The Time of Aspen Falls

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Aspen sighed. “The sad thing is,” she began, “I actually look better than I have any other time in my entire life…and I still look ridiculous!”

  “It’s a costume party, you idiot,” Gina said, primping Aspen’s hair again. “Everyone there will look ridiculous. And besides, you look gorgeous…not ridiculous.”

  “I wonder what Rake will be wearing.”

  “If we’re lucky…nothing but a loincloth and a smile,” Gina answered.

  Aspen laughed so hard her stomach hurt! Gina laughed too, entirely amused by her own wit, as usual.

  “You are so bad,” Aspen told her.

  “Oh, like you weren’t thinking the same thing,” Gina scolded.

  Aspen nodded. “That thought had occurred to me.” Aspen’s mood lightened; her nerves settled a bit.

  “That’s because you’ve always had a thing for Tarzan.”

  “Only Johnny Weissmuller’s Tarzan,” Aspen noted, raising one index finger. “He’s the only Tarzan I ever liked.”

  “Until Rake Locker shows up tonight in a loincloth, that is.”

  “Exactly!”

  “Wouldn’t you just die?” Gina giggled.

  “Probably so,” Aspen admitted. She sighed and pasted on a smile. “How do I look?”

  Gina began to giggle—the giggle turning into a laugh—the laugh turning into an uncontrolled belly-wrencher!

  “What?” Aspen asked. She smiled and couldn’t help but giggle. Gina’s eyes were watering. She crossed her legs and doubled over—tried to keep from laughing—tried to catch her breath. “What? What is it? Share the joke, girl!”

  Gina shook her head. She laughed for a few more moments and then inhaled a calming breath. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she sighed, “Ahhhhh,” as her giggles finally subsided.

  “What the heck?” Aspen asked. “Nothing is that funny.”

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Gina began. “It’s just that I had a vision of Rake coming to the door with only a loincloth and you answering. I mean…leave off the wings and makeup, and you could pretty much pass for a fancy-schmancy jungle woman—you know, like Jane!”

  “That is absolutely not true!” Aspen exclaimed, turning to look in the mirror once more. “I’m a fairy! I look nothing like a jungle woman.”

  “Quick! Let’s pull the ribbons out of your hair,” Gina began, “and wash your face and take off the wings. Then maybe wishful thinking will turn into premonition and Rake actually will come to the door in a loincloth!”

  Aspen smiled, shaking her head. Gina was hysterical! Some of the things her mind concocted…

  “Oh! What time is it?” Aspen asked. She glanced at the wall to where her Uncle Guy’s clock should be.

  Gina pulled her cell out of her pocket. “Almost five,” she said.

  “Oh my heck! He’ll be here any minute!” Aspen suddenly felt frantic, all her nervous anxiety returning in one overwhelming instant.

  “Okay, I’m gonna go. But I’m gonna sit in the car and watch until he gets here…just in case he does show up dressed like Tarzan,” Gina said.

  “He won’t be dressed as Tarzan, Gina,” Aspen giggled.

  “You never know!” Gina picked up her purse and headed for the door. “Oh!” she exclaimed, pausing for a moment. “Did you want to borrow my camera? Just in case he is wearing a loincloth?”

  “What am I supposed to say?” Aspen asked, shaking her head. “‘You look great in a loincloth, Rake! Can I take your picture?’”

  “Exactly!” Gina nodded, pulled her camera out of her purse, and offered it to Aspen.

  “I’ve got mine in my purse,” Aspen assured her.

  “Okay, then,” Gina said, dropping the camera back into her bag. “Have fun!”

  “Thanks.”

  As Gina closed the door behind herself, Aspen looked in the mirror again. She shook her head. What had she been thinking? She couldn’t pull off the gorgeous autumn fairy thing! At that moment, she actually wondered if she should’ve borrowed the Willamina Dog costume from work. It would’ve hidden her figure—hidden her altogether! Maybe she should’ve gone with ridiculous and cute rather than ridiculous and provocative.

  Aspen twisted a piece of her hair with one of the ribbons Gina had tied in it. She tried not to be nervous—tried to tell herself it would be fun. She smiled, thinking of Gina’s loincloth suggestion for Rake.

