Part 1: Will it ruin Christmas and a chance at love?
Part 2: The crunch of metal on stone
Part 3: Blood covered her hand
Part 4: 'Heads up! Loose horse!'
(This is part 5 of Fortune Cookie: A Christmas tale)
Rosalyn closed her eyes, but the action did not stop the vision of her newest horse-client lying maimed, blood oozing onto the road, a hindquarter half ripped off, remaining good legs churning in a futile attempt to escape sudden death.
But the ear-shattering neigh of Excalibur interrupted. Bodie’s black horse sat back on its haunches, sparks flying from the hind shoes. Excalibur called again. Ace turned and jogged back through the carelessly-left-open gate. The handler avoided everybody’s eyes, and held the gate open for the returning horse. Ace trotted to Excalibur’s pen. The two horses touched noses. They flared their nostrils, and Ace dropped his head to graze on dry shoots of grass in the lane.
"Well … that was fun," said Bodie.
"Oooh, let's do it again," moaned Rosalyn.
The lanky Texan realized just in time that her moan was not sarcastic. Rosalyn stood, a ghost before his eyes, a forward-wobbling ghost. Bodie caught Rosalyn's arm. Her knees buckled, and she sat down on the ground. "Hey," he said. "You look like a woman who needs to eat. I'll even throw in a little chocolate."
"I'm fine. I just thought he was about to get killed. I swear, that’s the second time that guy’s left the gate ..."
The electric charge shooting up Rosalyn's arm at Bodie's touch melted her. Fortunately for the stablehand about to get fired, Rosalyn couldn’t remember what she’d been talking about. She shivered at the combined effects of trauma and this melting, unnamed something. “Whoa. Maybe I do need something.”
“I know just the place,” said Bodie, “... a little Italian place.” He lifted Rosalyn to her feet with a slight flex. Rosalyn wondered how hard it would be for him to just pick her up and carry her over his shoulder. Instead, she let him guide her to his truck by the elbow.
Bodie opened the door for Rosalyn. She noticed that while her sign probably still lay destroyed, his truck bore no marks. Well, OK. There was a little dent on the bumper.
“Hold on, it’s a mess in here,” said Bodie, “let me just clear the deck.” He picked a road map up off the floor, and flicked the engagement ring off the passenger seat, on to the rear floor.
***
The little Italian place turned out to be one of the most sought-out venues in town, a renovated hotel with a mezzanine converted into eateries overlooking a courtyard. The place came complete with ghosts, people said, but Rosalyn had never seen any, much to her chagrin. Today at lunch they were auditioning musicians. Rosalyn unwound her napkin-wrapped package of heavy silver utensils, and dropped her fork. They both reached for it. Rosalyn’s head hit Bodie’s nose. Bodie’s eyes watered. Three waiters converged.
“Oh, God. I’m sorry,” she said.
This enigma of a woman breathed over him, and Bodie felt his pulse surge to embrace her loveliness. Bodie rubbed the bridge of his nose, and waved the wait-staff away. Pain would not exactly describe his current situation.
"Probably an improvement on this beak," he said in a husky voice. “No worries.”
Violin music played softly in the restaurant, candle-lit even at lunch. The violinist, strong brows drawn over an olive complexion, walked slowly between tables, spinning melancholy melodies. Rosalyn wondered, as a tear rolled down the musician’s cheek during "A Time for Us", whether somebody he knew had recently died. There had nearly been a horse death. Now, she couldn’t get her heart to stop.
Rosalyn and Bodie talked about things like the day’s news, the weather, a few good movies. When it was over, neither could remember anything said. They did remember the penetrating looks.
The waiter eased into their nook with the check, and they both reached for it. Bodie won by a finger. As he snatched at the receipt, the paper edge caught his forefinger, slicing in the malevolent way paper cuts do. Blood dripped onto the tablecloth in the shape of heart.
The color drained from Rosalyn's face. "Take me home," she whispered.
(Next: The ground loomed up at the woman)
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