by Becky Flade
“When were you planning to tell me you were engaged?” Wasn’t how she planned to greet her sister, but Michelle’s chipper “Hello” had incensed Henley.
“Who told you?”
“Mom. We just got off the phone.” Henley heard a phone ringing in the background. “That’s probably her calling your cell.”
“She shouldn’t have told you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re not invited and I told her you weren’t.” Henley had known as much, but hearing it still caused an ache in her stomach. “It’s my day. My day. And you’re not going to ruin it with your crazy bullshit. All my life, everything has been all about you. At first you were the golden child, the perfect sister I couldn’t compete with, and I thought that was bad. But then you lost your mind, and it got worse. Everyone worrying, everyone talking. Sure, you ran away, but I had to live with the humiliation of being your sister. Living up to you was hard, living you down was almost impossible.”
“I’m sorry my health issues were such a burden to your social status.”
“Screw you, Hen. And your fucking health issues.”
Click.
Henley flung her phone onto the sofa. She caught her image in a mirror meant to reflect the view beyond the window to bring the soothing greenness of the forest inside. Henley didn’t see the beauty of nature; she saw only her own hurt and disgust framed by an escape. Without thinking it through, she fled into the woods, chasing that escape and hoping the wonders around her would fill the hole her sister’s words had dug.
She’d been walking for some time, not paying attention to where she was, trapped in her own thoughts and rioting emotions. The comfort she’d hoped to find eluded her. Huffing out an aggravated breath, she stopped in a small clearing. Henley pulled her hair back with a ruthless flick of her wrists, dragging damp tendrils off her neck and face, as though the locks offended her. She stood with her hands braced on her hips and tried to figure out where she was and how far into the woods she had gone. She looked around, but nothing seemed familiar.
“Unbelievable.”
“Hi.” The pleasant chirp startled her, and she jumped, yelping, as the child stepped from between two bushes. A small bird perched in Tala’s right hand. It flicked its tiny head to the side as though Henley were the oddity in this situation.
“Jeez Louise, Turnip, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” Her grin didn’t convey any sense of apology.
“Your dad has a real knack for sneaking around these woods, too.”
“He taught me, but he’s a lot better than I am. He makes no noise at all.”
“Did he also teach you how to charm baby birds?” Tala giggled and wiggled her fingers. The bird cheeped, spread its wings, and flew up into the air. It circled their heads twice before dipping and then soaring up and out of sight among the bows.
“No, Daddy didn’t teach me that. Animals like me.” She crossed to Henley and took her hand. “If you want, I can lead you back to the cabin.”
Perfect. Just perfect. I let Mom push my buttons, let Michelle wind me up, and now I’ve got to rely on a little kid to rescue my crazy behind. This day couldn’t get any better. “That obvious, huh?”
“It’s okay. Everybody gets lost, and anything can be confusing when you’re alone. But I’m here now.” Her delicate hand tugged, and Henley followed. She was a charming child. Intelligent and gregarious, but she had a way about her. Henley remembered something an older woman working at an abuse shelter where Henley had volunteered had said about a child having an old soul. Henley hadn’t understood the sentiment at the time, but it was an apt description for Maggie and Aidan’s little girl.
“Are we still on your family’s land?”
“Um, I’m not sure where it turns into the park. Daddy never put up a fence. He said it’s a sin to fence in nature, and if people wanted to get in, a fence wouldn’t stop them. He and Mommy don’t mind if people hike as long as they don’t get too close to the house and are respectful of the woods and don’t hunt.”
“Your mom mentioned that when she offered me the place. It didn’t occur to me that meant I could run into people in the woods. It feels private, like I’m all alone out here. It’s nice. I thought I saw you one day. Walking with what looked like a big wolf.”
“Animals like me.” Tala repeated it as though that simple, nonchalant response was a decent explanation. But she didn’t correct Henley and tell her it had been a dog. Or not her. She didn’t ask any questions, either. Instead, Tala scrambled over a felled tree that, based on the flora growing all over it, had dropped a long time ago. Henley needed only to step over it. Yet, the child had managed her maneuver with far more grace. With the dappled light shining on her dark blond hair and flashing across her creamy skin, she appeared ethereal.
