by Kari August
They waited a moment, listening to the noise across the complex. Then Clarence brushed some garbage aside and looked over curiously at Rooter. “I wonder why no one found me here and is not looking here for us now.”
Rooter grimaced. “Well, one reason could be that the choice of hiding here is so obvious that they figure only an idiot would pick the place—so it will be the last position they scour.”
Clarence chuckled and Dickie agreed, “Quite so.”
“What’s another reason?” Clarence inquired, but Dickie raised his hand, requesting silence.
Dickie could still hear some activity, and it seemed a bit closer. He glanced cautiously over the rim of the bin. No one was around.
“If you weren’t getting help from the other teams you both would be goners,” Rooter commented.
Clarence smiled. “Yeah, just as you said. The Seals work best together.”
Rooter continued. “But you are not done yet. You still have to get me back to your original surveillance position.”
“I got a confession,” Clarence muttered. “I don’t think I’m Seal material.”
Rooter smirked. “I would never have guessed.”
“I almost quit a little while ago.”
“And?”
Clarence frowned slightly and repeated, “I said I almost called it quits.”
“Look, stupid ass. Every Seal has thought about throwing in the towel with everything we go through. What makes a Seal is that he stays in the game. If he’s still breathing, he’s winning.”
Dickie peered over the rim again. No one appeared to be around though the complex had gone quiet. “Let’s make our move.”
They all climbed out of the bin. Dickie then led them hurriedly to the surrounding rocks and shrubs and then began ascending to their surveillance position, pausing occasionally to glance around.
They were making good progress when suddenly everything seemed to happen at once.
A Seal appeared off to their side and aimed, scarcely missing him.
Dickie shoved Rooter to the ground, and Clarence and he starting firing back behind some rocks.
Clarence whispered, “We can’t stop now. We’re almost there. Dickie, you take our target while I keep this going.”
Dickie did not bother to debate the issue. He grabbed Rooter and ran several steps beyond the concealing rocks. But then . . . he stumbled.
He stumbled. To the ground. At the most crucial moment of this battle.
The same way his horse had stumbled at the most important moment of the battle he had fought to retain his throne from that disgusting, usurping Henry Tudor.
And suddenly Dickie realized how he had characterized his life so much by that stumble and subsequent failure. How he had lost his crown by falling from his tripping horse while enemy soldiers had converged on him, striking him with their battle axes. How he had not been able to continue his virtuous reign where he had tried to make life better for his people—more just for the downtrodden and poor—where England could have obtained some of its former glory by his efficient administration—where being faithful and loyal were rewarded.
Instead England had been ruled by one Tudor after another for at least a hundred years. Tudors, who knew their inadequate lineage did not justify them wearing the crown. So, they had ruled suspiciously and terrified of being overthrown to the point of extreme cruelty, imprisoning innocents—even children for years—in an attempt to control the populace.
Was that why he had formed the Warrior Club in heaven and going on this Seal show had become so important to him? Was it his vain attempt to have a sort of repeat battle? To show his prowess and to not stumble.
Dickie had a vague memory of one of his own men offering his horse for him to escape but Dickie refusing. However, this battle was not going to turn out the same because as he looked up, he saw Clarence reaching down to give him a hand.
“Hurry, Dickie! Get going with our captive!”
Dickie stood, grabbed Rooter and ran.
Moments later Dickie watched with Rooter from their surveillance position as Clarence made a real show of himself. Dickie was amazed that he—well, their team—had succeeded in getting one of the hostages.
And Clarence . . . well, Dickie had a feeling that he was acting the way he had seen every movie celebrity perform a battle scene.
While getting riddled with fake bullets he was groaning, jerking and thrashing in a dramatic fashion, saying, “You got me. Oh, you got me.”
Finally, when Clarence stopped moving in the dirt, Rooter gazed over at Dickie. “We figured out who you were.”
Dickie stared back. They knew he was King Richard III?
“Oh, we know you’re not going to admit anything, but you’re at least former military—if not SAS. It was pretty obvious.”
“SAS?”
“Of course, our fellas realized you would follow the code of never leaving a man behind and would return for Double R—who I am sure they knew was in the trash bin—and were therefore just waiting to pounce on you when you made your move with me. That was a hell of a lot easier than trying to find you in the complex.” He hesitated. “I admire your military skills.”
And even though the statement was coming from a cocky Seal instead of an honorable medieval knight, Dickie found himself filled with pride. He realized how foolish he was to define his life by one stumble. He was much more than that, both militarily and as a ruler.
Clarence stood and casually walked over to them then, even though they were not sure the mission was over for every team. He inquired eagerly, “So did we win the competition?”
Cody took a bite of his pizza. “You’re kidding.”
Dickie reached for another piece. “No. They won’t tell us who won. Apparently, Uncle Harry, the producer, thinks he has more of a show than he thought he would, and he didn’t want any of the participants to possibly give away the ending to the show. So, we were all whisked away before we could talk to anybody else and find out how they did.” Clarence had returned to his family, and Dickie was now staying with Lindsey and Ned in Denver. Mags had still not arrived back from her trip with Charlie.
