“No, never that. I’ve seen you pull your punches when breaking up a bar fight. I’ve watched you help to his feet a football opponent you had just tackled. I cheered you on when you rescued a kitten—who didn’t need rescuing—from a tree just to soothe the tears of a small child. I’ve felt the gentleness in you.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
“Myself. Afraid I could never measure up to Phelma Jo and all the other women you have dallied with.”
“Dallied only, while I waited for you to grow up.”
“Have I grown up?”
“Yes.” He kissed her again, pulling her tighter against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. His mouth pressed hard, intense, and demanding against her own.
She sighed and relaxed into him, cherishing the feeling of completeness.
“I think this is what the kids call Pixie love,” he whispered.
“Oh, no, not my Dusty!” Joe wailed from behind her.
Reluctantly, Dusty pulled herself away from the best kiss she’d ever imagined. Better than Haywood’s Pixie dazzle kiss. Much better than Joe’s safe and undemanding kiss. She had to cling to Chase a bit to regain her balance.
When she turned to face her boss, her spine and chin firmed with determination. “Joe, go home to your daughters. Call Monica and settle visitation or joint custody with her. Then complete your application for the teaching job at the community college.”
“But . . . but, Dusty, we’re friends. I thought . . .”
“That’s all we are, Joe. Just friends. And I thank you for the years of friendship we’ve shared. I don’t love you as you need to be loved. Now go home. We have full schedules all day and evening tomorrow.”
“The Masque Ball. Is that all you can think about?” he asked sullenly.
Relief washed through her. She knew for certain now that she’d made the right choice. Joe needed her, but he didn’t love her. He’d hurt for a while, more from wounded pride than a broken heart. In the end, their friendship would remain, even if . . . no when he moved on to the teaching position at the community college.
“Right now I’m thinking about a whole lot more than the Masque Ball.” She turned back to face Chase, rose on tiptoe, and returned his kiss.
A quiet shift in the air pressure told her that Joe had left.
“Um, Dusty, as much as I’d like to walk you home and spend the rest of my life with you, I’ve . . . uh, got work to do,” Chase murmured, barely lifting his mouth from hers.
“Huh?”
“Our favorite mechanic has taken exception to the principal’s choice of music. I’ve got to break up this fight before it spreads.” He broke away from her and dove into the fray that had spread to a dozen people.
Thistle giggled.
“Well, aren’t you going to spread some Pixie magic and stop this?” Dick asked.
“Don’t need to. Chase will handle it, and then Dusty will nurse his hurts.”
“And what will we do?” Dick strained against her grasp of his hands.
“Dance. Pixies love to dance almost as much as we love to fly.”
Dusty wondered why Thistle sounded so sad when her own heart soared and danced with the fullness of true Pixie love.
Thirty-six
THISTLE GATHERED HER ARMY at the museum grounds three hours before the Masque Ball. If Chicory and his brothers and their girlfriends could be called an army.
“Those clouds are sticking to the mountains like dog drool on wings,” Thistle pouted. “Or Faery rules on a Pixie.” She glared at the towering white clouds with black underbellies that shrouded the big mountain from view.
“Mabel calls it magnetics and talks about shifting air pressure,” Chicory joined her scowl. He and his band had grown to human size but kept their wings and flower garb to blend in with the costumed party guests. Of course they couldn’t actually fly. All of their magic went into maintaining their size rather than working their wings.
“Can we tickle them over this way?” Thistle asked, missing her wings and her magic more than ever. “If we could just get a little shower this afternoon to cool things down a bit, then they can let loose with everything they’ve got after moonset.”
“I don’t think those clouds are gonna bust loose even if every Pixie in the region joined in.”
“Hmmm. I wonder.”
“Don’t even think it, Thistle. Rosie objected mightily to us helping you at all,” Aster chimed in.
“She doesn’t believe in tribes joining up for anything other than a marriage treaty,” Delph added.
