“I’m list-making.” He shrugged, deciding while it would be fun to joke with her about what he said, it was best not to. She didn’t look like she was in a playful mood. “Change of subject. Why do you think Franklin is ready to go psycho on you?”
“He started to play his hoof game right after I got the leash on him in the shed. There.” She pointed to the large silvery, brown wooden shed on the other side of the yard. “That’s where he beds down for the night and hangs out part of the day.”
“Hoof game?”
“Yeah, hoof game. That deer thing when they stand on their hind legs and look like they’re boxing. Of course, he’s just doing it with the one hoof.”
“Maybe that’s just his morning calisthenics.”
Aurora rolled her eyes again and Daniel laughed. Man, he was enjoying himself. A memory flashed into his head of them joking together in the park near the river while she was drawing on a sketch pad. She was sitting at the bottom of the faded yellow slide, wearing a blue, pink, and yellow flowered skirt and soft white blouse. Too big for her. She was a tiny thing, then. Her clothes were always big on her, unlike the other girls around her age who wore tight shorts and T-shirts. What had they been joking about? He thought of her comment at the Inn when she inferred he had once said she had a ghostly appearance. It couldn’t have been at that time with the way he remembered they had been laughing together. He hadn’t thought of that…well, ever. It was nice to think of it now.
“He knows I’m afraid of him,” she said, bringing him back to the present. “He’s toying with my emotions. Might be related to abandonment issues from his mother leaving him because he was born with only three legs.” She sighed. “When he did that hoof game, he yanked the rope right out of my hands, dropped down on all threes and rushed out of the shed. Oh, he knew what he was doing. He had planned it. He just hadn’t figured on getting the rope caught on the stack of firewood after his grand escape.” Franklin paused from rubbing his antlers against the deck and Aurora stiffened. Rocky’s barking had become less anxious, leaving them standing with just the sound of the fast river, and the gentle breeze brushing the leaves. “He knows I’m talking about him.”
She really was afraid of him.
“See, over there,” she continued when the deer’s attention was back on the deck. “That’s where the rope is snagged on the firewood. There’s about three and a half feet of rope curled on the other side.” Daniel took a sip of his coffee, which had chilled in the freezing air. “And if you look in that divot in the snow near it, you’ll see my plastic bag of cookies.” She sighed. “This isn’t good. I’ll never get him in Big’s shed again without them.”
“Why doesn’t Big have the yard fenced in so he can have free rein during the day?”
“He said he wants him to get used to the area beyond the yard. He told me that before winter, he pretty much let him roam free and only secured him at night. Now, there are too many hungry predators that can attack him. He’s planning to release him in the spring, when Franklin is bigger, stronger, and there’s more food for him to forage on his own. He’ll have a better chance for survival against coyotes, and mountain lions.”
“You said Big told you. Didn’t you see Franklin meandering around Cloud Hill? He’d be hard to miss.”
“No.” She shook her head and again froze when Franklin lifted his head. He took a few steps away from the deck and started to dig his nose into the undisturbed snow. “I wasn’t here.” She glanced at Daniel. “I don’t live here. I told you that at the inn, a couple of days ago. I actually haven’t been back to Cloud Hill since my parents moved away over two decades ago.”
She looked like she belonged there, a delicate winter fairy. It was probably why he’d forgotten she’d told him otherwise. “Where have you been?”
“Boston. Florence. Paris. New York…” She shrugged. “…other places.”
“Really? I thought beautiful winter fairies only lived in unpopulated mountain highlands.”
“First, ghosts. Now, Tinker-Bell. You sure know how to charm a lady.”
“Not Tinker-Bell. A beautiful, mysterious winter fairy,” he corrected before taking a drink of his coffee.
She shrugged. “Why are you so surprised that I’m well-traveled? Was I supposed to stay in Cloud Hill and marry Jerry Todd at the bait shop?”
“Did he ever replace those front two teeth he lost rafting?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Always was a good whistler. You could’ve done worse.”