“But that could be months away before it airs,” Ned pointed out.
Dickie shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“So, how was the Seal show actually?” Cody took a sip of his drink.
Dickie thought a moment. “I realized that I am an excellent ruler and warrior no matter what stumble has occurred in the past.”
“Dickie, you didn’t already know that?” Ned looked over concerned.
“I guess I required some reminding.”
“Ah, ha. Thus, the warrior club of yours.”
He nodded.
“What warrior club?” Cody sat straighter from his slouched position. “Can I join?” Dickie had once taught him how to use a mace and sword.
Dickie gazed at him fondly. “You most certainly can in the future. But not now—get more experience here for a while.”
Cody snorted. “Oh, I get it—it’s one of those exclusive English clubs.”
Dickie smiled. “Something like that. What’s new with the ranch?”
“Cody has been going over the finances while I have reviewed the deeds,” Ned explained.
“And?”
“The sale goes through next week.” Ned smiled.
“Congratulations.”
Cody then stated, “Don’t congratulate anyone yet. There’s still a lot to be done before it’s actually a proper American prairie bison bison ranch. And I think we are going to require some sort of manager—that could be a big chunk of change to hire one.”
Lindsey walked into the room and announced, “Mags would be perfect.”
Dickie and Ned both glared at her while Cody inquired, “How so?”
“She obtained experience running her large dower estate properties—”
Cody chuckled. “Dower properties. That’s a pretty old-fashioned term.”
Lindsey continued. “
Nevertheless, she made a great reputation for herself for how well she ran them—efficiently, profitably, and she didn’t take any excuses from slackers.”
Ned looked incredulous. “For God’s sake, Linds. How can you even suggest it?”
She shrugged. “Anything is possible.”
Dickie shook his head. “No, it’s not. She’s going back as soon as I can get ahold of her.”
“You mean to England, Dickie?” Cody inquired.
He had to fib. “Yes, she has business to attend to there.” It was surely time for Dickie to lead his club, and Mags to reappear before God. They had to return to heaven.
“But since she’s not returned from her trip with Charlie yet, how about if we go to Estes Park for the weekend?” Cody smiled. “We could practice with medieval weapons. That’s always fun.”
“Hmmm. I really do not want to miss Mags.”
“It’s only a couple days we’re talking about.” Cody looked puzzled.
“I could go also and get in some volunteer time at the park.” Ned shrugged.
“And I’ll stay here, watching for Mags,” Lindsey added.
Dickie finally agreed. “Fine. Let’s do it.” But when he returned from Estes Park to Denver, he was determined to have his showdown with his rebellious sister.
Chapter Twenty-two
Charlie looked over at Mags as she waited for her flight taking her from South Dakota to Denver. They had had a good day as far as he was concerned, but he could not seem to cheer her. The plane would depart in about an hour so he figured he had about that long to convince her that things would be fine between them. This was only going to be a temporary separation.
The morning had started with great news. Bridget had sent him a message that the sale on the Wyoming property was going through with a quick close. Charlie could not wait to return there even if it was not yet a functioning bison ranch. He could see the place becoming a sportsman paradise or . . . or making money as a resort close enough to the attractions at Jackson. And if they could maintain the place just as a foundation dedicated to preserving bison bison and the prairie, and not have to entertain guests to help the finances, all the better. Somehow between the lot of them they would make the place work. He was sure of it.
Perhaps because of this renewed enthusiasm, they had found some success at Wind Cave. The park officials had been more receptive to them possibly getting some of their surplus bison—provided their Wyoming property was looked over, had adequate feed and water, and proper fencing.
Charlie and Mags had then toured Wind Cave itself. The park was spectacular with winding caves and a grassy, undulating landscape and perhaps best of all—less tourists. He never would have visited the park if it had not been for their bison bison, but he was glad he had now.
And Mags had seemed happy then. But for the last several hours she had moped, and he had even caught her crying once.
This was so surprising since Mags seemed such an independent sort. He supposed he should be flattered that she was so attached to him, but he preferred to see her feisty and opinionated—as usual.
Mags was now hugging and slowly petting Waldemar. And Waldemar was leaning his head on her lap as if part of a massively sorrowful event.
Charlie was going to put an end to this—it was getting ridiculous.
“Mags.”
She glimpsed at him. God! Tears were present again.
“Will you please listen to me?” He looked around the nearly deserted airport lounge—they practically had the place to themselves so he could talk openly. “I love you. We’ll see each other again—”
“Oh, I know,” she sniveled. “But you don’t comprehend when.”
“Yes, I do. I’ll come Out West as soon as you are free to spend more time with me.”
She tried to pull herself together. “But after I return to Denver, I have to take another trip—a really long trip. I could be gone forever.”
He took her in his arms and made her and his dog sit in his lap. She cuddled into him. “Oh, Charlie. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
He chuckled. “What? Falling in love? Having one of my best vacations ever?”