“And she’s sorely missing her betrothed. Hay hasn’t been around in days and days,” Chicory said.
“You guys haven’t seen him or Phelma Jo at all?” Thistle looked away from the problem of the clouds toward her allies, and hopefully friends.
“Not a sign. And we’ve been all over town,” Daisy said. “Ditch weed flowers can go where royalty can’t. And we’ve been everywhere a Pixie can get into.”
“We even peered into The Ten Acre Wood, just in case,” Aster said.
“We can’t get in there, even from above.” Chicory shook his head. “I landed on the top branch of the tallest Douglas fir that sticks above the energy wall, but I couldn’t get through the wall, only look for signs of life down below. Lots and lots of activity, but it’s all down low, and it’s either angry fast, or sullen slow. Nothing bright and happy in Alder’s kingdom.”
“Hay can’t get in there either,” Daisy reminded them.
“Okay. I have an idea,” Thistle said. “I’m sending Dick into The Ten Acre Wood to take a look around.”
“He’s human. He should be able to get through the wall,” Chicory agreed.
“While he’s doing that, I want you six to get back to normal size and go see what you can do with those clouds. Take with you every Pixie from every tribe you can find. We really need some relief in this town, or the Ball is going to break into fistfights just like the bar did last night.”
“That will be fun.” Delph grinned hugely.
“For you, maybe. Not for Dusty.”
“Oh, yeah. Dusty. Mabel reminded us this morning that this is Dusty’s day and we shouldn’t do anything to upset her.”
“Did you hear that Dusty and Chase stayed up after the bar fight until almost dawn, talking and kissing?” Daisy asked. “They are truly in love.” Her eyes looked at Chicory with adoration.
“Good. Now go see what you can do about those clouds. Take with you every Pixie willing to go, no matter which tribe.”
“What are you going to do?” Chicory asked.
“Make sure everyone has fun at this Ball. Especially Dusty. Which may mean messing with her cell phone so her mother can’t call her again.”
“Can I have a real gun like yours?” Dick asked as he fondled the toy weapon riding low on his left hip. He pulled his neckerchief up over his mouth and nose like any self-respecting Wild West bandit.
“No,” Chase replied firmly.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m wearing a badge and you aren’t.”
“I can get a badge.”
“A real badge?” Chase shook his head in dismay. “No. You aren’t twelve anymore. Act like a grownup.”
“Oh, you’re no fun. The Masque Ball is supposed to be about acting out your fantasies. I want to hold up the stagecoach and ravish the ladies.”
Chase snorted. “Can you, just this once, get your mind out of the gutter and pay attention? I need you to walk the perimeter and keep your eyes out for either Hay or Phelma Jo.” He scanned the throng of volunteers, some costumed, some still in rough work clothes, as they put the finishing details on the décor and catering.
“And what will you be doing?” Dick pulled his cowboy hat low over his eyes. “Ravishing my sister?” He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Happy for Dusty, yeah. Afraid for her? Yeah, that, too.
Chase hadn’t been any better than himself when it came to commitments. He really, really hop
ed that Chase had just been waiting for Dusty, as Dick had been waiting for . . . for Thistle. And it looked like he’d have to wait forever.
“I’ll be keeping my eyes on the politicos and my ears open to stray conversations. Everyone is hot and miserable. There’s static coming from the electronics, and the food is wilting. This could be a disastrous fund-raiser.” Chase carried through his words by keeping his gaze moving and bouncing back and forth from toe to heel, just in case he had to move in a hurry. He had done the same thing on the football field.
“You got a point there. At least the girls can wear those light and airy Pixie costumes.” Dick’s gaze strayed to where Thistle, wearing bright purple draperies and a tiara, but no wings, was ordering people about.
She was becoming quite the organizer. She’d even managed to get most of her elderly clients here, even if they were in wheelchairs. Mrs. Spencer held court beside the guest book where everyone in town could reminisce about school days with her.