“Musicians never interested me.” She cocked her head to the side and raised a brow as if to say, score. It was the facial equivalent of a high-five. “I’m no longer a small-town girl, Daniel.”
“You do know that you can’t take the small-town girl out of the winter fairy. No matter how much you want to.” He shrugged. By the flush on her cheeks and neck, he could see that she wasn’t enjoying what he’d thought was a playful conversation. “I meant no harm calling you a snow fairy, Aurora. I intended it as a compliment. It’s just that you look at home in the snow and mountains.”
“Words have power, Daniel. Often destructive power. Even if they’re well-intentioned or careless.” Some of the hostility he’d heard in her voice on the bridge and in the inn returned. She sighed and he felt there was a whole lot more weight behind what she said than she revealed. “You don’t know where I’m at home,” she continued. “You don’t know me. Even when we were kids, you didn’t know me.”
“Hell darlin’, I didn’t know anything at all then, except where G and F were on my guitar. Can’t say I know much more than that today.”
“Are you really that shallow or are you just pretending to be?”
“My momma said, shallow is as shallow does.”
“I’ve seen that movie and that’s not what momma said.” She frowned. “His ears are twitching again. That’s bad. Nine years of college and I’m babysitting an ear-twitching, hoof-boxing deer.”
“Nine years? Had trouble passing algebra?” He grinned. “Changed your major a bunch of times or…”
“Got my PhD.” She lowered her voice. “Look, see his ears? He’s about to run for sure.”
“Is that what you wrote your dissertation on? Ear-twitching deer?”
“Ha-ha.” She shivered and rubbed her arms. He put his mug down on a snowy lump, possibly a table. “My thesis was a comparative analysis of the narration of murals as functional, cultural, and pleasurable expressions. I began with the Stone Age drawings discovered in the Lascaux Caves and ended with the postmodernism of today. Would you like to read it?”
“I’ll wait for the movie,” he joked. “Why that topic?”
She turned a little more to face him, and looked directly into his eyes. He felt a deep, complicated emotion and power from her silvery eyes. Had that been there when they were kids? Was it something that her life experiences had created? Being slammed by the depth of this woman’s passions, emotions, knowledge made him weak in the knees. And he understood instinctively that it wasn’t just about art, although that was a part of it too. Hadn’t he gotten a glimpse of this power looking at the way she created a story with paint and brush? He wanted to go back to study her mural in the inn, to look at it more closely.
“I saw a primitively drawn mural, etchings really, from the 1800s that inspired me,” she said, answering his earlier question. “It had an impact on me.”
He nodded. “Something unexpected during your travels abroad?”
“Very unexpected, but it wasn’t from abroad.” Her eyes held his again and again he felt something strong and important in them. What was it?
“Where did you see the…” Daniel abruptly stopped talking as a sound he’d never heard before came from the yard. It sounded like a broken squeaky toy or a rusty hinge on a door.
“Oh my God, that’s Franklin,” Aurora said, sounding like she wanted to laugh. “He’s bleating.”
“Holy moly. So that’s what bleating sounds like.” Daniel lo
oked at the young buck, who was standing with his head held high on an outstretched neck. His ears had shifted forward and he was looking toward the river. “What do you hear, fella?”
He bleated again and looked over his shoulder toward them.
“This isn’t good,” Aurora whispered. “What is he bleating at? Another deer?”
“If we’re lucky it’s a deer.”
Her eyes widened. “You think it might be a coyote or some other predator?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “He looks like he wants us to do something about it. Oh, Daniel, what are we going to do if Franklin tries to bolt while his rope is hooked on the firewood…or worse, if gets attacked by a coyote or mountain lion?”
“Stay here. I’ll get that bleating bad boy.”
“I’ll help.” He started to protest, but decided it would use up valuable time arguing with her. Franklin could get hurt if he tried running or they could when he realized he was trapped. Daniel wanted to avoid a panicked, bucking deer.
“Stay close to me.” He took her gloved hand into his bare one, noticing the relief and doubt in her light eyes. “And trust me.”
