by Dee Palmer
I try to open the driver door of the truck as quietly as I can. Berta groans her disapproval all the same. The rusty and lightly used rear door is worse. My gut twists, knowing that the deer must be unconscious to not jump at that noise. That’s not good.
“Hold on tight; I’ll carry you both.”
“Are you sure?” Her eyes widen with worry, and I have to laugh. She can’t weigh even a hundred and twenty pounds.
“I think I’ll manage.” Scooping her up into my arms, relief washes over me when I see the deer wiggle in her arms. Buttercup is quick to coo soothing sounds, which seem to help. I reach the door and, with my arms full, my first hurdle. “Is the door locked?”
“Yes, but carry me to the window and I’ll get the key.” I do as she asks, and she runs her finger along the underside of the sill. She waves the key like a victory flag and grins like a champ. I carry her back to the door. She unlocks it, and I step into the small, dusty, dark room. Musty stale air fills my nostrils with the aroma of open fires long dead, warm wood and sweet pine. It’s familiar and comforting, a little like our cabin back home. I carry them both over to the couch and carefully put her down. Buttercup eases the fawn onto the cushion and perches on the edge of the worn leather cushion.
“Can you keep an eye on her while I go to my room? It’s not like I think she’s going to go anywhere, but she might suddenly wake and panic. I need her not to move until I can set the break.”
“Sure, don’t you need me to carry you?”
“I’ll be fine. I won’t be running any marathons anytime soon, but I can make it the three feet to the bedroom. My bag is in there, and I can change into my own clothes.”
“Don’t go doing that on my account. You look cute as a button in my T-shirt.”
She looks smokin’ fucking hot and ignites a primal desire in the pit of my stomach that makes me feel more like an animal than a white knight. Only, I’m not about to express any of that. The last thing this ‘unusual’ situation needs is to get more complicated. Besides, one animal in the cabin is enough to deal with.
“I do?” As she tugs the hem of my shirt, which almost reaches her knees, puzzled confusion mixes with the fresh blush of pink on her cheeks. An air of innocence surrounds her like a tempting veil, luring me to somewhere I know better than to venture. Corrupting angels isn’t my thing.
“Like the kid sister I never had.”
“Oh, right.” She turns, her shoulders visibly drop, and I want to pat myself on the back. I also want to kick myself. She is getting married. I’m passing through, and neither of us has the right to do anything other than have a ‘nice day’, even if that means looking after an injured deer. When she returns, she’s still wearing my T-shirt but she’s changed into some yoga pants, thick socks, and some soft looking slippers. Her footsteps still cause her to wince, but she’s steady and at least able to walk on her own. She’s carrying a sturdy looking toolbox.
We swap places, she unclips the box, and takes out a small glass bottle and a syringe. I watch in awe as she administers the sedative and proceeds to methodically examine the baby deer.
“It’s a pretty clean break just above the hock. I’m going to have to set it, or she’s never going to survive in the wild.”
“She’s going to need to be cared for.”
“She is, although even without the break, she’d need help. I think she’s only about six weeks old. They stay with the mother for up to two years, longer for females.”
“Is there a shelter you can take her too?”
“No, and I can’t take her back to the farm.” She’s adamant and that surprises me. Her shoulders are also starting to bunch up near her ears, and the look she flashes my way has an air of sheepishness that has my senses tingling for all the wrong reasons.
I have an inkling where her mind is racing and I’m already internally shaking my head; however, I’ve already made too many hasty assumptions today. My mind may not be wide open; nevertheless, I’ll leave enough of a gap for her to quell my suspicions.
“Why not?”
“Grampa won’t let me. He said I’d have every stray within a hundred mile radius if I could. He’s right, and it’s not fair to him. I’m out most days, long days too, so I do understand. He has a zero tolerance policy for me bringing my work home. My business partner feels the same about wildlife, so that’s not an option either.”
“So what are you going to do with her?” I’m deliberately keeping my focus on the fawn. If I look into Buttercup’s eyes I know exactly what I’m going to see. No.
