Climbing the last knoll of Sugar Maple Ridge, I stood at the top and peered down into the valley Marigold now called home. The view. Breathtaking—from its Late Purple Asters and bold sunflowers, to the abundance of sugar maples lining the far ridge. The autumn foliage exploded with color. Golden yellows, bold oranges, and rich red leaves danced through the air as they abandoned the branches and fluttered to the ground. I drew a deep breath, smelling the smoky air from someone’s fireplace. “Man, I love the fall.”
A two story log cabin came into view. Bigger than I’d imagined, it seemed solid, well built. To the left of the house stood a red barn surrounded by fencing. Animals milled around in the yard: a brood of cackling chickens, several bleating goats, and a pig rooting around with her piglets.
I hunted around for a trail that reached to her home. I could hop the wrought iron fence that surrounded her property and cut across the valley, but the waist-high overgrowth of vines and meadow grass would take forever to comb through. Besides, my still-healing thigh throbbed from the punishing bike ride and subsequent hike. There had to be a trail. How else did Marigold get to and from town?
Backtracking down the knoll, I walked about a hundred yards to the left, still no trail. I circled and started up the knoll again, only this time I didn’t make it. The ground gave out and I tumbled into a deep, dank crevice, my body ricocheting back and forth off the dirt walls as I slid further and further down. Something solid protruding from the wall punched me in the chest, forcing the air from my lungs with an “Oof.” I tumbled face down on a pile of wire and decayed sugar maple tree branches, agony racking my body. I struggled to stand, but the stabbing pain in my chest had other plans. With my hands clutching the ground, I heaved and lost my lunch on the slippery rocks.
I rested for a few minutes until I felt strong enough, and then began my climb out, only to lose my grip and fall back to the bottom. Growing lightheaded, I laid my head against the side of my tomb and felt myself slip into unconsciousness.
Chapter Three
Marigold
I ran my hands over the buttery yellow blades of the high field grass. “Hmm, winter will be early this year, Sera. Too bad. I love the fall.” I drew in a deep breath, savoring the smell of damp leaves and over-ripened apples from a nearby tree.
A skunk scurried around my feet and I glanced down, laughing at my cousin. “Yes, I suspect you can’t smell much of anything but yourself in that form. You should have stayed a cat. Personally, I don’t know why you chose that for our walk. You know the other animals will have nothing to do with you and all the stink hanging around.” Sera turned her black nose in the air and scampered ahead.
“Sera. I didn’t mean to offend you. Come back. I’ll pick one of the last apples for you if you do.” I reached up and plucked the last three apples remaining on the tree, being careful to avoid the rotten ones that peppered the ground.
A swoosh of air flew past my knees, startling me. I spun around in time to catch the skunk as she dove into my arms.
“Sera!” I stumbled back, dropping her as rancid skunk smell saturated my clothes. “I apologized. You didn’t need to spray me with that horrid—what do you mean someone’s been hurt?”
Sera bobbed her head to the east and sprinted away. I followed, swirling a finger over me to rid my clothing of the wretched skunk scent. She’d gone a hundred yards and stopped dead in her tracks, her head angled downward. Dread raced up my spine. A hole. One of many the moonshiners set as traps to protect their backwoods stills. They’d dig it deep and line the bottom with sharpened tree branches and rusted-out steel parts used to make the stills. Across the top, they’d shrewdly crafted foliage to disguise the hole. An unsuspecting victim would cross the death trap and it would collapse, sending them careening to the bottom.
I raced to the edge of the disturbed trap and dropped to my knees. Too deep to see the bottom under the shade of a nearby sugar maple, I pointed my index finger into the hole, flooding the small cavern with light. I almost tumbled in as the light fell across the only guy I’d ever loved, Jack Mahoney, leaning against the side. His deep brown eyes turned upward and the word, “Marigold,” crossed his lips. And then, miraculously, he smiled up at me.
He was alive. My heart danced in my chest.
Hand over hand, he climbed up toward the top of the hole. I leaned in to help him, but before he could reach the top, his strength gave out and he toppled backwards. Using my magic, I waved my hand and kept him from tumbling all the way back down.
