not blind, Pink, and I won’t put her through any more distress. I just have to give her a better chance than a roadside assessment.”
“Understood. Well, hang on; it can get a little bumpy back there.” He closes the door and slides into the front seat.
“Not my first time in the back of a truck,” I say, meeting his eyes in the rear-view mirror.
“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?” He wiggles his brow suggestively. I cringe, my cheeks heat, and peeking out through my mortification with one eye, I try to set him straight.
“Not what I meant.”
“Sure, princess. Butter wouldn’t melt in that pretty mouth of yours.” His playful tease leaves a funny taste in my mouth.
I’m not that kind of girl, and right now, I’m wondering why that is exactly.
THE DIRECTIONS ARE EASY ENOUGH. It takes a little longer than ten minutes, however. The road is pretty rough, and I have to slow down to get the truck over the fallen logs and avoid the potholes. I get the impression this road isn’t used very often, if at all. It’s remote, isolated and couldn’t be more perfect. The overhanging trees begin to thin, revealing more daylight, and the road ends in a manmade clearing overlooking an endless view of the valley. A small log cabin is nestled between two large oak trees, and the land dips away to the right of it in what looks like the bank of a river.
Buttercup mentioned something about fishing, so it’s not a huge leap to assume there’s a river or a lake close by. There’s a small woodshed set back from the cabin, with logs stacked and a pile ready for splitting. I wonder if Buttercup does that, too. She kind of shocked me with the deer back there.
My first impressions are in tatters, and my second impressions seem to be going the same way. She’s not crazy, and she’s not a pampered princess. She looks like a goddess, has the heart of an angel, and she’s tough. I park the truck, and sliding my arm along the back of the front seat, turn to look in the back. Buttercup has the deer cradled in her arms, and it seems to be sleeping. I hope it’s sleeping. I don’t think she’s being particularly level-headed about saving it. For some reason though, it seems more than important to her; it’s vital that it survives. I’m not going to argue.