  “She’s such a kick in the pants,” she giggled out loud.

  The doorbell rang, startling Aspen so badly that she actually let out a little, involuntary yelp.

  “It’s him!” she whispered to her autumn fairy reflection. “Just relax. Be calm.” She inhaled a calming breath and went to the door. A vision of Rake standing at the door dressed in nothing but a loincloth and a smile jumped into her mind so that when she opened the door, she was already smiling.

  “Hi,” Rake Locker greeted.

  “H-hi,” Aspen stammered. Forget the loincloth! Aspen was rendered breathless by the sight of him—breathless and speechless. For there before her—standing at her own threshold—was a vision of a man who had surely stepped directly out of a Charlotte Brontë novel.

  Dressed in a perfectly tailored, early Victorian era costume, Rake Locker looked the vision of some gothic novel hero. His hair was rather tousled—roguishly tousled. He wore a white shirt, tall standing collar, white cravat, and a blue waistcoat beneath a dark blue tailcoat. Aspen tried to keep her mouth from gaping open in astonishment as her eyes traveled the length of him. Fitted, front-flap black breeches further pronounced his muscular form, and tall leather boots finished off the appearance of his having been conjured out of a Jane Austen–period film.

  “You look fabulous!” he said, eyebrows arched, a grin of approval on his handsome face.

  Aspen, however, still stood in utter, stunned astonishment. “R-really?” she managed to squeak.

  “Oh, yeah!” he chuckled. “Like something that walked out of my dreams.”

  She recovered. Smiling at him, she asked, “You dream about fairies?”

  “Not really,” he admitted. His grin broadened but didn’t quite stretch to a smile as he said, “But I think I will from now on.”

  Aspen giggled. “Oh, I see,” she began. “You’re a charmer this evening.”

  “Rochester Darcy at your service, madame,” he said. He bowed and then straightened.

  “Rochester Darcy?” Aspen giggled.

  “Yep!” he said. He stooped and picked up a large wooden box that was sitting on the porch at his feet. “My sister says this costume will woo and win me any chick I want. Whatever woo means. I’ve got your clock. Can I come in?”

  “Oh! Sure…sorry,” Aspen stammered, stepping aside. As Mr. Rake Locker Rochester Darcy strode out of 1837 and into her apartment, an enchanted sort of thrill ran down her spine—beneath her fairy wings.

  “So…did you come up with the name for your costume? Or did your sister?” Aspen asked. She refused to believe that a drop-dead gorgeous, ex-bull-riding watchmaker was familiar with the works of Charlotte Brontë or Jane Austen—let alone familiar enough to come up with a name derived of each author’s most famous hero.

  Rake chuckled, set the wooden box on the floor, and removed the lid. He removed some packing plastic from inside the box and then Aspen’s Uncle Guy’s clock.

  “My sister’s favorite Jane Austen book is Pride and Prejudice…and she did tell me the guy’s name in that is Darcy,” he admitted. “However,” he began as he held up the clock, seeming to inspect it for a moment, “I told her your favorite book is Jane Eyre, and she says the guy in that is named Rochester. So we figured it out together. But there’s even more.”

  “How could there be more?” Aspen giggled.

  “Where do you want this?” he asked.

  “Right there,” Aspen said, pointing to the empty spot on the wall.

  She watched as Mr. Rake Locker Rochester Darcy secured the clock to the wall via the large screw in the spot. He opened the face and pendulu
m housing. The clock was already set to five. Rake started the pendulum swinging, and Aspen smiled, immediately soothed by the familiar ticking of the old clock.

  “There you go,” he said.

  “Thank you so much,” Aspen said. “How much do I—”

  “I told you it was on the house,” he interrupted. “Consider it a gift from your man for the evening…the vampire Rochester Darcy.”

  “What?” Aspen exclaimed, a puzzled frown puckering her brow.

  Rake chuckled and moved closer to her, until he stood directly before her, his dark eyes smoldering into hers.

  “So…my sister thought the chicks would dig this costume, right?” he asked.