“You remind me of the wood nymphs I read about when I was in school.”
“What’s a wood nymph?”
“They’re beautiful, magical creatures—”
“Like fairies?” Tala interrupted.
“Sort of, yeah. But I don’t think nymphs have wings. They live in the woods and take care of the trees, flowers, and animals. Protecting them, living among them.”
“That sounds nice. But I’d miss my mom and dad. And the horses.”
“And cheese fries at the diner,” Henley added with a wink.
“Where did you learn about wood nymphs?”
“In college, a long time ago, before I decided I wanted to be a doctor. I studied books. Especially old books.” Tala led her through a small glen and when they pushed through a row of bushes, Henley thought she was beginning to recognize the terrain. “The people who lived in ancient times were smart and imaginative. But they didn’t know much about science. So, they created their own explanations for anything they didn’t understand. Like thunder and why the seasons change. Most of the time the stories involved magical people doing the impossible.
“Those stories got retold over and over again. Eventually someone wrote the stories down. And the ones that were recorded are now known as myths. These myths have inspired books, paintings, statues, poems, plays, and movies. The Greeks called the wood nymphs dryads. And the Romans, the Japanese, the Scottish, the Burmese, lots of different cultures have their own versions, too. But I liked the dryads the best.”
Henley caught glimpses of the cabin through the tree line. She hadn’t gone far, but because of the serpentine path she’d cut through the woods, it had felt much further. The straight line Tala had navigated took them a third of the time to travel back. “Yeah, kiddo, you’re definitely a wood nymph.”
“I heard Mom say you have a lot of books. Do you have any about the dryads?”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t. Tell you what, next time I go to the bookstore at the mall, I’ll see if I can find one.” They stopped on the edge of the clearing, the cabin in easy sight.
“You don’t have to do that.” The outgoing child suddenly seemed shy. Henley wondered if Tala’s parents had warned her against accepting gifts from strangers in general. Or from her specifically.
“I know I don’t, but I want to. I’ve piqued my own curiosity. And I’ll be sure to check with your mom first, okay?” Tala smiled her wide, gap-toothed grin and nodded her head, looking like any other healthy, happy little girl anticipating a present. “Would you like a ride home?”
“No, thanks. I’ll walk and pretend I’m a nymph. Bye.” The little girl waved and dissolved into the brush as silently as she’d appeared.
“Sweet kid. Weird, but nice.” As Henley approached the porch steps she realized the foul mood she’d been in, the one that had driven her from the cabin, had dissipated. She let herself in and, after cleaning herself up, decided to bake cookies.
• • •
Dublin reeked. Carter had let him out when he’d gotten home, as usual, and the dog had bounded out the door, as usual. But when Carter whistled for him, he didn’t return. That wasn’t usual. With dusk fall
ing over the mountains that fringed the horizon, he’d gotten worried. It had taken more than an hour for him to find the mutt wedged in a crevice created by exposed tree roots. With the smell that had assaulted Carter after following the dog’s pitiful whimpers, he needn’t have bothered with the flashlight. Dublin must have been tagged by an entire family of skunks.
“Well, the flashlight came in handy anyway, didn’t it, stupid?” Beside him, the dog panted while Carter used the flashlight to break the roots he couldn’t muscle away from his dog. Dublin popped free and launched himself at Carter, not giving him time to block the canine’s affections. Now they both reeked.
After scrubbing Dublin’s fur with a mixture of hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and dish detergent he’d collected from the kitchen pantry, Carter stripped himself naked and washed himself with that same mixture. He used the garden hose to rinse them both and washed out his clothes as best he could. The scent lingered enough that he didn’t want to put the clothes back on or bring them into the house, so he hung everything, including his socks, over the back railing. He suspected he may have to throw the clothes away. Naked and chilled, Carter carried the wet, shivering dog through the house directly to the bathroom, where he stepped into the tub—dog and all.
