Brush of Shade ((YA Paranormal Romance/Fantasy) The Whisperer's Chronicles)

by Jan Harman

  “That would be way out of my price range. If I had one.”

  “Right, cause European boarding schools are so cheap.”

  “They don’t necessarily equate with having tons of money. Necessity required my placement when my parents were concerned with the political instability in certain regions of the world where my dad was stationed.” Plus they were a convenient holding pen for unwanted kids. I took a deep breath and fiddled with my purse strap. But things had gotten better. I knew they had.

  He shook his head and smiled. “Remind me never to play poker with you. Who knew such an angelic face could lie so sweetly. I bet you’re into Porsches.”

  Before I could respond, he popped a CD in and cranked up the volume, leaving me to wonder what his parents did for a living. By the time we arrived at school, I’d decided to let the matter drop. I’d met plenty of people with more money than they knew what to do with. They seemed to live on another plane of reality that the rest of us couldn’t comprehend.

  Unfortunately, the matter didn’t drop me. The lunch table topic between Trent and Bradley centered on which car I should purchase. Their ideas were outrageously expensive. I let it go, chalking it up to guys and their love affair with their wheels. When I walked into the yearbook staff meeting, three girls turned away and began making fun of my European accent. Over their giggles, I heard them chatting about buying fancy cars. Why was I putting myself through this? Oh yeah, my aunt had insisted I get involved. I’d suffered through new girl syndrome too many times to be bothered. But it did bother me. More so than it had at any boarding school or even starting off state side fall semester junior year at my first regular school since my brother’s death.

  A girl working at a computer looked up and asked, “Can we do something for you?”

  “She’s not staying,” one of the girls from the welcoming committee announced rudely.

  My hand squeezed my crutch. Head held high, I strode towards the table and the girl, who I thought I recognized from one of my classes. “At my old school, I was assistant yearbook editor. But I’m willing to pitch in wherever you need a hand.” I looked down at the screen as she clicked past poorly composed photos that had truncated heads. “I’m a pretty good photographer.”

  “No, way. That’s my job,” a girl from the group whined.

  “Ashley, weren’t you just complaining that you’re too busy.” The girl at the computer opened another file and shook her head. “We can use more hands.”

  “Just because her aunt is a famous artist and she’s the next Pepperdine—”

  A girl next to Ashley poked her arm. “That’s okay, let her have it. She’ll probably crash the sports car she’s going to buy right into the side of a canyon and end up breaking her arm.”

  After the girls stopped laughing, Ashley said in an exaggerated whisper that was guaranteed to carry, “I heard Trent gave her a ride this morning.”

  “Isn’t she so special,” one of the girls replied sarcastically.

  “It looks like she’s the new flavor. Maggie is going to be crushed. She had a plan to get Trent to ask her to prom.”

  Why had Aunt Claire forced me to live here? This wasn’t how my senior year was supposed to go, with me on the outside, again. JoAnna and I had planned out the whole year. Giggles rang in my ears, beating me into my place. The girl at the computer watched me with a pitying expression. Oh, God, any second now I was going to burst into stupid, useless tears.

  The girl stood and pointed at the screen. “See if any of these can be salvaged.” Under her breath she whispered, “Feel free to be brutal. I’ve got to run down to the office. I’ll be back.”

  By the time the yearbook meeting ended, I’d endured a string of catty digs and wanted to be left alone. I walked right past Trent lounging against the passenger side door of his truck.

  “Hey, Olivia, where are you going?”

  I weaved my way through the student parking lot, lost in my thoughts. A horn blared. Tires squealed. A sudden gust shoved me forward between two parked cars. Geez, I was crazy. I continued towards the street, cutting through the city park bordering the school. I’d just passed the bandstand when a red truck roared down the street. I frowned when it stopped, blocking the crosswalk. I made no attempt to hurry. Let Trent stew. A few cars honked. He waved at the irate drivers who got the message and swung around his truck.

  “Trent,” I said in a cool tone when he leaned across the seat and opened the passenger door. His smile faltered. I kept walking towards the back of his truck. A door slammed behind me.

