by Lois Greiman
“Yes, or no?” His voice was low, but now she wondered if there might be a tinge of embarrassment in his eyes. “I will not ask again.”
“Okay.” She cleared her throat, found her voice. “Yes.”
He watched her in silence for one long second, then nodded gravely.
“But you’ll be careful, right?”
He held her gaze, expression as solemn as a sacred vow. “Ai.”
“Really careful? Really, really careful?”
Humor tugged at the corners of his full, ready-to-laugh lips. “Do I look foolish enough to invite the wrath of a woman such as yourself?”
“I’m not going to answer that,” she said, and he chuckled a little as he turned away, taking the magical mare with him.
Stifling a grin, Vura headed toward the chicken coop. From a few yards away, a pheasant crowed to the dawn. She searched for the source, and there, not five feet away, she saw the body.
Chapter 26
A gasp sliced the air behind Tonk. He twisted toward the sound.
“Bravura?”
Her sob cut through the fog like a spear, and suddenly he was running, sprinting toward the chicken coop. In a second she was visible, standing absolutely still, shoulders hunched, hands covering her mouth.
He slowed his pace, mind churning, eyes searching for the cause of her anguish. “Bravura?”
She didn’t turn toward him, merely shook her head.
“Hey …” He stepped closer. “What—” he began, but in a moment he saw the little body. Its downy wings were flung wide, its neck twisted at an ugly angle.
“No,” she breathed, and at that moment it stirred, just a twitch of its tiny body, but she was already moving forward, already lifting the weightless form from the ground. “No,” she repeated and turning, raised her gaze to Tonk’s.
He felt the strike of her eyes like the blow of an ax. “I am sorry,” he said, and wondered how many times he had apologized to this woman. This woman who disliked him.
“She’s hurt,” she breathed.
Far worse, he thought, but kept the dire musings to himself. “Ai.”
Tears shone in her eyes like dewdrops on moon flowers. “Can you save her?”
Holy hell! He almost stumbled backward. What did she think he was, this woman who disliked him? “I do not think so, Bravura.”
Anger flared instantly in those wildflower eyes. “Then I will,” she said, but he spoke before she could pivot away.
“Does Lily need to witness another death?”
She pursed her lips, lowered her brows. “She’s not going to die.”
He glanced at the gosling. The long neck drooped limply. The dark eyes were closed. It was impossible to guess if it had already expired. “Bravura—” he began, but she stopped him with a snarl.
“She’s not going to die!”
He nodded and tried to turn away, but it was physically impossible, so he drew a calming breath, exhaled slowly. “I will take care of her if you like.”
“Take care of her?” Her eyes scoured his. “What do you mean, take care of her?”
He searched for an answer that was unlikely to cause him bodily harm, but she spoke before he could conjure up such an improbable response.
“You’re not going to kill her!” she said, and drew the animal against her chest with maternal zeal, but in that instant the gosling jerked up her head. A long wheezing sigh escaped, and then she relaxed, limp and lifeless in Bravura’s cupped hands.
They stared in immobilized tandem.
Silence strained between them.
“I will …” He tried to judge her reaction, but she was perfectly still, frozen in place. “I will care for the body if you wish.”
She nodded. Bending slowly, she returned the tiny thing to the grass, then backed away a step. “Yes.” She cleared her throat, clenched her hands, and nodded. “Thank you.”
He watched her.
“That would be …” She filled her lungs and cleared her throat. “I’d appreciate that,” she said, but didn’t raise her gaze to his.
He felt her pain as if it was his own and glanced away. Why in heaven’s holy name was he drawn to this woman? It was a mistake. Someone somewhere had made a horrible mistake. He shuffled his feet, exhaled carefully. “It is okay to cry.”
“Cry!” she said, and laughed, but the sound wobbled dangerously. “I’m not going to cry. It’s only a …” A sound escaped her throat, something between a hiccup and a sob. “Only a …” she began again, and he could take no more.