Following a rowdy shower that drenched his bathroom, Carter sat on the living room floor, drying the dog and explaining the folly in skunk hunting. He heard a car pull up out front, and headlights flashed behind the curtains. The engine stopped, and the world outside his front door returned to early twilight. He listened for the sound of a car door opening and closing. There it is. “I wonder who came to visit. Any ideas?” he asked the dog. “No thoughts on the matter, huh?” He ruffled the dog’s head. “You got the good life, stupid. Not counting the smell, of course.”
Carter headed for his front door. He was struck by the changes, not just to his location or his perspective, but to his instincts. He had lived and policed in a major metropolitan city. He’d been surrounded by neighbors; his friends and family often stopped by without calling first. Yet he couldn’t recall a single time he’d answered the door to his apartment without a gun within easy reach. Now, in the middle of Nowhere, Minnesota, without a soul within shouting distance and his world unaccustomed to unannounced guests, he barely considered either his service pistol or his personal handgun. They were locked away in his bedroom. The contrast amused him, but when he opened his door his small grin of deprecation froze. Henley Elliott’s fist landed soundly on his bare chest.
Henley gasped and tucked her arm behind her back. Pain rippled in waves from where her knuckles had rapped against his chest. The further the ripples spread, the gentler they became. With one glaring exception—the heat of arousal that settled in the pit of his stomach. Carter laid his hand over his diaphragm. It didn’t hurt, this thing that happened every time their skin touched. It was alarming, yes. It was startling, yes. He’d even use the word painful. But it didn’t hurt.
It intrigued.
“What’s up, Doc?” He knew it was a corny line but enjoyed it nonetheless. He enjoyed it nearly as much as he did the flustered blush spreading over her arresting features.
“I baked cookies.” The blush spread to her ears.
“Did you drive all the way out here to tell me that? Or are you planning on sharing your cookies with me?” He couldn’t contain his laughter. She flinched. She appeared mortified, and he suspected that if he teased her any further, she’d take off. That seemed to him her modus operandi—Henley Elliott was a runner. The thought ended his mirth, but he maintained his smile. “Either way, you didn’t come out here to stand on my stoop. Come in.”
She eased by him. He wasn’t certain if she avoided contact because of her “condition” or if it was due to unwelcome lust. Maybe it was both. He closed the door and watched her visibly put her emotions in check while taking in the room. Her gaze fell on Dublin before she turned toward Carter, standing there in his old pair of basketball shorts. A thin stream of water ran down the back of his neck, rolled over his shoulder, and trickled down his chest. Henley stared. Hiding a grin, Carter grabbed his towel from the newel post and rubbed it over his dripping hair. Her eyes met his.
“Did you shower with your dog?”
“Yeah. Stupid went after a skunk and got the worse end of the deal.” He saw her gaze drop back to his chest. “Would you be more comfortable if I put on a shirt?”
“Yes. Yes, I would. Thank you.”
“I didn’t say I would; I asked if you would be more comfortable if I did.” Her expression made him laugh again. He grabbed a hoodie off the coatrack, pushed his arms through, and zipped it halfway. “Better?” She nodded; her body relaxed. Carter ambled toward the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink? I don’t have wine, but I do have a beer.”
“Milk, if you have it.”
“Seriously?” He stared. She was a constant source of surprise. Since the night he’d slept on her couch, she’d been polite, friendly even, but she’d kept her distance. And he’d noticed that she hadn’t been alone with him. Her showing up here, unannounced, after dark and bearing cookies, intrigued him.
He’d never had a woman ask him to put on clothes or for a glass of milk.
“Cookies.” She shook the plastic container. It rattled.
“Oh. Right. Two milks coming up.” When he returned, she stood by his gallery of photos. He prayed she wouldn’t lift the downed frame. Then he noticed she held the newspaper clipping and relaxed. He sat on the sofa and set both glasses down on the coffee table. When she turned, he explained.