  “Wait up. What about your ride?” he shouted.

  “Ask Maggie, maybe she’d like a ride.”

  “Huh?”

  A large hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. A line of cars had formed behind the now driverless truck. I recognized several of the gawking faces as students from school, some were in my classes. I felt my face turn beet red. “What is it? I’ve got things to do.”

  “What are you so mad about? Maggie and I had fun, but we were never serious.”

  “I’ve lived a public life, so I prefer details of my private life to be kept private. Just because you’ve money to burn, that doesn’t mean I do. Stop telling everyone I’m getting a car.” His incredulous expression made no sense. He was taking this morning’s conversation too far.

  He lowered his voice. “You’re the wealthiest senior high student in the state, probably in several states. You could have a fleet of cars, one for every day of the week.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Plus holidays,” he said, sounding quite sure of himself.

  “You’re delusional. If I had money, I’d know it.”

  “Legal age is eighteen. There are some things that your family hasn’t told you. Ask your aunt, see that I’m right. Now get in the truck.”

  “Hey, Trent, why don’t you kiss and make up?” a girl’s voice called out. Laughter peeled out of the car full of girls behind us.

  Trent grinned and leaned over me with his palms resting on the tailgate. I wasn’t sure if he was only playing along, or if he really intended to kiss me. I had a feeling the girls in the car would shove me out of the way to have a chance like this with the star football player. Well, I wasn’t about to be fodder for the gossips, or feed Trent Cassidy’s ego. I tried to step back and banged my crutch against the bumper.

  “Come on, Olivia. One kiss,” he coaxed, pushing me gently against the tailgate.

  “No, move out of the way.” The pressure of the bumper against the back of my knees eased off. Anger flashed in Trent’s eyes; abruptly his grip on my shoulder was gone. I stumbled backwards expecting to grab a hold of his truck to steady myself. Muscles screamed as my crutch skidded then lodged between two brick pavers.

  “Hey, Trent, your truck drives better without you behind the wheel,” a guy shouted from across the street.

  Open-mouthed I turned and watched Trent swing up into the driver’s seat. He grabbed the wheel and turned sharply, narrowly missing clipping the rear end of a parked Mercedes. I hobbled across the crosswalk, favoring my left leg more than usual. Maybe crazy was contagious, I thought, as Trent’s truck made a sharp left onto a side street. It sure had looked like he was yelling out the window of his truck at thin air.

  The first shop on Aunt Claire’s list was located two doors down from the crosswalk. Trent hadn’t looked like he’d be turning around, so it seemed as good a time as any to humor my aunt and scope out jobs. I paused in front of the display window to check out the store. An eclectic collection of metal wind chimes and wire spirals with intertwined gems hung from hooks in the ceiling. Poking out of vases were shapes cut out of copper surrounded by tiny metal blades. Sculpted wire penguins, giraffes, and elephants sat on the floor or peeked out of flower pots. Not your typical tourist shop full of postcards. Drawn to the whimsical creations, I stepped inside.

  “Hello, dear, can I help you?”

  My head bobbed back and forth, like one of those dashboard decorati
ons as I scanned the store in search of the owner of the high, clear-pitched voice. Through a gap in a shelf, I got a glimpse of a bright, orange tunic and untamed gray curls held back with a long barrette made out of coils of colored wires and dangling beads.

  “Yes, ma’am, my name is Olivia Pepperdine. I’ve just moved into town. My Aunt Claire suggested I stop by your store to see if you might need any help.” Now that I’d said it, I wondered, why the woman would give a stranger to the area a job when the high school across the street had plenty of able bodies, some of whom were bound to be her relations. I fiddled with the hem of my lace peasant top and tried to smile. My arms felt prickly. Maybe I was allergic to something. Great, the last thing I wanted was more tests and more doctor visits.

  “A Pepperdine,” she answered, making it sound like an event. “Bless you, dear. When you get home, you tell Claire to stop in and see me. That girl still owes me three hours of work.”

  “Excuse me?” Was she senile? “Are we talking about the same person?”