  “Dig?” Aspen asked. She smiled. He was too handsome!

  “Yeah,” he affirmed. “So…I figured if the chicks dig guys out of books…right? Then why not take it a step further?”

  He smiled then—a dazzling, brilliant, somewhat seductive smile—and Aspen gasped. How delicious! As his handsome smile revealed two no doubt artificial yet very authentic looking fangs—one on each eyetooth—Aspen couldn’t keep the delighted giggle from escaping her throat. They weren’t huge and overdone—rather just enough of a pointed tip to make a person look twice.

  “You’re Rochester Darcy…and a vampire?” she breathed. She was totally mesmerized by his mouth, visions of kissing him dancing wildly in her brain.

  “Yeah! Great idea, huh?” he said. “I mean…you work in a bookstore. You know how crazy the girls are about those vampire books that are out right now, right?”

  “Right,” Aspen breathed, still nearly hypnotized by his appearance—and the idea of a Victorian-era vampire hero standing in her apartment.

  “So can you—as a woman who likes to read—can you think of a better costume for a guy than this?”

  Aspen giggled, her arms rippling with goose bumps.

  “Absolutely not,” she admitted. He was divine. He was unearthly attractive! A sudden overpowering attraction to him rinsed over her, causing excess moisture to flood her mouth. “I’m sure all the chicks will totally dig you tonight.” A twinge of jealousy pinched her heart, but what could she do? The chicks would dig him, and she would have to endure it as best she could.

  Rake’s smile broadened, and Aspen shook her head—awestruck by the sight of the striking vampire Rochester Darcy.

  “Well,” he began, lowering his voice to the sultry, alluring tone of a man trying to entice a woman into—something, “I really don’t care if all the chicks dig it…just as long as one does. Just as long as you do.”

  Aspen smiled, elated by his flirting. She wondered if he were sincere—if he really meant he only cared whether she liked the costume—or if he were simply telling her what he thought she wanted to hear.

  He reached out, loosely gripping her upper arms. Slowly, his hands slid down the length of her arms, leaving goose bumps in their caressive wake. His touch was completely exhilarating! She wanted him to caress her arms once more—her shoulders and neck—her legs!

  Taking her hands in his, he said, “You, on the other hand…you are playing with fire.”

  “Me? What do you mean?” she said, feeling the heat of a blush in her cheeks. The way he was looking at her—it almost unnerved her! His eyes sizzled with approval and admiration. Aspen was suddenly very glad she’d borrowed the fairy costume. She knew her old Snow White getup wouldn’t have provoked the pleased expression on his face.

  “I mean, the blood coursing through your jugular would’ve been a lot harder to get to—a lot harder for a vampire to suck out—if you would’ve worn that big pink dog costume like I suggested,” he said.

  “Is that so?” Aspen asked, smiling with delight. She felt his grip on her hands tighten.

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at her and said, “Yep. Your blood would’ve definitely been safer…not to mention your virtue.”

  Aspen gasped and tried to pull her hands from his, but he held fast. Here it came—she could sense it. In the next moment he would prove her right—prove that all devastatingly handsome men were jerks, self-centered, and interested in only one thing—and the one thing wasn’t English literature.

  “You can’t say stuff like that!” she exclaimed.

  “Stuff like what?” he asked.

  “Stuff like…like…like virtue,” she stammered.

  “Do you mean the actual word…or the implication?” His eyes danced with a teasing spark.

  “The implication,” she told him, blushing clear to her toes. Still, she was all atingle inside, as if she’d never felt more vivacious in her life.

  “But don’t vampires always say stuff like that?” he chuckled.

  “Well…well, yes,” she admitted. “But Mr. Darcy never would.”

  He arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “Really? What about Rochester then?”

  He had her there! Jane Eyre’s Mr. Rochester would certainly have said something scandalous like that.

  He didn’t wait for her to answer—her pause obviously answering the question for her.

  “Ahhh!” Rake breathed. “I see by your guilty reaction that Rochester would have.”

  “Yes, but he was a rake!”

  The sentence was out of her mouth before she’d even had the chance to think better of it. He chuckled, and she felt her blush deepen.

