Her face swam before him, the pearlescent skin kissed by the sun, the fine features and delicate jaw line. Her shoulder-length hair was the color of wheat, sprinkled with strands of burnished copper and spun gold. Her eyes, oh man, her eyes—malachite green, like the moss-covered trunks in an Amazon rainforest and fringed with thick, long lashes.
When at last she took his offered hand and came to her feet, three words came to mind, lithe, graceful (despite her recent tumble) and young, at least six years younger than his twenty-eight.
God, would he ever dispel that sensual voice or her laughter? No, he didn't think he would. He pictured himself an old man, perched in a rocker on the porch. Would he think back on this day—an inexplicable moment in time—as a remarkable summer? No, he'd think of the exquisite girl he met in the woods as the unforgettable Season.
When they reached the meadow, Rook sped by him, circled the equipment and raced back to repeat his playful antics. Rann had already Googled the Minnesota DNR, connected with an officer from the Wildlife Resource Center and promised to email him the photos of the wild cat. The moment he closed his phone and returned it to his pocket, it vibrated against his leg. He didn't have to pluck it out and look at the number to know who was calling. Nor, could he ignore a call from his mother.
“Hey, Charlotte, what's up?”
“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Charlotte? Really, Rann, is there something wrong with Mother?”
“No, Mother has a great ring to it.”
“I can see you're in one of your moods. Apparently, this is a bad time for a mother to call her son?”
“No, this isn't a bad time, and I'm not in a bad mood.” He blew a long breath and closed his eyes. “Sorry, I've been calling you Charlotte for so long, I keep forgetting.”
“It was cute when you were a child, but now, well, it annoys me.”
“I promise to do better.” He shook his head. “I'm sure you didn't call to discuss names.”
“My, aren't we touchy?”
“Mom….”
“Actually, I did call for a reason. I need an update on the Pine Bay project. Have you finished the survey?”
“Wrapping up now as we speak.”
“Good. When can you begin the preliminary plans on that fancy COD program hooked up to your computer?”
“CAD, Mother, Computer Aided Drafting.”
“Whatever,” she said with an exasperated huff. “Have you met with the City yet? What's the status on the rezoning, and how about the residents…any luck there?”
“Yes, I met with Planning and Zoning yesterday. Shouldn't be a problem to rezone from lakefront to commercial, providing all parties are agreeable to selling their land.”
“That's a relief.”
“I wouldn't be celebrating quite yet if I were you.”
“What do you mean? Is there a problem?”
He pictured her tapping a pencil against her shiny, mahogany desk, her scarlet lips pursed, her brow creased. “Mom, why is it so hard for you to understand that people are often attached to their land, their homes? Some might not want to sell.”
“Nonsense, Rann, everything in the world can be bought for the right price.”
Wrong. Real friendship can't be bought; true love doesn't have a price tag.
“Rann?”
“I'm here.”
“What aren't you telling me?”
“Five of the parties are willing; I'm not sure about the sixth.”
“That's your job too, son. I'm counting on you to find out what it takes, a penthouse in Manhattan, a log cabin in the Sierras? Oh hell, how about a castle with a moat?”
A dull ache in his forehead took flight. He pinched the skin between his eyebrows, willing it away. “I haven't asked them.”
“But you know who they are?”
Season's panic-stricken face flooded his vision. “Yes, I met them today.”
“Well, meet with them again. Find out how much money it will take, but don't offer them the moon. Look, we need to keep moving on this. Martin says he has half the town homes rented and commitments on seventy percent of the office leases.”
“Concentrate on some of the other projects. It isn't the end of the world if this one falls through.”
Her acerbic tone cut through the line. “What! Are you out of your mind? Have you any idea how much time and effort, not to mention money, I've poured into the Pine Bay project? You expect me to let it slip through our hands now, after all this? Why…why, it is beyond comprehension. Do you hear me? I don't care what it takes, what you have to do, but you will convince these supposed hold-outs to sell their land to Terra-Care Development.”
Jesus, she could be a bitch. He stifled a sardonic laugh. When had he thrown away everything that once mattered to him? What had he become? Christ, who was he anymore?
“Rann, are you still there?”
“Yep.”
“How soon can I get those preliminary building plans and the names of the six property owners? Oh, and flag the troublemaker when you send me the information.”
“What are you going to do, burn them out?”
“I'll do whatever it takes, is that clear enough for you?”
“Yeah, crystal.”
“About the plans—”
“Give me a couple of days.”
“Two days, Rann. I expect to see you back in Chicago by Friday.”
He punched the End button on his cell without saying goodbye.
And then he kicked over his tripod.
~*~
In a stomp and fume, Season trekked back to the cottage and then paused by the garage, a time-worn structure with green shingles that had seen better days and faded white siding in dire need of fresh paint. She couldn't think about the long list of repairs and maintenance her parents' quaint abode required, not now. One day, she'd be a famous photographer and Duna could while away his golden years in quietude and comfort. Not that the man would ever accept idleness, much less charity, but one could hope.