“Dublin was a stray on the mean streets of Philadelphia. Helping himself to any piece of booty and free meal presented. One night he wandered into an alley in Southwest. A few men were down, dead, another hemorrhaging blood from a bad leg wound and facing the wrong end of a bad man’s gun. Stupid decided to be a hero and attacked the gunman. The guy took off. Dublin sat watch over the injured man until police and paramedics arrived. Poor, furry bastard had his own injuries, not to mention suffering from malnutrition. But he wouldn’t leave his charge’s side. And the guy wouldn’t leave Dublin. They rode together in the ambulance. The news had a field day with it. Of course, he ended up in the county animal shelter. I heard people talking about it—cops gossip about as much as little old church ladies—how this brave mutt would be put down if he didn’t get adopted by week’s end. I couldn’t let that happen. I adopted him. The press was tipped off—and viola.”
Henley had sat stiffly on the edge of sofa, leaving a significant gap between them, but as he told her Dublin’s story—the edited version—she eased back into the corner. Now she leaned forward to pop the lid off the container and snagged two cookies, passing him one. She settled back with her glass and her snack. “What happened to the bad guy?”
“Police officers picked him up in a local emergency room that same night, seeking treatment for bite wounds.” Her smile made her beautiful. He’d seen her polite grin, occasionally, but other than dinner at the Gaels, she didn’t genuinely smile without reservation. Dublin had eased closer to them, pouting because he wasn’t allowed on the couch with wet fur, but hoping for a cookie nonetheless. Henley leaned down and caressed his head.
“Brave boy,” she murmured.
Carter had been wary of his attraction. There was more to her story than what she’d told him; the cop and the man sensed it. He wasn’t sure he was able to carry someone else’s problems in addition to his own, so he’d been happy with the friendship they’d been developing. And nothing else. But seeing her there on his sofa, eating cookies and milk, relaxed and cooing to his dog . . . Well, he wouldn’t be content with the status quo. He wanted to know the woman Dr. Elliott hid from the world. From herself.
“Are you available?”
She tensed. “Pardon me?”
He must be a sadist because he found her uptight “doctor mode” as appealing, maybe more so, than the rare appearance of approachable Henley.
“Are you inv
olved with anyone on an intimate basis who would prevent you from considering entering into an intimate relationship with someone else? Namely, me.” Her mouth fell open. He smiled. “I’m asking if I should pursue you, Henley. If I may.”
“I’m not seeing anyone. But you still shouldn’t.”
“Because of the touch thing?”
She bolted from the sofa, her body jerking as if she were a puppet on strings. “My sister is marrying in less than two weeks.”
“That was random, Doc.”
“I’m trying to explain why you shouldn’t.”
“Because your sister is getting married? Sorry, but I’m not following. Are you trying to tell me you’re leaving town? Are these resignation cookies?” He grabbed another and dunked it in his glass. The calmer he remained, the better.
She gasped and nearly shouted her no.
“That’s a relief. So, are you asking me to escort you to the wedding? You’re not giving me much notice, and a family engagement such as that is a heavy first date. And that doesn’t take into account plane tickets, getting time off for both of us, or the uncomfortable hotel room situation. But that’s not a rejection. I like weddings.”
“For crying out loud, this isn’t a joke.”
He assessed her emotional state. She had abandoned her perch on the sofa to pace in short, jerky circuits around his living room. Her hands kept moving, the fingers twisting together. Whatever was going on with her family, it had her mixed up. Maybe this was what brought her to his door. And making light of it wasn’t the right tack.
“I’m sorry. I see now that it’s not.”
“I didn’t know she was in a committed relationship, let alone engaged. I’m not invited to the wedding.” He attempted to protest, but she held up her hand and he closed his mouth. “She admitted it outright when I called to confront her. Said my mother knew she didn’t want me there but told me about the wedding anyway. My mother is worried about appearances, but she doesn’t really want me to come back any more than Michelle does.”