“Now you ask too much.” She stayed behind him, but didn’t pull her hand from his as he slowly took a wide arc toward the pile of firewood. Franklin’s ears twitched. “Get ready to run.” In the next second, the deer’s head lifted even higher and he took off toward the front of the main house, but was jerked to a stop. He reared up on his hind legs, and the rope snapped free from dried logs. He dropped down and started to run. Daniel let go of Aurora’s hand as he dove forward, trying to capture the rope that was now snaking away from the stack of firewood.
Aurora rushed forward and tried to capture the rope too. She fell nose-first into the deep snow and began to belly crawl toward the unfurling rope. Her movements were stiff, awkward. Daniel was totally charmed by it. Her lack of athleticism and total determination were so damn endearing, his heart melted a little.
“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing her hand to help her up as he darted toward the rope that was cutting a line through the soft snow. Aurora stumbled quite a bit, but managed to keep up with him until he was able to grab the rope and hang on. “Got it.”
“Yeah, but do you have him?” Aurora started laughing. “It looks like he’s walking you.”
Daniel started laughing now. “He is.” Then, the rope went slack. Franklin stopped fifteen feet ahead of them. His head turned and he looked right at them.
Aurora stopped laughing. “Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh?”
Franklin bleated, his mouth vibrated with the ear-biting sound.
“Run,” she shouted and took off in her freaking adorable, awkward gait back toward the loft. Daniel hesitated, looking at her soft, light blond hair swishing back and forth against the pink, purple, and cream of her coat. Then he heard Franklin, huffing and charging toward them. Daniel took off running too. Instead of heading to the loft, where his nutty dog was still barking, he ran to the pile of logs, got the bag of cookies and headed for the shed. Franklin was right on his tail. Aurora started clapping her hands and shouting to draw the deer’s attention. She had taken off her gloves and was waving them at the crazy animal. He stopped, looked at her. “Toss him a cookie,” she shouted. “And then another and another in a path toward the shed.”
Daniel did as she said, wondering how a not-fully-grown deer could have engaged two full-grown humans in this battle royal. He kept the large cottonwood tree between him and Franklin, whose black nose quivered, a puff of steam exiting from it. His head lowered as he moved toward the cookie closest to him. Daniel looked at the shed. “The door’s closed,” he shouted to Aurora. “Can you open it while I give him his crack cookies?”
“Got it.” She disappeared around the far side of the house.
“What would Big do?” he wondered. Probably just grab him by his twitching ears and walk him into the shed. “I can do that.” He looked at Franklin. “You don’t look so dangerous with your mouth full of cookies.” He narrowed his eyes. And moved slowly to take the slack out of the rope still in his hand. “Easy does it. I can get you in that damn shed with or without cookies.”
“Don’t overestimate your abilities or underestimate his,” Aurora said softly, from somewhere behind him. “I’m ready to open the door when you give me the word.”
“So, you do trust me?” Daniel glanced over his shoulder, but all he could see were her light beige gloves gripping the sides of the door.
“Really? Are you going to do the ‘I told you so’ thing now?”
He smiled. “And, for the record, I know my abilities just fine.” Hell. He felt another assault on his masculinity. He bench-pressed two hundred pounds and did a hundred sit-ups while in a moving tour bus, for God’s sake. “Slowly open the door now.”
He threw his shoulders back and pulled on the rope to draw Franklin toward him. He smiled, when the deer started to move like a horse would when his reins were pulled. Then he looked toward Aurora to do a little crowing.
“I don’t know what you were so afraid…” Without warning, the young buck rushed forward, his head down like a charging bull. The blow to his hip sent Daniel flying backward. He practically landed at Aurora’s feet.
He still held the rope.
Pain shot through his hip. “That’s it,” Daniel growled, yanking hard on the rope and pretty much dragging the cranky, bleating deer into the shed. When his hindquarter was the only partly outside, Daniel gave the deer a hard shove and slammed the door shut behind him. For the first time since putting Rocky in the loft, he didn’t hear him barking. He smiled.