“Sera, stand guard while I help him out of the hole,” I demanded, my voice shaking. I’d never gotten over Jack, not matter how hard I tried.
As the skunk scanned the area, I continued waving my hand, carefully raising the half-conscious deputy sheriff out. I gasped as his battered body came into full view. What I first thought to be dirt on his face turned out to be blood. His uniform had several tears, and like his face, it too was caked in blood. As soon as he was within my reach, I quickly removed the twigs, dirt, and dead leaves from his clothes and hair to better assess the damage. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. Judging from the darker color of some of the blood on his shirt, I guessed he’d been in the hole for two or three hours. His skin was positively gray. Not good.
“Sera, quickly, shift into a horse. I don’t want to risk being seen strolling along with a body floating in midair next to me.” The skunk instantly became a mule. She brayed at me. Not wanting to take the time to correct Sera, I waved my hand and placed Jack carefully on the mule’s back.
He struggled to open his eyes as I lowered his body into place. Twisting toward me he said, “They were right. You are a witch.” He then passed out.
“Lucky for you, Jack Mahoney,” I said. “Otherwise you’d soon be dead if these injuries are as serious as they appear.” I stepped next to him to hold him in place as we worked our way to my cabin, keeping a hand over my nose. Mule or not, Sera still stank.
She trotted quickly for the cabin, racing up the front porch stairs. I glanced around, and with the flip of my wrist, the solid maple door flew open. I lowered Jack to waist-high from the mule and guided him inside to the front bedroom. With a wave of my hand, I tossed back the wool blankets and the antique quilt my grandmother had given my parents when they married. Gently steering Jack’s injured body, I set him carefully on the queen-size brass bed.
A white cat with purple eyes appeared at my side as I gathered wet and dry towels from the bathroom. “Sera, you still smell,” I complained with a frown. I waved my finger in a couple small circles above the cat, vanquishing the offending odor. Insulted, the cat stomped off to the bedroom and jumped onto the bed, settling in next to Jack’s mud-caked shoes.
My stomach twisted uncomfortably as I cleaned the mud and dried blood from Jack’s face, while checking for cuts and bruises. Except for a shallow gash above his right eyebrow, his face had only minor scratches. Closing my eyes, I ran my hand slowly around his head, finding a large lump. Concentrating harder, I reached deeper into his head with my powers and found no further damage.
“His head wound is superficial, Sera. Thank the good Lord above.” The cat mewed back. I nodded. “You’re right. I shouldn’t waste my energy healing it. If he remembers hitting his head, he will wonder why there is no lump. Good thinking.” The cat cocked her head arrogantly at me in her vintage I told you so way.
I unbuttoned Jack’s shirt. Keeping my hand an inch above his body, I ran it over the right side of his chest, noting an injury that had healed recently. It had to have been from the mishap in Port Fare just over a year ago. I could sense the injury had been extensive and it saddened me to know he’d suffered so.
My hand traveled over to the purple and black skin on the opposite side of his chest. Power instantly drained from me, as if the wound sensed my healing ability and yearned to be made whole. “This injury is life-threatening. I’ll have to heal it right way.” I ran my hand quickly above the rest of his body to ensure there were no more pressing injuries
, finding many more bruises and a strange sensation in his right thigh.
“I’ll come back to that later,” I murmured to myself before returning to the wound in his chest. Pouring all my energy into the injury, I began the healing process, delving deep inside his body with my powers, healing first the small tear in his heart and the sack containing his heart, mending tissue and damaged sinew as I worked my way to the surface. Sweat poured down my brow while more raced down my back.
“This is the worst injury I’ve ever tried to heal, Sera. I don’t know if I’m powerful enough.” I panted as if I’d run a marathon. The cat reached out, placing a paw on my shaking hands. A surge of power raced through Sera’s paw into me. I met her eyes and smiled. I knew that Sera’s generosity would cost her. The ability to shape-shift would be depleted for a few days as she regained her strength. It was her only connection to the magical world now and she valued it dearly. “Thank you,” I said.
