by Girard, Dara
It was still light. The sky a blue that reminded one of an ocean at rest. Moths landed on the nearby cotoneaster bushes whose tiny pink buds were opening into white flowers, while the buddleia bushes’ dark purple flowers released a fruity fragrance. In the distance, she heard the cry of a blue jay. But even among the gentle night air and the blanket of sky that darkened into a navy blush, Brenna felt trapped. She felt as though the shadows had imprisoned her, the puppeteer becoming the puppet, performing for the joy and pleasure of others. She knew she wasn’t far from wrong. Wasn’t that what this whole evening was about?
Hunter sat quietly next to her, his sleeve brushing her bare arm in a soft caress, non-threatening in its innocence. She glanced at him wondering how much longer he could keep up the act. Dodging personal questions and poignant nudges of a more permanent future together. But as usual his expression gave nothing away. Instead she watched how the deepening sunlight touched his face, softening the planes and angles that should have been harsh and hardening a mouth too gentle for such a face.
She wondered if his face carried the secret to his true nature. A man of deep passions—a fact he denied—with a gentle heart. She brushed the thought aside annoyed with herself. In a few days it wouldn’t matter. They would take their bow, close the curtain to thunderous applause then leave the stage of this illusion forever.
The wind carried the distant sound of laughter and the scent of lime. Though they were only a few feet from the house she felt miles away. Like most performers on stage they had their own world of secrets and deception.
“Should we wait until they come for us?” she asked.
“Probably not.” Hunter’s voice sounded uncommonly deep in the still air. Goosebumps formed on her arms in a delicious tingling sensation. “But I don’t want to move in case that girl pops up again.”
“Lauren is harmless. She thinks you’re a romantic hero.” Brenna grinned. “A prince charming.”
“I’ll have no trouble disillusioning her.”
“I think you will.”
He turned to her startled. “What?”
“Thanks for what you did in there.” She put a hand over his mouth before he could speak. “That’s the closest I’ll come to ‘You were right.’” She gestured vaguely to the house. “You really made them believe you’re interested in me.”
He stared at her a moment then said, “It wasn’t hard to do.”
Suddenly, he felt closer, larger, with the energy of a stirring storm ready to sweep her away. She sat still and waited. A part of her wanted to be caught up in the hurricane of power that always swirled around him, wondering if she could handle it once it was released. But she knew it was not wise to tangle with forces one did not understand and Brenna certainly didn’t understand him. She stood. “Let’s go inside.”
He grabbed her wrist. “No. Let’s enjoy the evening some more.”
A sliver of panic seized her. “But I’m afraid.” She said the words then regretted them.
Hunter looked puzzled, letting her wrist go. “You don’t need to be afraid of me.”
Brenna sat down annoyed with herself. “I’m not afraid of you.” I’m afraid of what I feel for you. What you feel for me. She briefly shut her eyes. What was going on between them? It felt like a mutual need that had no voice. That could never have a voice. She didn’t love him; he didn’t love her. Then why did being with him feel so right, yet so threatening? Why did her instincts seem to be failing her? She thought of another subject. “My mother said she was proud of me.” She laughed without humor, bitterness sharpening her words. “That’s the first time she’s ever said that. All the accomplishments in my life have been boiled down to one achievement—I got a man.”
Hunter folded his arms and said in a smug tone, “Well, you have to admit I’m a big achievement.”
Brenna rolled her eyes. “If I wanted hot air, you could fill a balloon.”
He winced and covered his heart. “I surrender.”
Brenna laughed at his expression, the tension she felt earlier beginning to ebb. They both fell into a companionable silence. For Brenna the sensation of being trapped soon transformed into something much more dangerous, but infinitely more fulfilling.
“Who’s Byron?” Hunter asked suddenly.
The sound of his name chilled her, shattering her calm. She kept her tone light. “One of the major English Romantic poets who—”
“A more recent Byron,” Hunter said with a knowing drawl. “Your mother said there hasn’t been anyone since him.”
“He’s a man of my past.”
“Did you love him?”
Brenna wanted to say no. To save her pride. To protect the memory of him that still beat in her heart. To sound more sophisticated and worldly, but she’d done enough lying this evening and was tired. “Yes. Very much.”
“What happened?”
She smiled sweetly. “None of your business.”
Hunter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I was trying to make conversation.”
“Then choose another topic.”
He turned to her. “I don’t think you understand your mother very well.”
She looked at him stunned. “Do you always like to start conversations with explosive topics?”
He sat up. “I’m being honest.”
“And you’ve made this assessment after only a few hours?”
He nodded. “Yes. It’s hardly unusual. Most mother and daughter relationships are based on—”
“Don’t lecture me.”
He touched her arm in a soft, fleeting gesture. “She wants you to be happy.”
Brenna shook her head. “No, she wants to show others that I’m happy. Unfortunately, that means having a man.” Or a woman. The thought of Bette still made her groan.
“She loves you and I believe that if she didn’t know deep down that you wanted to get married she wouldn’t bother you.”
