by Norah Wilson
“Oh wow, that’s fascinating.” And it was. Maryanne couldn’t believe how much. Not just the excitement of it, but her own reaction. She’d never seen anything like this and it amazed and moved her. And as she glanced over at Bryce, well, she’d never seen anyone like him. So caring and competent.
They spent the next ten minutes in near total silence. The little foal had rolled onto its chest almost immediately, which Bryce said was normal, and had even managed to crawl a little ways. Finally, the mare got to her feet and the umbilical cord snapped. She then moved to her foal and started licking it where it lay in the straw.
“Good girl,” Bryce called. He turned to Maryanne. “I have some other stuff to do, but it’s important for the mare to bond with her foal first.”
“He’s so cute!” Maryanne said.
“She,” Bryce corrected with a grin. “It’s a girl.”
“Okay, she’s cute.”
A moment later, Bryce went back into the stall to tend to both mother and foal. Teary eyed, Maryanne watched him. Afterward, he let himself out of the stall and went to wash his hands.
When he came back, drying his hands on paper towel, Maryanne said, “Umm, isn’t there…uh…you know…more to come?”
He grinned. “The placenta, you mean?”
“Yeah.” She blushed, even though she knew it was stupid.
“It’ll probably be another hour or so before it comes. Same with the foal getting up to nurse. Why don’t we go up to the house for a celebratory Coke while they rest?”
There was no one in the kitchen when they entered the house.
“Where are your parents?” she asked. It couldn’t be much later than 8:30, and she was certain she hadn’t heard any vehicles leaving.
He shrugged. “My mom sleeps a lot these days. My dad—well, he shuts himself up in the den most evenings.”
Maryanne’s heart broke for them. How well she knew that fresh grief. It was never just the one who died that you lost. The whole family dynamic changed. But she was pretty certain the last thing Bryce needed from her right now was sympathy. So she blinked back her tears and asked where the kettle was. He could keep his Coke; she wanted a hot cup of tea.
For the next hour, they talked and laughed. It was…perfect. They liked so many of the same things: skating in the winter, biking, old Vincent Price movies, classic rock. He talked about his childhood cancer—how no one thought he would survive, but he somehow knew he had to.
She talked about moving to Mansbridge from Burlington, and the mini culture shock of that. Bryce couldn’t believe she’d gotten a tattoo—she wouldn’t tell him where—but he thought it was cool that she had one.
Maryanne even found herself telling him about Jason—her baby brother. Not how he’d died, but just that he had. Bryce talked briefly about Seth, but he clammed up as quickly as she had.
Eventually, Bryce announced he should go back and check on Leila and her foal. The pulled their jackets back on and went out. Half an hour later, the placenta had been safely passed and the newborn foal was up on shaky legs and nursing.
“Well, I guess we’re done here,” he said.
“Right.” She looked down at the ground. “I suppose you should take me home.”
“What if I said I don’t want you to go yet?”
Her head came up and she met his impossibly dark brown eyes. “I’d say curfew isn’t until midnight on the weekends.”
He smiled. “Good.”
Maryanne practically hyperventilated. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. What was he thinking now? That she’d stay and make out with him?
“Why don’t we go into town and get a burger?” he suggested.
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or not, to have the stay-here-and-make-out possibility taken off the table so quickly, but she accepted. She was starving, now that she thought about it, having eaten lightly at supper to save room for the popcorn she’d never gotten to try.
Once outside again, he paused halfway to the truck. “Have you got time to see something else before we go?”
“Of course,” she said, knowing somehow what he had in mind before he took her hand and led her there. The shed. The one where she, Alex, and Brooke had spied on him from the other night when they’d cast out. Her heart slammed in her chest so hard it ached as they trudged over the well-packed path through the snow.
Did he know she’d been here? That she was one of the three soaring casters? He couldn’t know. He—
He pulled a set of keys out of his jacket pocket and opened the door.
“Wait here a sec while I get the light,” Bryce said. “Don’t want you tripping.”