  “Was he?” he asked. “A rake, hmmm? And you like rakes…don’t you? Rogues, scoundrels…and rakes?”

  Aspen smiled. Perhaps he’d simply been flirting. Perhaps there was no serious undertone whatsoever in his enticing remarks.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “But only in literature,” she added.

  “Oh, sure,” he chuckled.

  He’d scared her. He’d seen the fear pass over her pretty fairy face like an ominous shadow. Still, Rake wasn’t sure why his teasing had unnerved her so badly. She’d seemed completely delighted by his costume, his flirting—by him—totally charmed until he’d teasingly implied her virtue wasn’t safe. Rake’s mind thought quickly—concocted as many different possible scenarios for the sudden change in her as it could. Was she truly afraid he would press her and taint her virtue—on their second date? Had someone in her past pressed her to do so? The thought actually buoyed him up. If she were so sensitive about it, then chances were virtue was something she valued, even guarded. That would be admirable indeed—quite different from Rake’s most recent experiences with women.

  Still, he had to admit to himself—had to admit that his mouth had begun to water the minute she’d opened the door and he’d seen her standing there in her sexy fairy costume. Everything about her was tempting—everything! From her soft brown hair tumbling in ribboned waves over her shimmering bare shoulders to the bright green of her eyes. His attention had been affixed to her mouth for a long time. He’d had to bend down and pick up the clock box out on the front porch in order to force his gaze somewhere else for a moment. Every inch of his body—every instinct in him—wanted to reach out, pull her small, curvaceous form against his, and kiss her! His sudden and overwhelming attraction to her was freaking him out. This was the night of his grandparents’ barn party. He didn’t have time to be so distracted—so physically overcome by a pretty girl! A couple of lines from that stupid poem in the book sitting in his workshop kept playing in his mind.

  So the moon wove his fingers of moonbeams

  Through the gold amidst mountain’s hair.

  He wanted to do it! He wanted to take Aspen’s face in his hands, pull her nearer to him, and weave his fingers through the ribbons in her hair. He was an idiot! What was the matter with him? Poetry? He’d never had poetry bouncing around in his head. Well—other than the stupid limericks he sometimes spouted off just to be funny.

  Quickly, Rake pulled his thoughts back to the conversation. Somehow, he’d unnerved Aspen, and he didn’t want her to be uncomfortable all night long.

  “Okay, I’ll make you a deal,” Rake began.

  “What’s that?” Aspen asked. She was relaxing again
. He’d only been teasing, and the truth of it was—if she were honest with herself—she did like it!

  “I won’t suck out all your blood or threaten your virtue any more tonight…if you admit that you like rakes, even outside of literature…and that you totally dig this costume.”

  Aspen giggled. She certainly didn’t want him sucking out all her blood, but she was almost disappointed with his promise not to tease her about her virtue.

  Still, she agreed, “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?” he asked.

  “Okay…I admit that I like rakes.”

  He smiled, and Aspen was certain her knees were turning to liquid.

  “And this costume? Do you dig it?” he asked. He dropped her hands and smoothed the lapels of his tailcoat as he smiled to show off his fangs.

  “Yes. It’s the best costume I’ve ever seen,” she giggled.

  “Then grab your jacket or whatever sexy fairies wear, and let’s get going,” he said.

  “How cold is it?” Aspen asked. He’d referred to her as sexy, and it pleased her more than she wanted to admit.

  He grinned. “Not cold at all. Just bring something light…in case.”

  “Okay.”

  Rake watched as Aspen walked over to a coat closet near the door to her apartment. He tried not to smile too much as his eyes traveled the length of her. She was hot! A tempting little bookstore clerk indeed. He smiled, recalling the vision of her dressed in that pink dog costume. He liked the fairy one better—much better! Oh, he’d promised not to drain her body of her life’s blood, and that was obviously an easy enough promise to keep. Where the point of her virtue was concerned—well, there were times when his name was a bit too fitting. Still, as the devilish part of his nature began to rise in him, he decided that he would keep his other promise as well. He wouldn’t threaten her virtue—too much.