Her gaze wandered to the orchard and her beloved grandfather. If her camera wasn't broken, she'd snap a photo of the scene. Squatting, with his knees bent, his hips almost parallel with those aged knobs, his right hand—inked with intricate swirls of dragonflies and stars—moved like a well-oiled machine as he plucked the fallen crabapples and dumped them into the gunnysack at his shoulder. A staunch believer in Waste Not, Want Not, he'd turn those bruised apples into delicious jam before the week ended.
With an innate sense of another's presence, he glanced over his shoulder and smiled in her direction. “Hello, ghel! Come tell me about your outing.”
Taking a deep breath, she walked toward him, intent on relaying what happened in the woods in a sequential, calm manner. She knew how he fretted and stewed over her, didn't want to alarm him.
With a wordless gasp, he came to a standing position with remarkable speed and agility for a man of sixty-four. “In all my days…what happened, ghel, you meet up with a bear?”
So much for not scaring ten years off his life, ten years he couldn't afford to surrender.
She brushed a hand through her hair. “That bad, huh?”
His peppered hair, sticking to his forehead, he looked her over. “I'd have to be blind not to notice your knees poking through the fabric of your trousers and the torn sleeve of your once white shirt. What about those dark smudge marks on your right hip and….” his gaze wandered upward, “that nest of leaves in your hair?” A frown creased his brow. “Oh, no, not your camera.”
“Kaput, destroyed, and no, it wasn't a bear but a mountain lion.”
“A mountain lion? Are you certain, ghel? Did he harm you?”
“No, no, I'm fine, Duna, nothing broken, just a bit shaken up.”
“Spit it out, child. What happened?”
“On my way to the swamp grass, and halfway through the woods, the cat suddenly appeared on the trail in front of me. At first, I couldn't believe it but when he lowered his shoulders a
nd fangs flashed, I knew he was real all right.”
“You ran, which is the worst thing you could have done.” He clasped a hand to his furrowed brow. “And then you fell. Del save us, what happened next?”
“I didn't run.” With a shake of her head, she huffed an indignant breath. “I mean, where could I go? He'd beat me in a sprint hands down, and if I scrambled up a tree he’d reach me before my foot hit the first branch.” She shivered. “In my panic, I backed up and forgot about the birch branch I'd crossed moments before. My heel hit the slippery bark and down I went. I must have removed the camera from my neck first. We found it smashed against a nearby trunk.”
“We?”
Her savior's face loomed in her cloudy thoughts and next a view of his wide shoulders and well-ripped back. “Yes, a man…a stranger. He came from behind, jumped over my head and faced the mountain lion.”
Duna groaned. “Did he have a gun, a rifle?”
“No.” She felt her brows crinkle. “He had a stick, a long, thick branch, and held it like….”
“Like?”
“A Han bo.”
“Season, I don’t understand. What is the meaning of this word?”
“A staff Ninja fighters use, a fighting stick. Or,” she paused. “People into martial arts.”
“The cat ran off then?”
“Not until his dog, Rook, leaped onto the scene. He must have treed that mountain lion because I heard him barking in the distance and the cat didn't return.”
“We must find this stranger and thank him.”
“If I ever see him again, I won't be thanking him, you can count on that.”
“Why would you say such a thing?” The corners of his lips turned down. “He saved your life.”
“Because he was on our land with foul intent. He's deceitful, two-faced and….” Drop-dead gorgeous.
“How do you know this, ghel?”
“Because when I crossed the meadow, I saw a tripod, land markers and other surveying equipment. It had to belong to him and he never mentioned it. Why would he be inspecting, appraising, or whatever it is they do, our land?” A knowing expression crossed his blue eyes. She'd seen that look a million times, the look that said he knew something she didn't. “Duna, what is it? Did he stop by here?”
“No, no one came by except the mailman. He left a letter for you.”
She craned her neck toward the house, her mind racing. “Who's it from?”
He shrugged. “Some land development company.”
Forgetting about her broken camera, her disheveled appearance, she stormed toward the porch, cursing the name Rann Brogan under her breath.
Chapter 3
It was in the water that one learned to swim.
Ribbons of sunlight danced across the plank floor in Season's bedroom. After rising from bed, she padded barefoot to the window and looked down on the splendor. The apple trees were in full bloom, and the roses her mother planted years ago draped the ornate, iron trellis in a profusion of fuchsia, ballet pink and white.
Mourning Doves, chickadees and thrushes trilled, competing with the martins and wood-warblers that had taken up summer residence in Duna's home-made houses. Turning her head toward the garden shed and the copse of giant oaks shading it, she hoped to spy the Barn Owls with their new owlets.
She saw her parents' handiwork everywhere—the vegetable garden her mother put in, the old John Deere tractor and utility trailer her father tinkered with, and the brass Eagle he hung with pride between the double garage doors. She'd lived here since the day they brought her home from the hospital and they'd have to carry her out feet-first if they wanted her to leave. The land was more than a connection to her parents, more than memories. Every blade of grass, every natural berm and half-buried rock, had become part of her soul.
With a soundless sigh, she turned from the window and headed for the shower. Duna would be calling up the stairs for breakfast soon, and her first class of the morning started in one hour.
When she bounded down the steps a short time later, the delicious aroma of bacon and eggs beckoned her toward the kitchen.