She heard him stride to the workbench, but the light didn’t come on right away. Rather, she heard him fumbling and the clank of metal on metal. Instantly, she knew what he was doing. He was hiding the manacles. Good move, Bryce. Not what you’d want a girl to see on the first date!
Then the lights came on. “Come on in,” he said.
She stepped into the small shed. Immediately, the anger of the place, inherent in every board and nail, assaulted her. She pushed the sensation back, knowing Bryce would be watching her reaction.
Bryce crossed to a small space heater—had that been there the other night?—and plugged it in. Within minutes the coils were glowing bright orange and blowing heat. Shuttering her expression, Maryanne looked around the cluttered little shed. Tools, Bryce had lots of tools scattered about. There was a camp chair and a couple of tall stools. Yet these things held only fleeting interest. Maryanne couldn’t help it—she looked up at the carvings on the shelf just above his head. The brown owl, the green-shelled turtle, the leaning peg-legged pirate with a parrot on his shoulder. And of course the carving of the hanging Heller. But that too was different tonight. Because it had a nail through the center of it, right where the heart would be.
“You okay?” Bryce said. “You look pale.”
“Just cold,” she improvised. “That space heater will fix me up.” Her gaze slid over the potbellied stove in the corner. “Hey, what’s with the space heater anyway? Why not light the stove?”
“I don’t entirely trust that old stove pipe,” he said. “I doubt if it would pass a fire marshal’s test, and the stove is too close to the wall.”
“Too bad. I love a wood fire.”
“We’ll have to have a bonfire outside some time.” He dragged one of the high stools over and dusted the seat off with his glove. “Here. Have a seat.”
Hands in her pockets now, knees tight together, she sat with her back to the very window she’d looked in from the other night. Coming in the door she’d noticed the glass was only frosted along the edges, as if he’d been in here earlier, and the heater had chased the frost away. Probably just before he’d left to pick her up tonight.
Bryce looked at her closer still. “Are you…are you okay, Maryanne?” His brow knit in concern.
This place scared her—the iron all around, the hanging caster doll, the feel of it. The anger and fear that pulsed from the walls. Yet there was something more, as though it hadn’t always been this way. And as she stared into Bryce Walker’s eyes, there was no anger there. No hatred. Just genuine concern.
Maybe as a Heller hunter, he was a worry to her, but tonight…
“I’m fine, Bryce.” She drew a breath. Maryanne looked around as if she hadn’t peered into every corner of the place when she’d been out with Brooke and Maryanne the other night. “This is your special place, huh?” she asked.
Bryce’s eyes shone, like a kid about to show off his brand new Hot Wheels. “Yeah. I know it doesn’t look like much, but it means a lot to me.”
“How come?”
“My grandfather, Ira Walker, used to spend nearly every waking hour out here. Well, once Dad took over the farm, anyway. When I was home from the hospital between chemo treatments, and they didn’t know if I was going to make it or not, Grampy brought a cot out here for me. He said he needed me to keep him company, help him w
ith stuff. But I needed him, of course. And he…he more than took care of me. We talked when I was awake and had the energy for conversation. He’d tinker around when all I had was the energy to watch him. He’d write and read to me the things he’d written.”
“Stories?” she knew better, but asked anyway.
“No, his journal entries. Grampy was a smart, smart man. Though many people thought he had a couple of screws loose. You must have heard of the Mansbridge Heller? Anyone who’s been here for any length of time has heard of it. Well, Grampy was a Heller hunter. That’s what he wrote about in his journals. That’s what he talked so much about on those days we kept each other company.” Bryce pointed to the set of wooden cabinets in the corners. Heavy oak with solid hinges. “He kept those journals under lock and key. And he gave a key to me.”
“Are these carvings his?” Maryanne said, her voice croaking. She stood, walked to the bench, reached up and touched the little bird perched on the pirate’s shoulder. That should seem casual enough. But, oh crap! The colorful bird wasn’t attached! And both pirate and parrot fell off the shelf, pinged on the workbench, and hit the floor.
