by Theresa Weir
“She lives in a forest, and she happens to like short, stumpy men. Okay?”
Her irritation brought back his amusement, and he cocked an eyebrow. “So she’s a pervert. She could’ve had the tree man. When he’s in his man-shape, he’s tall and strong.”
She smirked. “She’s allergic to pollen.”
He grinned, and she picked up the thread of the story, telling him about a fight between the fairy and the witch. He interrupted only once to tell her that he always liked a story with a cat fight.
She looked at him blandly. “I’ll remember that next time. What you didn’t know about the gnome is that the witch loved him, too. Contrary to your opinion, short and stumpy men are greatly admired in the fairy world.”
“I suppose you’re eager to tell me why.”
“Not eager, but since you asked, they’re known to be better in bed than someone who’s…” She shrugged and gestured to him. “You know.”
He sat straight up. “No, I don’t know.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Think about it. Gnomes are very good at pleasuring women. While men like the tree man”—she paused and stared pointedly at him—“are used to having women pleasure them.”
“Thank you for enlightening me.”
“Anytime. As the fairy and the witch fought, the gnome stepped between them and begged the fairy to leave the witch alone. That’s when she realized that the gnome was enchanted by the witch.”
His grin flattened to a line, growing still.
She stared at him. Daring him to stop her. “For years, the gnome has seen the witch as the most beautiful woman in the world. But then the witch goes away for a few weeks to help her sister because a house dropped on her head, and when she comes back, the gnome is hanging around with this skinny fairy with a magic wand. And the witch really hates magic wands. She thinks they’re cheats.”
“The witch has something there.”
“The witch has her cauldron and her broom. An electric broom.”
“An electric broom. That makes all the difference. That’s real cheating.”
“This is the world of magic. Electric brooms aren’t welcome in fairyland. So let me tell you what happened, please.”
“Is that a polite way of telling me to shut up?”
“Yes. Now, there was an epic battle between the witch and the fairy. I find battles boring, so I’ll get to the dark moment, when the witch is zapping the fairy with her electric broom.”
“Cheater.”
“I’m glad you realized that and don’t condone it.”
“I’m all for cheating.”
She rolled her eyes. “But then the power went out, and the fairy raised her wand—”
“Shouldn’t the use of a wand be classified as cheating?”
“That’s not cheating, that’s magic.” She stood. “May I finish?”
He gestured for her to go for it. She was glaring at him and holding up her beer. He didn’t want it spilled on his lap.
She set down her beer on the table next to the sofa before continuing. “The fairy turned to the gnome and took the spell off of him. Faster than the witch could blink, the gnome stepped in front of the fairy, to protect her with his body. The witch screamed in pain, for her heart was broken. Her lover loved another more than her.” She put her hands over her heart. “And she shrank and she shrank and she shrank. And as she did, the gnome sang a song. Can you guess what it is?”
“‘Without Love You Are Nothing’?”
She groaned. “It’s ‘The Witch is Dead.’ The fairy and the gnome watched her shrink until she was ant size, and still she shrank more.”
“Isn’t the fairy going to try to save the witch?” he asked. “Isn’t that what fairies do?”
“You’re confusing fairies with angels. In fact, to make sure the witch didn’t come back, the fairy stepped on her. Crushing her under her silken slippers. And then, holding hands, she and the gnome ran together to the gnome house.”
“This is the worst fairy tale I’ve heard.”
“It’s a fairy tale for adults.”
“In that case, you’ll tell me what happens in the gnome house.”
“Aw.” Her mouth curved down, and she gazed at him in sympathy. “You need instruction in that area?”
“I have a prurient interest.”
“I’m not surprised. But that wasn’t in our bargain. We’ll end the story there.”
They stared at each other, and it felt to him as if the air between them crackled with electricity.
“Doesn’t this story have a moral?” he asked, and he heard a growl in his voice. The sound of a man with an erection.
“Sure, it does. ‘Don’t mess with fairies.’”
Staring at her, he said, “I don’t plan to. I prefer real women.”
“Funny. I thought you preferred witches.” She stood. “I’m going to bed.” Holding her head high, she strode out of the room.
He watched her disappear into the hall. Her leaving was a good thing, despite his hard-on. If there was a human equivalent of a fairy, she was it. And fairies could be tough.
But as he sat there, nursing his brandy, listening to the sounds of her brushing her teeth and getting ready for bed, the familiar nothingness draped over him like a shroud. It wasn’t an emptiness from the outside but from the inside.
He’d been here over a week already. Her stories had filled him for a short time, but it made the time when she was away at work even emptier as he looked at the blank screen and sometimes keyed in words furiously with his two-fingered typing. But most often, he sat in front of the laptop, glaring at the screen, waiting for inspiration to strike him.
He finished the brandy and decided against another one. His drug was a woman, and he didn’t need to add alcohol to that list of one. He got up and set the glass on the counter before heading upstairs.
He’d made his decision. Tomorrow, he would leave.