Covering the ground between them, he touched her hand. She lifted her face. Her eyes struck him, wide and ravaged, burning on contact, and then she was in his arms, pressing her face to his shoulder.
There was nothing he could do but hold her. Nothing but breathe in her essence, absorb her agony, and let the moment take him.
Her sobs were heart-wrenching, deep and guttural and excruciating. Lifting one hand, he let his fingers drift down her darkriver hair, let himself have that one weakness.
But finally she fell silent and took a wavering inhalation, face still hidden against his chest. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was low and raspy. “I just …” She raised one hand and swiped at her cheek. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He squelched the awful urge to tell her “nothing.” To assure her that she was perfect. Despite a hundred glaring flaws, she was inexplicably flawless. “There is no need to apologize for grief.”
“Grief.” She laughed. The sound was horrible, grating against his newfound need for honesty. “It was just …” She paused to draw a shuddering breath. “Just a goose.”
“It was a life.” He stroked her hair again, though he knew he shouldn’t. Knew he should draw back. Refrain. “Another life.”
She said nothing.
He pulled in a quiet breath and searched for strength. “And you’ve not yet mourned your grandfather.”
For a moment he thought she would argue, would draw away, but she remained as she was, body softening a little in his too grateful arms. “I didn’t think …” She paused. “I know it’s stupid. I mean, he was sick. And old. I know that …”
He waited, let her think, let her talk, let her simply be.
“I just didn’t think he’d die.”
Why did this seem so right? “Perhaps it is the greatest honor of all.”
She said nothing.
“When we cannot let go of those we love,” he explained and wondered what it would be like to feel such devotion to one’s progenitors. His own father had died two years before. He hadn’t bothered to attend the funeral.
“He was …” She paused again to exhale. “He was so … well, he was kind of a grouch, really.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “So you two had a good deal in common?”
There was a moment of silence. Then she chuckled, relaxed a smidgeon more, and sighed. “He didn’t like geese, either.”
“I didn’t know you disliked them,” he said, and wondered what it would be like if she lost a pet for which she cared.
“They’re awful. The adults,” she explained and shivered. “Snooty and bossy and mean. Like … cats with feathers.”
So she didn’t like cats, either. Luckily, Princess was confined to the inside of his house where the two would never meet.
“We had the same little toe, too.”
“You and cats?”
“Me and Gamps.”
“Ah …”
“It’s weird and … hideous.”
He lifted his chin a little, letting his gaze sift over the hills behind her. The fog was lifting like a bride’s lacy veil. She had chosen a good spot here. A kind spot, nestled in the fragrant earth, haloed by the endless sky.
“Does your father share your deformity?” he asked, and felt her tense again. So there lay the deepest source of her pain, he thought, and assured himself it was not his task to probe that pain. And yet he felt a need to do just that.
“Dad’s old, to
o.” Her words were no more than a whisper.
He closed his fingers in her hair, allowing himself just a moment of that mind-bending ecstasy.
“What if I lose him?”
He could feel the warmth of her, the life, as vibrant as the west wind, as powerful as the sun.
“You’ve sustained hard losses of late, Bravura. But you will be happy again. The world will be right.”
She nodded slowly.
“We are given gifts,” he said, and forced himself to release her hair. “Some of which we will keep forever. Some for just a short while.”
“I have Lily.”
“You have Lily,” he said, and wished with a heart-wrenching yearning that he could say the same. Stupid. Undeniably stupid. But so painfully true. He loved the child as he loved the mother, and there was nothing he could do to change it.
The world fell into a wistful silence.
“Do you have children, Tonk?”
Overhead, a red-tailed hawk soared on the warming thermals. He watched its gliding path and wondered why a child with whom he had spent barely a half a dozen hours would feel as if she were his own. “None that are blood kin.”
“I don’t know what that means,” she said, and pulled back a little to find his eyes.