“When she’s strong enough, I can put her with the calves on the farm. The maternal instinct of the cows will protect her, and a few have only just given birth so I might be able to get them to feed her. If not, I can do it, but she’ll need to be on all fours by then. I’ve seen it work before. I’ve just never tried it. It will work, I’m sure.” Her face lights to life with hope, and it punches me in the gut that I’m about to piss on her spark.
“You’re avoiding answering the question, Buttercup.” I now fix her with a penetrating stare. She holds for a fraction of a second and then avoids me by taking a temperature reading.
“Am I?” Feigning ignorance would fly if her tone didn’t waiver so high only bats can hear.
“No,” I state, emphatically and even fold my arms in case I am being at all vague. She turns to face me, seated with her hands clasped together as if in prayer. Her eyes are as wide as that little doe and equally burdened with loss.
“You said you didn’t have any specific plans.” She is rushing her words, each one more pleading, panicked, and heartfelt. “That you just needed to get away, to think, and what could be better than this place? It’s quiet and clean…ish. I can come over after work to change the dressing. “You’d just need to give her some medicine to stop her getting an infection.”
“No.”
She winces at my sharpness, but powers on. “It’s peaceful and so beautiful here, you’ll be able to get yourself completely straightened out thinking-wise, and if you’re bored, town’s only a short drive over that ridge. It’s got a store and a bar—”
“No.”
“Please, Pink. I wouldn’t ask if I had any other options.” She pulls my arm and captures my hands as if they are a lifeline. I’m fighting with everything I have not to cave. On the scale of ideas, this has to be right up there with ‘Hey Hope, how about you and me hooking up for real’.
“You have options.” I make the clicking sound of a gun barrel, pointing it directly at the fawn. She sucks in an audible breath filled with horror.
“Nooo, you don’t mean that.”
“No, I don’t, but Buttercup, surely you have someone else you can ask?” I puff out a resigned breath and can feel my resolve dissolving with the same speed that single tear is trickling down her cheek.
“I don’t. This isn’t exactly a priority, and anyone that is capable of helping would just as soon shoot her as to have to give her a midnight feed for the trouble it causes.”
“Midnight feed?” I moan, taking my hat and placing it on the low coffee table. She takes that as a good sign and beams her brilliant smile full force my way.
“Just while she needs the medicine. One day, three max,” she clarifies and that doesn’t sound so bad.
“Three days isn’t so bad.” I can’t believe I’m contemplating this. I drag my hand through my hair as if trying to pull the stupid from my brain.
“Oh, no, it’s three days of antibiotics. She’s going to need to be in a support strap for six weeks to allow the bone to knit.” She mumbles the last part low and almost inaudible. Almost.
“Six weeks? Buttercup, you’ve got to be kidding!”
“Do you have to get back sooner?” Her question isn’t remotely flippant; still, it smarts. I’m not ready to go home.
“No, and that’s really not the point.”
“We saved her, Pink. She’s our responsibility now. We can’t just abandon her. Didn’t you say somethi
ng about your training and leaving someone behind.”
“Someone being the operative word here, Buttercup. She’s a deer.”
“She is, and she needs us. Please, Pink, we have to save her. I’ll cook for you and promise never to ask you for anything else, ever.”
“Buttercup.” Exhaling her name on a long breath holds all the information she needs. She knows she’s won. Relief and pure joy illuminate her face, and I can’t lie, I get a kick that I’ve made her face light up like that. I guess it really is no skin off my nose. It’s not like I haven’t cared for a sick foal before. This can’t be much different, and this place is kind of perfect as escapes go.
“Thank you, thank you.” She jumps to her feet and swings her arms tightly around my neck, her face so close to mine, all tipped up and expectant. Her pupils are so dark there’s barely any color in her eyes, and I can hear her swallow above the thundering beat of my heart. With strength I didn’t know I had, I peel her hot sexy body from mine and step back, praying my rock solid erection isn’t visible.
“You said that already.” I keep my eyes fixed on her. Shallow breaths make her look like she’s panting, and when she wets her lips, I feel the need to sample what she tastes like as a painful ache in my very core. Yeah, this is a great idea, Pink. I mentally kick myself—in the balls this time—to really get my attention. I left home to get my head straight, not mess things up even more. I draw in a head-clearing breath and try to convince myself this feeling inside me is simply the culmination of events of one unusually emotional day.