“I’m so sorry!” Maryanne crouched to pick up the pieces.
Bryce just smiled. He took the small items from her hands as she stood, and his fingertips lingered on hers.
Either that heater was working double time, or she was getting warm all of a sudden for another reason.
Finally, he sat both pieces of wood on the table. “Old Blue-Butt the pirate falls all the time. No worries.”
“Old Blue-Butt?”
Maryanne could almost swear Bryce was blushing, at least a little. “Yeah. Grampy let me name him. Did I mention I was just a kid?”
She giggled. “Weird kid.”
“I was the one who asked him to carve the pirate. The turtle and the owl too, actually. He made a couple other things, but these are the best of them. Nothing spectacular, as you can see, but he did his best. Grampy would do anything for me and Seth.”
Ira Walker. She’d known the name—the legend of the hunter—from Connie’s diary, and then from Connie herself. He had been a nightmare to the caster. And yet, he’d also been the kind-hearted grandfather who spent his days carving wooden characters for his sickly grandson.
Maryanne had to ask. “Did you ask your grandfather to carve the ca—the Heller?” To cover her near slip, she poked the little black carving with her finger and set it spinning. As it spun, she could see the nail in the center was pushed completely through the doll’s chest. A sickening cold settled in the pit of her stomach.
“No,” Bryce said.
Maryanne was relieved.
“I carved that one myself. Not too long ago.”
She closed her eyes. That was not the Bryce she was with now, she reminded herself. That was…Bryce the hunter. Not Bryce the guy she was crushing on. The one who’d cared for that mare and foal so tenderly. The one—
Who was leaning in closer. She could feel it. Feel him.
She opened her eyes, looked deep into his, and waited just one breath-holding moment before he leaned down and touched his mouth gently to hers. She responded instantly, if inexpertly. He took that as permission to deepen the kiss, which it kinda was. But oh, Christmas! By the time he lifted his head a moment later, Maryanne’s heart was thudding crazily.
He groaned, enfolded her in his arms, and pressed her head to his chest. With her ear against the wall, she felt his heart pounding just as hard as hers. She let her smile spread across her face.
“What is it about you, Maryanne Hemlock?” He stroked her hair. “You’re just not like the other girls—like any other girl. I…I never met anyone like you.”
She wanted to pull back to look into those brown eyes again. But she knew, somehow, that wasn’t the thing to do as Bryce held her and spilled his feelings. So instead, she looked at their reflection in the window. His arms around her, her holding him close back. It was the perfect picture.
“When I look at you, it’s like everything else fades into the background.” He kissed her forehead.
Suddenly their perfect reflection in the window changed. She stiffened in his arms. “What the hell?”
“What?” Bryce took a step back, his eyes wide. “What’d I do?”
She shook her head, fumbling for a plausible explanation. What could she tell him? Hardly the truth! That Brooke had just stuck her caster face through the freakin’ window?
Brooke probably hadn’t meant to slide in through the glass, and she’d pulled her face back quickly. Or maybe she was yanked back that quickly. Alex had to be with her. Maryanne adjusted her focus to look past her reflection and through the window, and there they were. Two dark casters, both of them motioning for her to ‘get out of there’!
Maryanne shot them an evil look before pulling her eyes away from the window. And she tried her best to keep the seething anger off her face as she turned to Bryce.
Bryce looked stricken. He took yet another step back from her. Oh, shoot! He thought her sudden change of demeanor was his fault. Something he’d done…
“I’m sorry, Bryce,” she said. “I didn’t mean to ruin the moment. Really, I…there’s just something I have to do, and I just realized the time. I should be getting home.”
“Of course,” he said, but his voice was several degrees cooler as he reached for their coats. “I’ll take you home right now.”
Oh heck, no. She’d hurt him.
Maryanne dove in with the only thing she could—the truth. Well, a bit of it.