“Yeah.” Chase’s eyes sought and found Dusty in ethereal white with matching swallowtail wings strapped to her back. She’d dug out the child-sized tiara she’d planned to wear for her first ballet solo and never got to perform because of the cancer. She looked like a fragile doll.
Dick didn’t like Chase’s possessive grin.
He had to suppress his instinct to cover his sister with a blanket and take her home before a bully could hurt her.
Chase is not a bully on the playground, he reminded himself. He’s my best friend and the man Dusty loves.
“Dick?” Thistle’s lilting voice intruded on his musing. “Dick, can you do me a favor?” She waltzed up to him and slipped her arm through his.
“Anything to please you,” he replied, smiling down on her with an equally possessive smile.
But he had no right to feel that way. Thistle had made it quite clear they had no future together. She wanted to go back to Pixie just as soon as she could. She’d never age, just befriending the next generation of children while he grew old and decrepit and continued his lonely existence without her.
A reverse of Peter Pan.
“Mabel’s boys and I think that maybe Phelma Jo is hiding in The Ten Acre Wood.”
Both Dick and Chase looked sharply toward the line of trees marking the boundary of the museum grounds and the party area. A web of Pixie lights blanketing the undergrowth and low shrubs among the first row of trees was supposed to deter party guests from wandering deeper and getting lost in the dark.
“Why would you think that?” Chase asked.
“Because none of the Pixies can get in there. Including me. But a human can.” She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head, looking at Dick and Chase as if they were totally stupid and thoughtless.
“What about Hay?” Chase asked, still thinking like a cop. “If he is who we think he is, he can’t get in there either.”
“Harder to find two separate targets than two people as one target,” Dick mused. “Best place to stash Phelma Jo until he needs her is a place we won’t look for her because we think she’s with him.”
“Good idea.” Chase started walking toward the street and the side path that led directly to the center of the woodland.
“Um, Chase, I think I should go,” Dick said. “You’ve got your hands full here. And with the electronics going all static and crossed, your walkie-talkie might not work in there if something comes up requiring your official presence.”
“You’re right, of course.” Chase stopped abruptly. “Take your cell phone and a flashlight. The big heavy duty one from my cruiser. You can use it as a club if you have to, or to signal an SOS. It’s powerful enough we should be able to see it from here. With luck, the cell phone will at least ring mine even if we can’t hear each other. I’ll consider any call from you as a need for help.”
“Be careful, Dick.” Thistle reached up and kissed his cheek. “I’d go with you if I could.”
Dick’s heart beat faster, followed by a sharp stab of regret. “I’ll be back to collect more of that as my reward.” He walked off, happy to do Thistle’s bidding, happy that she turned to him for help.
And looking forward to claiming the first dozen dances with her. He couldn’t think of a better excuse to hold her in his arms.
Phelma Jo stared at the arching fronds of a sword fern imagining each branch lengthening and sharpening into a lethal blade. Abruptly her thoughts shifted to seeing tiny jewels glistening in the slanting shafts of sunlight coming in from the west. The facets bounced the light as they moved from plant to plant.
Her muscles ached for her to get up and move. Something she didn’t understand bound her to sitting beneath the tall Douglas fir, her attention captured by the wondrous construction of the fern. So graceful, so pragmatic, so resilient . . .
A noise broke her thought. A footstep on the soft ground at the verge of the wetlands. “Damn you for intruding on me and my privacy,” she yelled. Her neck snapped back and forth, seeking the source of the intrusion. Her hand clasped a stout branch lying beside her.
She stood up and watched the man in the cowboy hat circle the opening. He peered into shadows every few steps, seeking something.
The world grew quiet. Insects ceased their afternoon gossip session. Jewel-toned Pixies flew to the top of the tree canopy and waited. Or were they Faeries? She couldn’t remember which was which, only that there was a difference and it was important to someone.
Who?