  “There’s been only one Claire Pepperdine that I’ve ever heard of in these parts.”

  “You know my aunt?”

  “I ought to. She worked here every summer before she took off. Come closer, so I can get a look at you. There’s no reason to be shy.”

  I squeezed through a narrow gap between two wooden cases that was almost too tight even for skinny me. The back of the store resembled a cross between a hardware store and a craft shop. Racks filled with spools of wire were stuffed next to bins filled with copper tubing and PVC pipe. Baskets of colored glass, beads, and stones littered the surface of the plywood table. Creations in various stages of completion dangled over the work surface from hooks set roughly two feet apart. At the moment, the woman was hunched over a three foot copper man. Several feet of red wire had been unwounded from the spool case and draped across the table. I waited patiently while she finished soldering wire to a copper hand.

  “Hand me those garnet beads in the chipped saucer.” Despite gnarled fingers that seemed to be permanently bent, she deftly wound the wire tight around each bead. “I could use help keeping things tidy after school for a couple of hours. If I haven’t driven you away come spring, we’ll see about increasing your hours when the tourist come flocking back into town.”

  She set down her tools to look me over. Glasses that had been in danger of falling off her nose were shoved back into place. Apparently the prescription needed to be corrected because she squinted at me until her eyes were tiny, white slits. With her elbows on the table, she slowly leaned closer.

  “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. A body would have to be insensitive to miss the Pepperdine aura. Don’t think that crutch will earn you any sympathy. You work for me; I expect you to earn every coin,” she announced, giving a tug on a spool of copper wire.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, eyeing the crumpled paper in my hand. Maybe I should’ve started at the bottom of the list. Normal and I had just gotten reintroduced.

  “Ma’am is a bit formal for these parts, call me Hattie. Can you start today? I need to reorganize the front window displays for the fall seasonals.”

  Before I could answer, the back door banged open. Between gaps in the shelves behind Hattie’s work table, I caught a glimpse of jeans and two large cartons weaving their way with ease through the maze of strange and delightful creations.

  “Shade Grisland, you’re late,” Hattie called out.

  “Only two minutes,” a deep, baritone voice answered.

  “They could’ve been important minutes,” she complained.

  “Traffic was tied up out front.”

  “Traffic? Is that the best excuse you can come up with?”

  Hattie turned to look up at me and winked. I felt my stomach unclench. It would’ve been awful if whoever this was had lost his job because of me.

  “It seems Trent Cassidy’s truck slipped into gear and almost clipped his dad’s car.”

  The corners of Hattie’s mouth turned up and her deep blue eyes danced, obviously enjoying the idea of Trent’s problem. Maybe his father owed her some hours too. Who knows, maybe she’d hang a few hours over my head every summer I came back to visit until I graduated from college.

  The face that went with the tight jeans had to be incredible, I decided, when startling crystal-blue eyes reflected briefly in tiny mirrors dangling from one of Hattie’s more bizarre pieces. How could it not be with that deep, melt in your mouth drawl? I caught a glimpse of white-blond hair before he bent down to set the cartons on the floor. When he straightened, my mouth went dry. This was the same guy from the wake. Now that I had a toe out of my numb world I could fully appreciate his features, straight out of GQ or off the runways of Europe. I wondered if he knew just how gorgeous he was? Even with heels I wouldn’t come up to his broad shoulders and my height was considered average. Great biceps, I admired, taking advantage of the fact that he hadn’t noticed me yet. I was wrong. His hair wasn’t entirely white blond. A streak of pale, yellow blond swept across his forehead, angling down to just above the ears where it blended with straight white hair worn slightly longer in the back.

  He turned to face me fully. Forget GQ with his square jaw, chiseled cheek bones, full red mouth, lashes to die for, and mesmerizing eyes this guy was straight out of a girl’s imagination for Prince Charming combined with a woman’s idea of the sexiest man in Hollywood. This guy exuded masculinity out of every saturated pore. He raised a golden eyebrow in my direction as he shoved his way through the narrow aisle. I forgot my own name.