She glanced at him. “It was?”
He smiled. “I swear I have never had more fun figuring ways to annoy another person . . . ever.”
She bit back a smile.
“We’ll talk when you return from your trip. We’ll figure things out then.”
She gazed at him. “Fine. We’ll do this later. . . .”
Waldemar started squirming then.
“Why don’t you give him a quick walk outside, and I’ll see if I can get us some ice cream.”
She perked up. “Oh, do you think they have huckleberry?”
“I doubt it. So, if not huckleberry, what kind do you want?”
“Definitely something chocolate—like chocolate fudge or . . .”
“Believe me, I get it—Bridget is my sister.” He started to walk off, then turned around. “Duchess, be happy now, okay? Be happy for me.”
She gave him a watery smile.
Later that day, Mags gazed at Lindsey and admitted the truth. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell him goodbye. I was very irresponsible.”
Lindsey looked at her supportively. “It’s okay. I just think things will work out somehow.”
Mags had flown to Denver to find only Lindsey at home. Dickie—thank goodness—and Cody and Ned had gone to Estes Park for the weekend. Lindsey had stayed, hoping to catch up on her work while waiting for her to return.
Mags shook her head. “I don’t see how we could possibly remain together.”
“Why don’t you stay here? Why return to heaven?”
“I can probably linger while I try to build a reputation, but . . . I told God I would return. He might get angry.”
Lindsey shrugged. “He might not.”
“But I would be living a lie with Charlie—I don’t know how long I could keep that up.”
“You could tell him—”
“Oh, no. God told me he would yank me back quickly if I ever revealed my secret to anyone—I mean he realizes Ned and you know—but absolutely no one else.”
“So, when will you talk to Charlie next?”
“I guess in a few days.”
“Well, try to keep busy until then.”
Mags nodded. “What are you doing?”
Lindsey blew out a breath. “Trying to come up with some new plan for my clothing line. I’m in a bit of a design slump, and Caroline, my assistant, is after me to complete it. You’re actually kind of related since she married Cody’s cousin.”
“Oh. I was hoping you could help me figure out how to build my reputation.”
“Hmmm. I’ll have to think about that.”
“So, what kind of clothing do you design?”
“I like to take medieval patterns—mainly English—and put a modern twist to them.”
“English?” Mags frowned slightly. “Why English? Everyone at the time knew that the Burgundian fashion was the most elegant, the most luxurious, the most refined—”
Lindsey stood. “OH. MY. GOD! That’s it! Of course!” She started pacing. “Tell me about your clothing.”
“Well,” Mags huffed, “I mean I dressed exceptionally beautifully. The richest embroidered brocades, damasks, satins, silks, and velvets—”
“Did you know velvet was brought back with the crusades?”
“Yes, I had heard that. But, I never dressed gaudy like some. I was always discerningly fashionable.”
“So, what distinguished Burgundian style?”
“We were known for having tight bodices dropping down into a low V in front, long snug sleeves, and sometimes high waists. But here’s what really made our attire special.”
“What?”
“Our bodices were folded back and lined at the V edges as were our cuffs. Oh, and our dresses were lined also. You know why?”
Lindsey sat down. “Let me guess . . . o
h! So that—”
“We could show off even more expensive cloth or ermine! When we raised our hem ever so slightly, we revealed another rich fabric or our lavish shoes.”
“Yes! Of course.”
“And then we sometimes would cinch our waist with wide costly belts—but that was until our dresses became tighter so our style became narrower belts. But our pointy hats would also be adorned with sumptuous lace made of golden thread sometimes draping to the floor.”
Lindsey looked at her determinedly. “You know what?”
“What?”
“I’m going to call it my Margaret of Burgundy line.”
Mags started clapping her hands excitedly. “Oh, that would be wonderful.”
“It’s going to be made of the richest materials—ball gowns, formal attire, wedding dresses—and then . . . I’m going to have the Mags York casual line—blouses, jeans, miniskirts—”
“Put marguerites on them—”
“Yes! Fun, kicky prints.”
“Will that be enough to build my reputation?”
Lindsey shook her head. “Oh, no. But it’s a start. What we should do is travel to Burgundy . . . yes, before I’m supposed to fetch my kids in England next week. We can look at the architecture, view paintings in museums and see more of what your life was like. I wonder if we can get last minute tickets to Dijon in Burgundy France.”
Mags shook her head. “I never visited there.”
“Burgundy France. What do you mean?”
“Yes, the Duchy of Burgundy is part of northeast France nowadays, but Burgundian territory at my time was more importantly the commerce, government, and trading areas of what is now Belgium. We should go to Bruges or Brussels or Ghent or Malines.”
Lindsey nodded. “I’m on it. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Do you think we could leave before Dickie returns from Estes Park and gives me a difficult time about not going back to heaven at present?”
Lindsey chuckled. “Why not? You’re your own woman. We’ll depart tonight if possible.”
Mags clapped excitedly again.
Chapter Twenty-three