Phelma Jo stepped forward. “Go away!” she said, clenching her stick tightly. “You can’t be here. We aren’t finished.”
“Come with me, Phelma Jo. I can help you. I can make everything right for you again.” He held out his hand invitingly. “I can be your friend.”
She knew that hand. She’d held it before. She’d slapped it away in anger. She . . . she couldn’t remember all the reasons why she hated that hand.
“I belong here now. Hay says I have to stay until he calls me. Then we can finish our job.” Something was wrong with that statement. Why would she wait for any man to tell her what to do?
“Hay can’t help you. Hay will just cost you money. Hay will take away your control over your life.” He took one step closer.
She backed up until she bumped into the fir. The rough bark poked at her spine and scratched her pretty blouse.
“Phelma Jo, you’re hurt. I can help you.” Again with that entreating hand.
His left hand. She knew he should stretch out his right. What was his right hand doing?
She spotted the iron weapon on his hip and raised her stick.
She slammed the stick down on the side of his head, knocking the ridiculous hat to the side.
His knees gave out, and he sank to the ground.
“Damn, I knew I should have brought a real gun.” His eyes rolled up and he fell forward, his face on her feet.
Very good, PJ. Now you can come out of the woods. I have work for you, a tiny voice insinuated into her mind. I’ve invented a new game with matches. You can light the first fire.
Obediently, she kicked aside the man she thought she should know and strode across the grass to the opposite side of the woods.
She wouldn’t wait for instructions. She’d light that fire where and when she chose.
Thirty-seven
DUSTY AND CHASE WANDERED the grounds, holding hands. They nodded to the mayor. Dusty waved to Pamela Shiregrove and her handsome husband.
All of the committees seemed to be doing their jobs without supervision. She giggled a bit. “Mom trained them well. But she’d never believe they could do anything without her hovering over them, driving them crazy.”
The cell phone tucked into her bra vibrated and jingled. Dusty looked down at her scant cleavage in surprise. A call now could only mean something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong. “Now what?”
She fished the phone out with her free hand, never letting go of Chase. He inspected the procedure with extreme interest, lingering on her breasts even after sh
e freed the phone.
The international exchange on the caller ID told her all. “Hi, Mom. I’m kind of busy right now.”
“What time is it there? Has the Ball started? Did you make sure the serviettes match the tablecloths and candles? And I just remembered the big slotted serving spoons are in a box in the attic of the gift shop.”
“I know, Mom. We took care of it. And yes, the tablecloths, serviettes, and candles coordinate. We’re doing fine. But I’ve got to get back to my guests.”
“Yes, of course. What are you wearing? I do hope you aren’t in those musty old pioneer dresses you favor. You need something light and colorful . . .”
“Mom, I’m dressed as a white swallowtail Pixie, complete with tiara. And Chase looks marvelous as the local sheriff.”
“That’s nice. But did Ted call you? Why aren’t you with the date I arranged for you?”
“Ted did call, and we agreed we’d both be happier dating someone else. I’m with Chase tonight. Ted should be coming with his real girlfriend.”
“Oh.” Mom’s voice fell flat.
“Mom, I followed all of your instructions for the Ball to the letter.” Then she’d tossed most of them and started over from scratch with a less redundant and micromanaged schedule.
“But . . .”
“Not now, Mom.” Dusty closed the phone with a decisive click.
It rang again. She ignored it after a quick glance at the caller ID.
“Good for you, Dusty,” Chase whispered as he leaned in for a quick kiss.
“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time. Mom will never let go of me until I cut the umbilical cord myself. Until I define myself and not let her and the dead cancer do it for me.”
Chase just grinned and kissed her again.
“Amazing that the food comes out of the kitchens at regular intervals, the musicians play twenty-minute sets and then retire to the punch bowl, and all the guests are behaving themselves,” Chase mused. “All without your mother telling people what to do, when to do it, why they should do it, and how.”
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