* * *
A warm weight on his head woke him up, and he made a noise, putting up his hands against a soft-furred animal that had decided to use his forehead as a pillow.
Ginger made a sound of indignation, which he took to be resentment that he dared to touch her. Apparently she shared the same attitude as her human. Then she stood and shook, as if she were shaking off his cooties. He closed his eyes to keep out falling cat hairs.
It was mid morning already, but he hadn’t fallen asleep until early this morning. He got up, showered, dressed, and made his way downstairs with a good portion of the synapses in his brain still set on snooze. He needed coffee.
There was a note on the table, but first he used her fancy coffee machine to pour himself a cup of regular—something he would miss when he left, but he could buy his own—then he turned to the table to read the note.
My sister’s having Thanksgiving at her house on Thursday. You’re invited. I told her you’d come.
He looked at it for a long time. For so long that when he finally lifted his mug to his lips, the coffee was lukewarm.
It was probably because the sun was shining outside, and maybe it even had something to do with waking up with a cat on his head, or it might have been the note and his reluctance to be alone on a day when friends and family got together—though he doubted it, because for years holidays had meant just another day to him—but the emptiness he’d felt last night, and for so many other nights, no longer felt quite as empty.
Maybe he should stay. At least until after the holidays. See how Maddie acted with her sister and her sister’s family. Watch them the way a primatologist in the wilds watched a band of gorillas.
It would be something he could use in a screenplay, because he sure the hell didn’t believe in fairy tales.
Chapter 12
This was a month of surprises. Maddie looked up at the two men heading into her office without knocking, as if they owned the place. In a sense, one did—bald-headed George Frickmann, the town administrator. Behind him was his son, with more hair, though it
was receding. Some unlucky town in Minnesota had Duane as an administrator. Since he resembled his father in looks and actions, Maddie guessed that while he was visiting his family, some poor clerk in Minnesota was taking care of his administration duties—and she was probably taking care of his duties while he was there, too.
At least it wouldn’t be long before George retired and she got paid more than twice as much for the work she was already doing.
So she smiled and stood to shake hands with Duane, who held hers a little too long, squeezing it and giving her a sleazy look.
She squeezed his hand back hard—and then harder—before dropping it like it was something yucky.
His eyes widened…and then he smiled, a glint in them. As if he’d liked the hard squeeze.
Ewww. She could’ve asked him about his wife and kids, but he wasn’t worth it. Besides, slime had no discomfort level, so she turned to George. “I put some papers for you to sign on your desk.”
He waved his hand at her. “No problem.”
No problem for him. She kept her smile on, telling herself, Soon he’ll be gone from my office.
They left, and she heard them in the front office with Caroline. About ten minutes later, Maddie’s phone rang.
“Did you hear the news?” Caroline asked, her voice trembling slightly.
“About George? Is he leaving sooner?” He was slated to leave at the end of January, but his wife, Helen, had mentioned last week to Dolly at the Hair Place while getting her hair colored that she wanted to leave for Florida earlier. Dolly said they’d fought about it.
Maybe Helen had won that war. Maddie hoped so. The sooner George left, the sooner she would have his job and get more money to buy her new house.
“So you didn’t hear,” Caroline said. A town native, she was part of the gossip grapevine, whether she liked it or not. Her husband had died of a massive heart attack when he was in his forties. “There’s been rumors, but I didn’t want to depress you.”
Maddie frowned but didn’t say anything. Usually she was up on all the rumors, but lately she’d been busy keeping her own secrets.
“You’d better come to the front,” Caroline said, and this time there was no excitement in her voice. Just an “oh shit” tone.
* * *
It wasn’t even break time, but the hell with it. Maddie was so furious she was surprised the snow didn’t melt beneath her boots as she stomped up the sidewalk to Kevin Spindlebottom’s real estate office that shared an old Victorian with the consignment store. Next door was the post office, and on the other side of that was the antique store.
But the only board member in this place was Kevin, and she marched into it, not caring if she left salt on his wooden floor and not wiping her boots on the doormat a hundred times like he preferred. Or better yet, taking off the boots.
As she burst into his office, he grabbed the phone that hadn’t rung and put his hand over the receiver, as if covering it up so the caller wouldn’t hear him talk to her.
His guilty expression was answer enough for her, his eyes darting away from hers. Nothing near the happy smile that had set off all the wrinkles in his face last week when she talked to him about finding a house. “This is an important call,” he said in a stage whisper.
“No problem.” She plopped down on the wooden chair in front of his desk. “I’ll wait for you.”
“It’s private,” he said.
“You can trust me. I won’t say anything.”
He stared at her with an admonitory frown. She stared back, and he must have gotten a clue from her fierce expression that she wasn’t a happy dancer, because he said into the phone, “I’ll call you back later, dear.”
After setting the phone down, he folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward with a slight smile. “And how are you this morning?”
“George was in my office with his son. I found out that Duane lost his job in Minnesota.”
Kevin shook his head. “A terrible thing when a man with a family loses a job.”