  Apparently Hattie was unaffected by him. Based on a rough guess of his age, I figured he must’ve recently graduated from college and owed her hours. She poked him in the arm with the end of a wire and said, “Where’s your manners, boy. You don’t stare at a lady like she’s on the auction block.”

  I blushed scarlet.

  “Now see what you’ve done?” Hattie poked him again. “This here’s Olivia Pepperdine, niece of my friend Claire, looking for a job. So you dig out your best manners.”

  Shade lifted his hand and tipped an imaginary hat. “Nice to meet you, Miss Olivia.”

  Both of us kept staring. I knew why I was, although I couldn’t see why he’d bother. If only he’d turn those mesmerizing eyes onto something else, then I’d be able to think coherently and maybe suck some air into my lungs.

  “Olivia was about to tell me if she could stay this afternoon when you came clumping in here,” Hattie said, scowling up at Shade. But when she spoke to me, she sounded amused. “Have you made up your mind, dear?”

  “I think my ride home is having problems with his truck.”

  Hattie laughed so hard that tears ran down her cheeks. I couldn’t see what was so amusing. Maybe it was another local thing because the two of them exchanged a quick, amused look that sent her over the edge again.

  “I’ll give you a ride,” Shade offered, the words pouring out of his mouth like maple syrup, slow and easy with a hint of sweetness.

  I pitied the girls in this town should Shade use that voice of his in combination with those incredible eyes. A girl could get burned if she stood to close. Heck, I was melting, and he wasn’t even interested. I wet my lips and finally managed to speak. “If it wouldn’t be out of your way?”

  “That’s settled. Shade, you clear the heavier pieces out of the window while Olivia and I decide which of my autumn pieces would look best,” Hattie ordered.

  “First, we get you situated in your chair. Remember, what Dr. Long said about you taking it easy,” Shade reminded her as he carried a straight back chair up front.

  “Have one fainting spell and suddenly everyone treats you like you’ve got one foot in the grave. How am I supposed to organize everything from here?” she complained after she sat down on the chair Shade had placed out of the way, near the front door of the shop.

  “You’ve got a clear view of the entire bay window,” Shade answered, turning to survey the eleven by four foot space. “This s
hould help you direct, Madam Director.” He handed her a broom and tipped his imaginary hat. When he turned, she poked him with the end of the broom.

  They had a special relationship. If I could get used to working next to Prince Charming, I might like working in this quirky little shop.

  What was left of the afternoon flew by in a flurry of activity. Where Hattie the artist was as quirky and free spirited as her creations, the small business owner obsessed over every detail. She took pleasure in jabbing Shade with the handle of the broom when they started arguing, which seemed to be every few minutes.

  By the time we were almost done, I was feeling brave enough to stir things up a bit. Hattie seemed particularly pleased when we ganged up on Shade, while he continued to be overly polite just as he had been since we’d set to work. Every time I’d turned to pick something up, he was there grabbing it a second ahead of me. I was all for lending a hand when needed, but his hovering was seriously messing with my calm. Since this was my first day on the job, admitting that helping Hattie made me feel capable again was so not a good idea.

  “I can manage,” I repeated. Naturally, he picked up the vase full of dragonfly lawn stakes and set off to put it in the storage room. Hattie scowled at his retreating back. She’d been pointing at an elaborate spiral mobile that she’d been trying to get him to hang for the last fifteen minutes. She rapped the floor with the broom handle until I looked. Then she pointed from the mobile to the hook in the ceiling.

  After all he’d done for me, it was time to return the favor. I bent over and grabbed the metal ring. Bits of metal, wire, and copper pipes were heavier than they looked. The bottom half dragged on the floor clanking and rattling. I dropped my crutch and scooped up the stepladder with my free hand. As long as I kept one hand on the ladder at all times, I could do this.

  The not-so-well-thought-out plan fell apart when the fat ring of the mobile refused to fit through the narrow opening of the hook that I could barely reach. My hand started shaking almost as much as my left leg. It got worse. To reach, I had to climb another step. A bead of sweat formed on my upper lip. I tried not to think about the rickety stepladder or the hard floor.