It doesn’t work.
“Where are you going?” Buttercup squeals. The panic in her saucer-wide eyes is as comical as it is endearing.
“To get my stuff.” My response sounds more like a question, still, she’s already breathing a heavy sigh of relief.
“Oh, phew. Tha—” I raise my finger to stop her, and she snaps her mouth shut and locks it with a turn of an imaginary key. And after a short pause, “I’ll show you around when you get back. Give you the grand tour, as it were.” Her arm wafts elaborately from left to right.
“Let me take a stab in the dark…” Tapping my finger on my lips, I narrow my eyes and sardonically pick out the key features. “Living space, kitchen, that’s the bedroom, and with no running water I’m guessing the shitter is out back.”
“Um, yes, but there is running water, not much pressure, so you have to pump it up with the handle. It’s straight from a natural spring underground.” This seems to be her happy place. The love and affection she has for this shack is oddly infectious.
“I see.” The kitchen has a single gas fired ring and a sink with the aforementioned pump coming up through the floorboards and hanging over the side. It’s basic with a capital B. “And no electricity?”
“No, but there’s gas for the heater in the bedroom. I doubt you’ll need it this time of year, although the log fire in here is nice and gives some light in the evening. There’s also a heap of candles in the kitchen drawer. It’s romantic.”
“The candles, maybe; the shitting in the woods? I think you might be on your own there, princess.” My attempt at humor fails to hit anywhere near the mark. She looks fondly around the room. Her smile flattens when she faces me.
“Well, I love it here,” she bristles, and I’m quick to try and rectify my mistake.
“I’m sorry, no offense intended, Buttercup. I love it too. We have a place just like it back home. We fixed it up like a second home when Finn moved in. Not that she didn’t mind roughing it with the boys, but I think she was grateful when we installed some indoor plumbing.”
“Yeah, that’s understandable.” Laughing lightly, her expression softens, and I’m glad she didn’t take my comment seriously. It’s no palace. But it’s definitely my kind of place.
“Right, I’ll get my gear, and then I can drop you back.”
“Back?”
“Home, I take it you will need a ride home?” My eyes dip to her feet, and she does the same.
“I live just over that ridge, and on any other day, I’d be happy to walk.” She lifts her feet and looks to be wiggling her toes in her slippers. “Today I’ll need a lift, only…” She looks at the sleeping fawn and then at me.
“You want to stay and look after her?” I say, hoping that’s where this is going.
“Oh no, yes. Sorry, yes.” Nodding manically, I’m not sure who she’s failing to convince, but it isn’t me.
“Well, which is it? Yes or no?”
“I’d like to stay a little longer.” Her throat bobs with a slow swallow. Her eyes fix me to the spot and I fucking hope she can’t get a read on what’s going on in my head.
“For her?” I tip my head toward the fawn, unable to break the connection. Buttercup drops her chin, exhales, and looks up at me through impossibly long lashes. Innocence on the face of an angel, and she wants to stay, to be with me. I feel the flames of temptation lick at my heels, and searing heat tears through me. It’s not even a question of attraction, that’s as obvious as the big blue eyes on her face but this isn’t going to happen. I won’t be responsible for her corruption. She’s kind and good and honest.
“Yes.” She lies. Fuck.
WHAT THE HECK AM I doing? I just barefaced lied to him, and what’s more concerning, I think he knows. Lord, could I make it more obvious that I like him? I doubt it. I practically begged him to stay and used an injured fawn as an excuse. I’m the worst. I’ve never so much as had a wayward thought and now I’m…
“Are you all right?” His concerned tone breaks through my troubling internal dialogue and the puzzled look on his face confuses me.
“Sure, why?”
“You’re flushing up a storm there, princess. I won’t need to start a fire at this rate. We can stay warm from those rosy cheeks of yours.” He rubs his hands and holds the palms flat stepping closer to me for effect.