“Morning, ghel.” Duna plopped two soft eggs and several slices of bacon onto a plate and set it down before her. “'Bout to head upstairs and yank you from bed.”
“I was in the shower. Besides, I thought we agreed you'd stand at the bottom and holler…or knock on the panels if need be.”
“Something like that.”
“No, we agreed you'd only navigate that creaky, narrow stairway as a last resort.”
Holding his plate, he paused at the chair opposite her. “Is it safe to sit, eat my breakfast yet?”
Guilt washed over her. “I'm sorry, didn't mean to scold.”
“No harm done.” He eased into his chair and took a sip of coffee. “You probably didn't get enough sleep.”
She looked up.
“Saw your light still on at midnight when I went to bed.”
“Yeah, took me longer than I thought to check out prices on a new camera and get the scoop on that land development company.”
“Maybe you should give some thought to selling, Season.”
Her fork hit the table with a clang. “Are you kidding? No,” she said with a fierce shake of her head. “Hell, no.”
“Bet they'd give you a pretty penny for all this acreage.”
“What is wrong with you? I wouldn't sell out to those land-grabbers. I wouldn't sell Mom and Dad's property for a million dollars.”
“It's your land now, and they wouldn't blame you if you did. I bet they'd be happy to see you taken care of for the rest of your life.”
Pushing her plate away, she shoved her chair back and stood. “I can't believe we're even having this conversation. This is your home, this is my home.”
He placed a hand over his heart. “Home is here, child.”
“What about the wildlife, huh? Do you know what would happen to them if some mucky-muck landowner leveled the woods and built blocks of town homes? That's what Terra-Care Development does, Duna. They buy land from nobodies like you and me and build luxury town homes, condominiums and resorts. They'd want to build on the bay here. That means every creature on land or water would be pushed out.”
“All right, all right, settle down. I just want to make sure you're not hanging on to something for my sake.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I'm hanging on for both of us, and for every loon that lives in our marsh, every nuthatch that sings from the trees, and for every bull frog that croaks me to sleep every night.” She swiped a tear from her cheek. “What about the mounds?”
“That's what they are, ghel, mounds, nothing more.”
Her arms came out at her sides. “What if they're not natural rises? What if they really are burial mounds?”
“Don't go down that road again. The state has been here and so have local tribal leaders and scholars.” Sympathy resided in the depth of his eyes, and in the downward turn of his mouth. “There is no proof unless they dig up the earth and the tribe won't allow that.”
“My point is well taken. If they thought there wasn't a chance in hell their ancestors were buried in the woods—facing the lake, I remind you—they'd authorize a dig.” Her voice softened. “Duna, you saw the abstract with your own eyes. A hundred years ago, the Sioux chief's grandson and his family lived on our property. They didn't bury their people in cemeteries; they gave them back to the land.”
“I'm on your side, ghel, always have been, always will be.” The roadmap of bird tracks and crevices on his face seemed more pronounced when somber. “I'm not against you on this, but I want you to be sure your reasons for fighting are the right reasons.”
Anger rode the crest of her emotions. “There won't be a fight. Nothing they say or do will make me sell out.”
Duna came to his feet, stepped around the table and embraced her. “I don't want you going off like this. Remember, live as if—”
“—this day is your last.”
S
etting her back, he cupped her face. “If it is, does any of this matter?”
“No,” she said with resignation. “But even you said it might not be the wind we hear howling at night.”
“So I did, so I did. Makes life interesting to think we might be sharing our space with haints.”
She kissed his cheek. “Or wild gypsies.”
“Run along now, and pay attention to the road. I'm putting up crabapple jam today. I s'pect I'll still be in the kitchen when you return.”
She turned from him and called out over her shoulder, “Love ya.”
“Love ya more.”
Chapter 4
Happiness you pay for is to be found everywhere.
The highway sizzled with steamed heat. Even the wild sunflowers along the ditches drooped under the harsh rays of the sun. With windows rolled down, Season cranked up the radio and sang along with Ellie to her new hit Take Me To The Church. Pearl rattled and rumbled to a stop when she pulled into the yard. She loved her Honda Element with all its nicks, dents and memories. A repetitive, annoying commercial played in her head like a mantra: You loved Brad. You two had been through everything together—two boyfriends, three jobs…. Heck, she and Pearl had had survived freezing Minnesota temperatures, major tire blow-outs, endless fender-benders and not two but three boyfriends. She patted the dashboard. “Brad has nothing on you, Pearl.”
A loud voice from the house broke her reverie, “Uncle!”
Scurrying from the car, she bolted toward the house and came to an abrupt halt.
Holy, crap, what now? And why does that rich, deep voice sound familiar? She hadn't seen another vehicle in the gravel drive and yet…. No, it can't be! With the stealth of cat burglar, she tiptoed through the back door and peered around the corner into the kitchen. Opposite one another, Duna and another man were seated at the table. Their right hands interlocked, Rann’s arm lay flat on the table and Duna's expression vacillated between focused determination and triumph.
“You surrender then, boy?”
“Yes, yes, I give. Now if I can have my hand back, I might be able to use it again one day.”
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 178