He felt the withdrawal like a direct strike to the heart but smiled into the pain and shrugged, searching for a cautious balance between practicality and honesty. “I cannot pretend it makes sense, but from the first I have felt that Lily—”
“What the hell’s going on?” Dane snarled, and Vura jerked like a broken puppet from his arms.
Chapter 27
“Dane!” Embarrassment washed through Bravura in a flood of shame. But guilt was her overriding emotion.
Her husband stepped toward them, brows beetled. “I asked a question.”
“You lied!” The words spurted from her lips like venom.
“What?”
“You said you’d lock them up. But you lied. Again. And look what happened.” She waved wildly toward the little body on the grass.
His gaze flickered to the gosling and away. “So you’re a whore because of some dead duck?”
She never saw Tonk move, never expected him to, but suddenly Dane was stretched out on the ground, nose bloody, Tonk leaning over him.
It took her a heartbeat to realize what had happened, longer still to lurch forward and grab his arm.
“What are you doing?” she rasped, but Tonkiaishawien’s gaze never left Dane’s shocked face.
“Take it back,” he growled.
“Tonk, geez—” she began, but Dane laughed.
“Seriously?” he said, and croaked another chortle. “I was right?”
She dragged her gaze from Tonk, pinned it on Dane, shook her head.
He staggered to his feet, swiped his knuckles beneath his bloodied nose. “You really do have a thing for him. Him!” He said the word in blooming disbelief.
“Nothing happened,” she promised.
He laughed out loud. “Well, that’s what I assumed until I realized you were such a little—”
“She is your wife.” The words were growled like a curse through Tonk’s clenched teeth. “You will apologize now.”
Dane narrowed his eyes, considering. “Let me get this straight. It’s not just that you want to bang her? So you’re what? In love with her?”
No one spoke. No one moved.
Dane threw back his head and laughed. “Oh buddy, you poor, miserable bastard. You’re in love with my wife.”
Every instinct in Vura made her want to rail and cry, to accuse and rant, but she exhaled softly, clenched her fists and reached cautiously for reason. “He’s not … He doesn’t … I found the gosling. It was dying and I was … I was …” Devastated beyond reason. “Upset … Tonk was comforting me.” She set her teeth gently and attempted to drain the tension from her rigid muscles. It was like trying to push back the sun. “You said you would lock them up, Dane.”
His gaze dropped to the gosling. He dabbed the back of his wrist to his nose. “That’s really what this is about?”
She nodded, though really she wasn’t sure about anything.
He huffed disbelievingly. “Listen, Vey, I’m sorry. I was just so tired after cleaning the kitchen and everything.”
Everything? she thought, but didn’t let loose the word. Instead, she swallowed, nodded, exhaled softly. “I see.” She tried to sound mature, controlled, but her eyes welled with tears, hot and furious. “Well …” She shook her head. Dane stepped forward.
“Hey … baby …” Putting his hands on her arms, he rubbed gently, as one might a fractious mare. “Let’s go on inside, okay?”
She didn’t look at Tonk, couldn’t. Instead, she nodded miserably. Dane put a gentle hand on her back and guided her toward the house, leaving their guest behind them.
Once inside, the silence seethed between them like a witch’s brew.
Dane shut the door quietly. Their gazes met. He grinned, charm seeping back to his face like a mask that had been momentarily displaced. “Geez,” he said, and chuckled. “I guess I made a mess of things out there.”
She said nothing.
“Listen, baby, I’m sorry. I just …” He shook his head. “I saw you with him and I guess … I guess I went a little crazy. But you can’t really blame me, can you?” he asked and, stepping forward, grabbed her hands. “You’re my wife. The thought of losing you … I just couldn’t bear it.”
“Do you care about me, Dane?” she asked. And if so, did he think of her as a cherished wife or more like property … a car maybe, but not so new, not so shiny?
“What are you talking about? I’m crazy about you, Vey! You know that.”