After several minutes, with my strength completely drained from my body, I collapsed on the bed next to Jack. I listened to his now even breaths and it soothed my troubled heart. The weakened cat slipped to the floor with a heavy thud and wobbled over to the corner where she dropped onto her pillow and immediately fell asleep. Moments later, my heavy lids lowered over my eyes and I drifted off too, still hoping in my dreams that what I’d done would be enough.
Chapter Four
Jack
I struggled to open my eyes, as if somehow they’d been glued shut, only they wouldn’t budge. The last thing I recalled was trying to get to Marigold’s house and falling into a deep crevice. I rubbed my chest at the mild ache there, and groaned when I lifted my hand too quickly and it skimmed the lump on my head.
A smile crossed my lips as I recalled the wild dream I’d had of me floating onto a stinky old burro with Marigold by my side. She jogged along beside me as we made our way to her cabin. I wanted to tell her to climb onto the burro with me, but my mouth wouldn’t move. She wore jean shorts along with a blue t-shirt that made her eyes pop with color. Marigold never looked prettier, with her strawberry blond hair held back from her face by a messy ponytail. I wanted to reach out and touch the curls dangling around her face, only my arms had no strength. It was the best dream I’d had in a long while. I also think I called Marigold a witch. Sure glad I’d only dreamed that. The last thing I wanted to do was offend her.
Slowly my head cleared and I pushed my eyes open. “I’m still dreaming.” I scanned the small bedroom, with its antique cherry armoire in the corner alongside a matching dresser. I saw the brass posts of a beautiful antique bed at my feet. One thing I knew was antique furniture. My mother was a collector and forbade my two sisters and me from touching them. These, however, were not the pristine pieces my mother had. Though in good condition, these were well-used items of furniture. I imagined them having been handed down with love from generation to generation.
My hands ran over the soft sheets while I inhaled the outdoorsy scent that filled the room. It all felt so real, so much so that when something next to me moved, I startled and bit back a curse. I twisted my head to the side, discovering Marigold asleep on the bed next to me.
“Yes indeed, this is the best dream I’ve had in years,” I said. With the last of my energy, I slowly twisted onto my side, facing Marigold. I watched her sleep, the soft sounds of her breath flowing in and out of her slightly opened mouth. Her damp hair stuck in thin strands to her forehead, and I wondered why since the room felt a bit cool to me.
My eyes grew heavy as I faded back to sleep, imagining what it would be like to kiss Marigold. Hopefully my dream would last long enough for me to find out.
Someone touched my leg, the one I’d injured in the shootout in Port Fare. Heat infused the injury as something pressed down against me. My senses went on high alert. All the training I’d received in the police academy kicked in. I lay motionless, doing my best to assess the situation by the sounds around me. The pressure on my thigh increased, as did the heat, followed by a soft grunt. I concentrated on the pressure, and determined it to be a pair of hands, a pair of intensely warm, soft hands. A woman’s hands. Surely I could take on a woman. Or could I? I flexed my fingers slowly, my muscles raw and stiff. I wasn’t a hundred percent better yet. What if there was more than one? Or maybe they had guns? Did I dare open my eyes, or should go on pretending I was asleep?
I had no choice. If I was going to die at these stranger’s hands, I’d go out fighting. Slowly, I peeled back one eyelid just enough to see that the room held no light. Engulfed in complete darkness, I braved opening both eyes. As they adjusted, I could make out the lone female touching my thigh, her long hair veiling her face. Marigold. I was dreaming again. As I let out the breath I’d been holding, Marigold jerked her hands away.
“You’re awake.” She hopped off the bed, the springs creaking as she did. I instantly missed her touch. “How are you feeling?” She pulled the curtains back from the window, allowing the full moon to immerse the room with light. “I don’t want to blind you by turning on the lamp,” she explained. She wore a simple green dress that hit her mid-calf. Her ringlets hung around her face in place of the ponytail.
“You changed.” I perched myself on my elbows.
“How . . . ? Oh, you remember.” Her back was to the window, shrouding her in shadow, so I couldn’t see her face as she spoke.