“Bryce, I had a great time tonight. Really. Watching that new foal arrive…it was amazing. Thank you for letting me share that with you. And watching you with them…the horses…well, let me just say I’ve never met anyone like you either.” She drew a breath. “The thing is, I don’t have a heck of a lot of experience…okay, I have no experience with guys. I’ve never really dated before, and I just—”
He held up a hand. “Say no more.”
“But I want to—”
This time he silenced her with a kiss. Brief, gentle, intoxicating. And he didn’t lay so much as a finger on her. It was just their lips meeting. Her heart pounded all the harder, knowing he was trying to show her that he’d never hold her against her will, or use his superior strength to imprison her or push her to give more than she wanted to give.
Then he lifted his head and settled her coat over her shoulders.
“Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
“I’m so sorry, Bryce. I—”
“I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. That wasn’t my intention here tonight. If you thought it was, I’m sorry.”
She was such a heel.
“Maryanne,” Bryce continued. “I’d never do anything to hurt you. Ever.”
“Promise?” The word was out before she realized it. Yet she let the question hang.
“Yeah,” he chuckled, but his eyes were sincere. “Promise.”
Breathless, Maryanne nodded. “Okay.”
Bryce set the carvings back on the high shelf and mumbled something to Old Blue-Butt the pirate. A part of her melted to see that he talked to himself—or at least inanimate objects—too. He unplugged the lamps. At the door, he pushed the knob in to lock it, then had to slam it three times to get it to close and latch tightly behind him. He gave the knob a twist to check that it was locked before turning away to join her.
Hand in hand, they walked back to the truck. They were almost out of the driveway when Bryce said, “Damn! I forgot to unplug the heater.” He drove back, put the truck in park, and undid his seat belt. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He hopped out of the truck, his boots crunching the snow underneath. “Wouldn’t want the old shed to burn down.”
He closed the door and Maryanne watched him walk back to the shed.
She hoped he would hurry. Because she wanted to get home and kick Brooke’s and Alex’s butts.
Big time.
Chapter 7
A Danger Zone
Alex
“Do you know what time it is, young lady?” Alex ground out.
She’d been sitting on her bed, back braced against the headboard, feet on the covers, watching the door for the last fifteen minutes since she and Brooke had cast back in. She’d stood the moment Maryanne strode into the bedroom. And no, it wasn’t just her over-protectiveness toward the other casters that had her on her feet. She’d been hoping to put Maryanne on the defensive, at least a bit, but by the look on the other girl’s face, it wasn’t working. Mild Maryanne was obviously pissed at the two of them.
“Nice try, Robbins.” Brooke tossed her Teen Vogue magazine aside and sat up on the bed. “Why don’t you just come clean—following Maryanne was all your idea.”
Yeah, right! “Not helping, Brooke.” Alex shot her an acrid look.
That look was nothing compared to the icy stare Maryanne treated them to. “Just what the hell were you two doing?” she snapped. “Spying on me? What the fuck, you guys?”
Alex blinked. Maryanne dropping the F-bomb?
“Look, Maryanne,” Alex said, raking a hand through her hair. “It wasn’t just my idea. If you’d just let me—”
“And you!” Maryanne whirled on Brooke. “Leaning in through the window like that? What if Bryce had seen you?”
“But he didn’t see me,” Brooke said, though Alex was sure the comment didn’t come out nearly as crisply as Brooke would have liked. “Look, we just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Brooke levered herself to her feet, bristling with her own righteous anger now. “Because you were out with a Walker. An iron-swinging, caster-hating Walker! You were out with a Heller hunter. And we’re the Hellers! What don’t you get about that, Maryanne?”
Alex half expected Maryanne to back down, but she didn’t.
“I was out with Bryce, the nice guy, not the hunter. The great guy who—”
“Who didn’t take you to the movies,” Alex interjected, and then cringed at how parental she sounded. Well, so be it. “You were supposed to be going to the movies.”