In the past those words had been enough to send goose bumps careening giddily up her spine. Perhaps they should now. But she felt woefully disenchanted. “Then why couldn’t you do what I asked?”
He stared at her quizzically. “You mean the birds?” he asked, and laughed. “I didn’t even think you liked them. But listen, honey, if I had known how attached you were to those things, I would have bundled them up in my jacket and carted them up to the bedroom. But honestly …” He grinned. “They’re just geese.” He waved toward the outdoors. “I’ll go to the feed store right now and buy you a new one.”
She watched him in silence. For a moment his lack of understanding was mind-boggling. She considered trying to explain, but it was impossible to know where to begin. And really, was it worth the effort? “I just …” She glanced toward the stairs and hoped with pulsing desperation that her daughter was still asleep. “I don’t know what I’m going to tell Lily.”
“Lily?” He said the name as if he had forgotten her existence, as if the thought of her hadn’t so much as crossed the periphery of his mind.
Anger welled up like a fountain, fueled by disappointment, fired by grief. “Lily,” she said. “Your daughter. Remember?”
“Of course I remember, Vey, I just—”
“Do you? Because it seems like you’ve forgotten everything else. Our plans. Our vows. Our—”
“I’ve forgotten? I’ve forgotten our vows?” he snarled and jerked toward her. For one wild moment she thought he might strike her, might reach out and slap her face, but then he wheeled away and stormed across the room.
The front door shuddered closed behind him.
Rage quaked inside Vura. She jerked after him, but a small voice snapped her to a halt.
“What’s wrong, Mama?”
She stopped, trembling. And her day began in earnest.
“Good job today, guys,” Vura said, and dropped the tailgate on her truck. Her fingers were cold. The air felt sharp. It seemed late in the year for snow, but it was still April, so who could say?
“Yeah, and Hip only went nutso once,” Maynard said.
He was referring to Johnston’s unusual lapses into what seemed like daydreams. Sometimes they would find him staring into space with an expression that looked suspi
ciously like a smile. A niggle of worry zipped through Vura, but she needn’t have been concerned about his tender feelings. Hip could take care of himself. Had been for seventy-odd years.
“Nutso or not, I can still get more done by noon than you can manage before dark.”
“But I’m hell on wheels after midnight,” Maynard said, and pointed to his shirt. It read, I’M BATMAN.
Hip made a disparaging remark about men who wore tights, and the argument began in earnest.
“How you doing?” Glen asked, kindly drawing her from the interplay.
“What do you mean? I’m fine,” she said and, tossing the last of her tools into the bed of her Chevy, slammed the tailgate shut. Pain radiated through her upper body like the peal of a bell, but she gritted a smile.
“You should get that looked at,” Glen insisted and nodded to the forearm she had hidden beneath the sleeve of her waffle-knit shirt. “Them shingles hit you pretty hard.” They had, in fact, fallen from the roof with terrifying force. Luckily, she had jumped aside in time to save her head. “You mighta broke something.”
“I didn’t,” she said and, seeing that her tailgate hadn’t closed properly, gritted her teeth against the impending pain and slammed it again.
“Don’t think she’d be able to use it like she just done if it was busted,” Hip said.
“That’s nothing but an old wife’s tale,” Maynard argued and grinned. “Then again, I hear you might have yourself an old wife any day now, huh, Hip?”
They snapped their attention to Maynard like spaniels on a bobwhite.
He grinned, loving the attention. “I guess him and your favorite pinup girl’s been spending some late nights together.” His raised his ginger brows. “And … according to Teri’s cousin’s favorite aunt … a couple early mornings.”
“What?” Vura asked, not sure if she was thrilled or appalled … until she remembered the woman’s hideous red-on-white kitchen. Then she was appalled. “Hip, are you dating Colleen Washburn?”
The old man snorted. “If Maynard’s brain was half so big as his mouth, we’d have something to talk about. Hey …” he said, and shambled toward his truck. “I’d be happy if there was just some sort of connection between the two.”