Brenna clenched her hands. He was wrong. She was like every other mother who wanted to see her child wed so they could start nagging about grandkids. It was the natural order of things. But if he was wrong, why did his words upset her? Was there a hint of truth she couldn’t ignore? No, it was his arrogance that upset her. He could think whatever he wanted to. She knew the truth. “You’re very insightful for a man,” she said casually, tucking her anger away.
His eyes twinkled. “No, not really. She told me.”
“And you fell for the ploy.” She patted his leg. “Poor boy. I don’t blame you. She’s very good. The truth is she feels guilty that I was ever born.”
Hunter’s voice hardened. “I don’t believe that.”
“You don’t have to, it’s the truth. She thinks that if I had the appearance of a normal settled life then everyone would forget how different I am. Do I blame her? No.”
He watched a robin dart through the sky. “Marriage isn’t so bad.”
“That’s an odd thing for a divorced man to say.”
“No, it’s not. I had a bad banana once that didn’t put me off the whole bunch.” He met her eyes, the expression dark, pulling her to him. “You have to stop being afraid.”
Of what? She stared at him unaware that her question was a silent one.
He heard it anyway, his reply soft, “Whatever you’re afraid of.” He stood before she could reply, effectively ending the conversation and the sensuous connection between them. He held out his hand. “Come on. We have to end this evening and have them begging for an encore.”
***
His words proved prophetic. Diane approached them as they stepped into the house. Lauren stood behind her with a dreamy expression directed at Hunter. Stephen looked suspiciously pleased with himself. In the distance, the rest of the family waited with expectant looks.
“Ah, there you are!” Diane said as though they had returned from a long journey. “We’ve decided that you must join us at the craft festival.”
“We have a booth every year,” Lauren explained looking
eagerly at Hunter. “It’s really a fair with rides and games, but they also have artisans. Aunty Gwen and I sell placemats and dolls.”
Brenna held up her hands. “Mom, wait—”
Diane ignored her, focusing her attention on Hunter. “It’s tomorrow and we’d love to see you there. I’m sure you can make it.” She smiled. An expression as deceptively sweet as a sleeping lion. Brenna knew they would have to extend the show.
***
“How long is this torture supposed to last?” Brenna asked as she and Hunter made their way through the festive crowd.
He squeezed her shoulder. “Relax and enjoy yourself.”
That was the problem. She was. The wind toyed with her skirt and the scent of cotton candy clung to her blouse. She hadn’t felt so carefree in years. Free of the gazes and stares, or her cane brushing through the grass. Free of being with a man she’d only known a few days feeling she’d known him for years. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Hunter had arrived at her apartment early, coming before the sun settled fully in the sky. He wore jeans, a red polo shirt, and sunglasses that he didn’t take off even inside. She was about to comment on them when she noticed that Tima had popped her head out of her apartment. She’d looked at Brenna and mouthed. ‘Is that him?’ She’d nodded and Tima had mouthed ‘Yum’ and licked her lips. She disappeared back into her apartment before Hunter turned.
“What are you looking at?” he asked.
“Nothing.” Brenna looked down at the empty bag he carried. “What is that for?”
“My prizes.”
She locked her apartment. “You expect to win enough to fill a bag?”
“Sure.” He held up a hand. “No insults please.”
“I wasn’t going to insult your gigantic ego, although it is tempting.” She grinned. “However, I would like to make a wager.”
He held the front door of the building open for her. “No. I have an advantage. It would be unfair.”
She stopped and stared up at him with a narrow gaze. “What advantage?”
He gently pushed her forward and closed the door. “I know you will lose.”
He was right. She would have lost, badly. At every booth he approached he won anything she pointed to. After a few games, the bag nearly burst with winnings—a gigantic stuffed snake the color of a lemon, a giraffe, a plush basketball and a purple teddy bear they named Amanda. The fair stretched the length of the park and after a couple of hours, Brenna’s leg and hip began to ache. She ignored the discomfort, she was having so much fun.
The band organ music of a carousel floated towards her above the sound of the crowd and the inviting shouts of game attendants. Brenna looked at the spinning row of horses; the browns, the gray jumpers and palominos. Her eyes landed on a black horse with a silver mane and tail.
Hunter caught her gaze, reading the longing in her expression. “Okay,” he said indulgent. “Let’s go.”
She didn’t argue. She waited, clutching her ticket, with banked anticipation as she stood in line among the squirming children and their parents. She watched the carousel spin and weave its magic, its fantastic ornate center displayed paintings of forests and grasslands. Years ago her father had taken her on the same carousel, riding beside her and laughing at the funny faces she made at him. She loved to make him laugh, it was rare when he did. When Hunter lifted her on the horse, instead of feeling annoyed she felt grateful that he offered help so casually.
Brenna glanced up at the canopy with its rows of bright lights. A carousel was a lovely place to dream. She let her hand roam over the black head of the wooden horse and felt the cool of the brass pole.
“Hold on,” Hunter said as the organ began to play.
Brenna gathered its reins and closed her eyes as the horse slowly moved up and down. Soon she felt it come alive, feeling the wind against her face, as its hooves swept across the ground and the world around disappeared. All too soon the horse slowed and she knew the ride would soon end. Brenna opened her eyes and caught Hunter staring. She felt a faint blush, but he just raised a brow, more out of mischief than mockery, and all embarrassment disappeared.