I frowned in disappointment. “In my last dream, you had on jean shorts and a t-shirt, and you wore your hair differently.” I eased up until I was sitting. “If this is a dream, why am I still weak? Unless . . . I’m dying.” The thought hit me like a wrecking ball. “I fell down that hole and now I’m dying. You’re not a dream. You’re a hallucination.” I dropped onto the pillow, breath racing, eyes wide. “My mom’s going to be devastated. What if no one finds my body?” Grimacing, I propped myself back up on my elbows and yelled out in a panic. “Help! I’m stuck in this hole.”
Instantly Marigold rushed to my side, placing her warm hands on my arm. “Jack, you’re safe. You’re in my cabin.” Her soothing voice enveloped me like honey. Calm filled me as she rubbed my arm.
“The last thing I remember was walking around the perimeter of your property trying to find the trail that led to your cabin. I fell into a hole, hitting my chest and then my head.” I touched the lump gingerly. “Yup. Still hurts.” Next, my fingers explored the mild ache in my chest, though it seemed to have improved dramatically from before.
“Why were you trying to get to my cabin?” Her hand, along with her warmth, left my arm. I wanted to pull it back.
With her eyes on me, I tried to remember why I had come. “Jed came into the office saying you killed his prize hunting dog. Chayton asked me to stop by—”
“I killed his bloodhound?” Marigold spun away and stormed across the room. “Schooner died because she fell into one of Jed’s many traps, just like you. Only unlike you, no one found her in time.” She rounded on me, her fists in tight balls. “I tried to help her, but it was too late.”
“Why does Jed have traps? Is he poaching?” I forced my body upright again and carefully swung my legs to the floor, balancing myself with my hands on either side of me on the bed.
“Jed Abbott and his brother Buck are running moonshine, Deputy Mahoney.” Her now formal tone irritated me, but I held my tongue. I was, after all, on police business. “They want me off the mountain because I’ve been giving them some trouble.”
“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”
“Some of their stills may have been destroyed, and their moonshine dumped out,” she admitted, sounding not the least bit repentant. “But in all fairness, they’ve been encroaching on my property without permission. They ran a waterline from my crick down into their gully to some of their stills.”
I bit my cheeks to keep from chuckling. It had been a long time since I heard creek pronounced crick. “Why didn’t you report them, Marigold? The sheriff would have done something.”
“Last April I spoke wit
h Chayton. Only someone must have warned the Abbotts because he didn’t find the stills.” She folded her arms. “Jed told Chayton that if he did find anything in the hills, I planted it there to get him in trouble. Then he started in on the whole she’s a witch thing again, claiming I wanted him and Buck off the mountain so I could sacrifice animals without getting caught.”
“Can’t believe he’s still playing the witch card.” My brow pinched in frustration. I struggled to stand and immediately sank back onto the bed. Marigold came to my rescue.
“You’re not strong enough, Jack. Come, lay back down.” She scooped up my feet and set them on the bed as I dropped onto the pillow. “Are you feeling okay? Do you have a fever?” She placed her soft hands on my forehead. “Nope.” She pulled the sheet and blankets up to my chin. “You need rest. We can talk about this tomorrow when you have more strength.”
Too weak to argue, I shut my eyes. “Thank you for taking care of me, Marigold.” So many questions jumbled through my mind like how did she get me out of the hole, and how did I get to her cabin, but sleep swept over me before I could ask.
Chapter Five
Marigold
“Here’s some milk, Sera.” I set a saucer of milk next to the cat who’d curled up near the stove for warmth. A cold front had settled in and the morning air held a chill. “Is your strength coming back?”
Sera mewed weakly.
I sighed. “I want to thank you again. I don’t think I could have saved him without your help. I’ll send a note to Tabitha about your unselfish act. Maybe it will help shorten your punishment and she’ll change you back into a human again.” The cat rolled her eyes at that. “Yeah, I guess Tabitha isn’t known for her compassion.” I stroked her white fur. “But you did try to steal her husband,” I pointed out. Sera turned her back to me in a huff.
Chuckling to myself, I went to check on Jack. I’d slowed time throughout the night. It gave us both a chance to regain our strength. He slept comfortably, for which I was grateful, but I hoped he’d wake soon. I longed to hear his voice again, and stare into his big, brown eyes.
A Fantasy Christmas Page 20