“Oh.” My hands fly to my cheeks. They’re cool against the burn, and the way he’s looking at me with a knowing mix of curiosity and desire is not going to help fix the problem. I stand before he reaches me and side-step around him to get to the front door. Stepping onto the small porch, I take a large lungful of air, which is actually warmer than inside the cabin. Still, at least it’s fresh and I can get some distance.
What am I saying? I don’t want distance. I like being with him.
I like everything about him. I like the way he makes me feel, I like the way he looks at me, the way he listens, and the way he so easily makes me forget. I know it’s wrong, and I know it’s not going to last. I have to face my life soon enough, and I don’t feel remotely guilty that I am enjoying this respite. I know I lied, but the truth is, I’ve never allowed myself the luxury of being honest. I can’t afford to be, not with myself and not with anyone in my life. Besides, it’s too late, and no good can come of starting now, not when the truth is terrifying.
“How are the feet?” He steps up behind me, places his strong hands on my shoulders. The heat sears through his t-shirt, and the hairs on the back of my neck tingle with life. His face brushes mine as he peeks over my shoulder. I can’t breathe.
“Better. I can stand and walk without the shooting pains. It’s a shame I can’t show you the river. It’s where my momma taught me to swim and fish. It’s not far, but I don’t think the slippers will make it.”
“Another time, then.” He steps past me and goes over to his truck, lifts a large duffle bag out of the back and a heavy-duty grocery bag. He winks at me when he returns and walks back inside. I turn on the threshold and watch him drop the duffle bag by the bedroom door. He unpacks the groceries, placing a six-pack of beer and the largest jar of Nutella I’ve ever seen on the countertop. He notices me staring and shrugs. “I like Nutella.”
“So I see. I didn’t know it came in containers that size.” Walking closer to him, I lift the monstrous container up, groaning with the weight of it. He snatches it and arches his brow high with dry amusement. He pats his flat mid section, rubbing
it so the material of his shirt rides up just enough to catch a glimpse of taut tan muscle and fine hair in a neat line from his navel to his, um… Heat crawls up my neck and hits my cheeks when he catches me staring, again.
“Lucky for me, it does.” He unscrews the lid of what must be a six-pound tub, digs his finger into the thick, dark, gooey paste and loads it up. Opening his mouth wide, he sucks down, dragging his finger so slowly I can just not only imagine what his tongue is doing, I can feel it, right between my legs. He pops his finger clean, and a salacious, sexy grin and nefarious look in his eyes pin me to the spot, leaving me dry mouthed, a liquid mess and speechless all at once.
“Want some?”
I do, I really do. Snap out of it, Buttercup.
“You have a sweet tooth?” I shake my head at his offer and fold my arms as if that will provide me with some sort of barrier to this onslaught of… Of what, Buttercup? What is this? What are you doing? He steps closer, and I’m struggling to think straight let alone answer my own questions.
“Do I like sweet things in my mouth? Sure.”
He tilts his head and seems to devour every inch of me, yet his eyes remain fixed on mine.
“Um…um…is…is that all the food you have?” I dodge around his body, and he chuckles. He knows what he’s doing. He’s playing with me.
“I’m not going to bite, Buttercup.”
“I know. I’m sorry it’s just you’re, well, my heart’s hammering, and oh lord, I shouldn’t have said that.” I slap my hand to my mouth, mortified my brain-to-mouth filter has decided to fail me today of all days.
“Why not? My heart’s kind of hammering too.”
“It is?”
“Sure it is. You’re a beautiful woman, kind, and well, there’s all this chemistry firing between us.” He shrugs it off as if it’s nothing. Sparks crackle every time he looks my way. And when he brushes past me and our skin touches, I feel it like a bolt of lightning straight from the sky. This isn’t normal, is it? He jumps up on the counter and pulls one of the beers from the plastic. He offers me one but I shake my head. I’m still trying to absorb what he’s so openly admitting to. The last thing I need is to add alcohol to the mix. I’m fuzzy enough as it is. He sucks down several large gulps, wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and continues. “I’d have to be dead from the neck down to not be affected by you, but none of that matters. I’m just being honest and so are you. There’s no reason to hide it. It’s not like we’re going to do anything. This is harmless flirting.”