“It’s a terrible thing when a woman with a family loses one, too.”
A muscle jumped in Kevin’s cheek, and he leaned back, distancing himself a few inches more from her.
“You told me the job was mine. Everyone on the town board said I’d have the job.”
He looked up and sighed heavily, his tensed shoulders sloping down. “Duane has experience.”
“I stayed here five months after I got my master’s on the promise that I would be the next town administrator.”
He frowned and sucked in his lips. “It wasn’t a written promise.”
“I’m sure I have this in emails.”
“That’s not an official offer.”
“Funny, I thought it was. And you and the other members seemed satisfied with it. Are you saying I shouldn’t have trusted your word?”
His face flushed, his nose the color of the red wine he liked to drink. “That’s not fair. Things changed.”
“What hasn’t changed is that I’ve been doing George’s job for four years. I have experience.”
“You’ve helped George. That’s part of your job description.”
She slapped her hand on his wooden desk. “The only thing George does is sign what I give him to sign.”
Kevin’s features tightened with distaste. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Maddie. Perhaps that’s something you should have mentioned before.”
“Perhaps I should have.” She put her hands on her lap and curled them. “You have to vote on this, don’t you? Maybe not everyone will vote for him.”
“Perhaps.” Once again, his eyes evaded her, looking downward. And she knew that it was a done deal. That the board members had already discussed this on the phone or in a private meeting and decided what to do. When it came down to it, they were all natives…and she wasn’t.
She stood. “First, I won’t be looking for a house anymore. Second, I want the board to write down everything that is part of my job, so there won’t be any overlap in the future. Is that a problem?” She glared at him, daring him to say it was a problem.
He shook his head quickly, leaning back farther. “No problem.”
“I expect that list by the end of the week. Until then, I won’t do any of George’s work. Do you understand?”
He nodded.
“Good. Since you want everything in writing from now on, I’ll type out a summary of our meeting as soon as I get back to the office and send a signed copy to everyone on the board.”
Without saying good-bye, she stomped out, her boots thumping on the floor.
Coward. Well, screw him. Screw George. Screw the whole town board. Now that her workload was lightened by more than half, she had a lot of time to look for a new job.
* * *
Dog limped into the yard and lifted his head, but the smell wasn’t there anymore, the wind blowing the wrong way. He remembered the direction, but even if his leg was healed, he couldn’t leave this place.
The girl needed him. At night, he slept in her bedroom. And while the sharp voices of her mom and dad knifed into the room, she lay on the rug next to him, pulled her covers off the bed and over both of them, then held on to him tightly. Sometimes her tears leaked onto his head before she fell asleep.
If he left her, who would she hold at night while she cried?
* * *
“What’s wrong?” Logan asked. Dinner had been a salad and a mediocre frozen pizza. Maddie had been distracted, though she’d put on a good face for her son. But Logan had seen the unhappiness in her eyes and on her face. The way she stared at nothing.
Something had changed today, and the only thing he knew for sure by looking at her was that it wasn’t a good change.
“Nothing’s wrong.” She settled down on the sofa with her glass of wine, ready to tell him her nightly story.
“You’d make a lousy actor.” He frowned at her glass of wine. She’d used a regular glass, and she hadn’t skimped.
That was one way
to beat the blues, but not one he’d recommend for her.
“Good thing acting’s not on my list of preferred occupations,” she said.
“It might loosen you up a bit.”
“So would a bottle of brandy.”
“I know where you keep the brandy. Say the word, and I’ll get it.” He gave her what one interviewer had called his “wicked smile.”
Going by Maddie’s scowl, it didn’t impress her. That normally would’ve made him smile wider, but not when she down was like this. “You can spend all night telling me nothing’s wrong, and I won’t believe you,” he said. “I’ve got a radar about women’s moods. And this mood of yours is seriously serious.”
“Seriously serious? Isn’t that redundant?”
“You’re not going to distract me with a grammar question.”
“I don’t have to distract you. If I don’t want to talk, I won’t.” She gave him her Ninja face. “And keep your radar to yourself. I’m here to tell you a story, not to be your daily optimist.”
“If you were my daily optimist, you’d flunk. You’re the least optimistic person I know.”
“Not true. If I were a pessimist, I would’ve seen it… Never mind.”
“You would’ve seen something coming,” he said. “You practically told me what happened. If you won’t finish it, I’ll find out tomorrow.”
“No, you won’t. No one knows but me and one other person.” Her voice was low and throbbed. She turned her head, hiding her expression from him. “And the town board.”
“You’re wrong. In a town this size, if that many people know, at least two-thirds of the town knows, too.”
“You… You…” She set her lips together and looked out of the window.
“Man,” he said, his voice lower than hers, as if it came from the pit of his belly. Or perhaps lower than that. “I’m a man.”
“Are you?” She challenged him with her hard stare. “It feels to me you’re more of a victim. Hiding out here with me and Zach. Hiding from a woman.”
He stilled. For a second, he hated her.