Hunter helped her down at the end of the ride. Without warning he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his lips soft and sweet, turning her insides into mush.
“Have you awakened from your dream?” he whispered.
A slow smile spread on her face. “No.” She tweaked his nose. “Only Prince Charming can awaken me from this dream.”
He shook his head and grabbed her hand, it felt natural so she didn’t protest. At one of the many food stands, Hunter bought a funnel cake with powdered sugar, which they ate under a white tent, while sitting on hard wooden benches, watching the crowd go by.
After finishing the cake, they headed towards a stage where a juggling act was getting ready to perform. Brenna stood entranced, watching swords and torches fly through the air.
Suddenly, a cramp slithered up her leg and clenched its teeth into her thigh, gripping her in a pain that brought a wave of nausea. She quickly ducked behind the stage before collapsing on her knees while the pain seized a stronger hold. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, vigorously rubbing the hardened muscle hoping for it to ease. Brenna shut her eyes against tears, wishing herself some place else, somebody else. She gulped the air determined not to succumb and be sick. Suddenly, a large hand dug deep into her muscle, forcing her to cry out.
She opened her eyes and stared at Hunter. At first she didn’t recognize him. The pain seemed to alter his features, reminding her that she didn’t really know him.
“Go ahead and scream,” he said quietly.
She wanted to. She wanted to rage, stomp, cry, pound her fists against the ground, but she didn’t. The world began to spin while a darkness came towards her and she welcomed it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Brenna awoke to the smell of sugar and buttered popcorn, and felt the soft fibers of a cotton shirt against her cheek. That’s when she noticed the arms wrapped around her. Brown arms strong and warm as if the very earth had risen up to embrace her. All pain was gone, but shame quickly replaced it. She straightened and noticed a wet patch on his shirt.
She touched her cheek and felt tears. She didn’t even remember crying. She quickly brushed them away, heat burning her face. “Thank you. I’m better now.”
His expression didn’t change, the stranger quality lingered. She couldn’t understand why. His eyes were no less intense, his jaw no less haughty, but something was different. “You’re okay now.” It was a statement meant as a question.
“Yes.” She made a motion to move away from the comforting warmth of his body.
He stopped her and drew her close. “Rest awhile.”
“I’m—”
“I know.”
She struggled against the temptation to bury herself in his arms. “I’m fine, really.”
His jaw twitched. “Then stay still for my sake.”
Brenna glanced up at him then noticed his winnings scattered on the ground. Suddenly, as if a film had been lifted from her eyes, she understood his expression—fear.
Yet that didn’t make sense. She couldn’t picture Hunter afraid of anything. What had raced through his mind when he had seen her on the ground with tears spilling down her face? Was he thinking about the banquet? Wondering if he’d made a mistake in asking her. Was he concerned that he didn’t know what to do? She brushed the grass from her skirt when a thought entered her mind that nearly choked her. He had seen her leg. Seen its deformity. Had he been horrified? Disgusted? Saddened?
She pushed such thoughts aside; it didn’t matter now. She tried to pull away. “You can let go. I’m okay.”
“Keep still.”
“But—”
“You don’t like being held. You think that’s admitting weakness. It’s not. You’re very, very strong and you need to give your body a rest. And I’m going to hold you until you do.”
Brenna tried to fight his words
as she did his embrace. She moved her shoulders, his arms tightened. She gave up and looked up at him. “I promise I won’t move, if you let me go.”
He looked amused. “You hate the fact that I’m stronger than you. I am, so get used to it.”
She turned away.
“Pretend you’re in a chair and relax.”
She couldn’t relax. She’d never sat in a chair that felt like this or that brought forth such foreign emotions and thoughts. “Listen—”
“Shut up.”
She balled her hands into fists. “You make me so angry.”
“Anger is a nice shield.”
She turned to glare up at him, but he met her with such an amused, gentle gaze she just stared. The expression in his eyes didn’t fit the man she had imagined him to be. For a moment she wanted to ask: Who are you? Instead she turned away, gathering jumbled emotions, wondering who was holding her in his arms—a man full of arrogance or someone else. She pointed to the discarded prizes. “Amanda is getting ruined.”
He picked up her cane, his other arm dipped to her waist. “This is useless.”
Her eyes widened at the disgust in his tone. “It’s one of yours. A Randolph brand.”
“I know. It’s standard and it sells well, but it doesn’t offer you the support you need.”
“The cramp was my fault. I haven’t exercised my leg as I should and my leg was beginning to ache, but I ignored it.”
“You could have told me.”
“I know, but I was getting greedy.” Brenna managed a small smile. “I wanted you to win lots of prizes for me.”
“You could have asked.” He shook his head annoyed. “How like a woman.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought you were more forthcoming.”
“I am.”
“Then don’t do this again.” He dusted off the prizes and placed them back in the bag.
Brenna gathered her temper, annoyed by his scolding. “I don’t plan to.”
“You have to take care of yourself.”
She adjusted her blouse. “I won’t do this at the banquet so you don’t have to worry.”
He sent her an odd glance. “I wasn’t worried about that.”