“Now, that wasn’t so hard.”
Aurora threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, Daniel. I hate to tell you this, but we have to get that rope off of him. He might strangle himself with it.”
“And that is bad because? Just kidding,” he smiled, her laughter making him forget the throbbing in his hip. It sounded like a happy melody and his heart seemed to pound in harmony with it. Damn, but she was beautiful. Enchanting really. Her soft features, fair skin, and fair hair reminded him of fine gossamer. When he looked at her, it seemed he was looking through a soft-focus filter in muted light. Or, maybe it was just his head being fuzzy from getting knocked to the ground by the young buck.
He sucked in a deep breath and started to open the door.
“Wait.” She moved toward the partially opened door. “I have a system to get the rope and leash off of him,” she said. “More cookies. I get him to his feed bucket and dump the rest of the cookies in front of him. When he is bent over eating, I unhook the rope from the collar around his neck. Then I run.”
“I’ve seen you run,” Daniel smiled. “I’ll do it.”
Aurora laughed and walked into the shed. Daniel limped in after her.
Chapter Four
“Comfortable?” Daniel asked Aurora forty-five minutes later as they sat on the red wool blanket he placed on the snow-covered bench on the riverbank.
She lifted her fur hood to cover her head. “Very,” she said, wrapping her gloved hands around her steaming coffee mug. She felt the most comfortable she had with him since their impromptu meeting on the bridge three days before. She supposed joining forces to battle a deer into a shed, and then fighting a rope off him, created an odd sort of stress bonding–although it certainly didn’t reach the caliber where most stress bonding occurs. And it seemed she was more stressed over it than he was. Yeah, she was afraid of the deer, but she was more afraid of Daniel.
“I’m comfortable, too.” He smiled, his entire body relaxed as he tossed a thick twig and watched Rocky chase after it through the packed snow. A man playing with his dog. She’d like to paint this. Daniel with his light hazel eyes, more green than brown or blue today, crinkled in the corners as his dog—a pecan brown—raced away, head held high and ears perked at attention. “Feels really good to be here in this crisp, cold air with the sound of the river rushing by.” He lifted his tanned face up to the bright s
un and closed his eyes. “It’s nice to not be moving. To not have anywhere I have to be.”
“You move a lot.”
“Yeah. I move a lot from one city to another, aboard a plane or in a decked-out bus.” He let out a heavy exhale, his breath a white cloud lingering around him as he turned to look at her. “It’s not that my modes of transportation are uncomfortable, it’s just that it is a mode of transportation.”
“A private plane, no doubt.” Rocky trotted up to Aurora and dropped the dark brown stick on top of her boots, then did two quick 360 turns. She smiled. He was darling, looking at her with his dark button eyes and pink tongue hanging from the side of his mouth. She tossed the stick into the open yard and looked at Daniel, who was still smiling, his straight dark hair blowing back from his flushed face in the cold breeze. “Why do you travel so much if it doesn’t make you happy?”
“It makes me happy while I’m performing on stage. It makes me happy to play music. It makes me happy to see my fans smiling and to hear them singing along with me.”
Aurora thought of how painting brought her joy and wondered if at any time it might not. “I love to paint,” she offered. “Time doesn’t exist when I do, but contentment does. I can’t imagine anything else in this world that could give me that kind of joy, peace.”
He nodded. “I feel the same way about my music.”
“Just not traveling to perform it.”
“Yeah. But, it’s a necessary evil to get to the good stuff,” he admitted, sounding resigned to it.
“I have a similar evil to deal with to get to the good stuff too.” She looked at the other side of the river where a black crow landed on a bare aspen tree limb. “I love to create something from nothing—to change a space. I just don’t like the pressure of having to get it done on a deadline and being told how it should look in the end.” She shook her head. “Commission work is like that. It pays really well. But commission work with no pressure attached is amazing. That’s why I’m enjoying doing the mural at the inn. No demands. I think you met Diane, the owner.”
The Nutcracker Reimagined: A Collection of Christmas Tales Page 44