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
(This is part 4 of Fortune Cookie: A Christmas tale)
Rosalyn had made it back into her house the night before. Not finding the nearly-dying man, she collapsed into a dark sleep. Disjointed dreams involving running Palomino horses, lightning, and snow of all things - so thick it pushed against her like it was alive - filled Rosalyn’s night.
She woke in the morning to blazing light coming through her window, and cringed. Rosalyn could not remember whether she had rescued Excalibur, and her heart pounded.
The sound of pounding on the front door reminded her that yes in fact, Excalibur had tried to kick his shed down once she hazed him into it, waving her arms, and whacking his rump with a rope as freezing rain pounded the building’s metal roof. By the time the horse was safe, it had started to snow.
Oh yeah, near-death experience trying to lead a horse. Now I remember.
The pounding on the door started again. Rosalyn threw on a robe and scowled.
“I’m coming! I’m coming! Just hold your horses!” Rosalyn leaped off the bottom step of the stairs, over the back of the astonished Buck, and swung around the newel post with one hand.
“Figures,” she panted to the walls. “I rescue Excalibur, come back in the house, Mystery Boy is gone, and so is his truck. All I have left is a trashed sign, and weird dreams, not to mention exhaustion. Now some boarder has a problem – don’t they ever sleep?”
Rosalyn yanked open the door.
She nearly swallowed her tongue. Mystery Boy with Big Red Truck was the last person she expected to see.
"Hi, got room for another boarder?" Bodie's opening line choked him the moment the words were out, but he could not stop himself. He needed to say something. He pursued the conversation and the woman. "I like the roses," he said.
“What roses?,” she said. “Who are you?
“You smell of roses.”
"Oh, the lotion.” Rosalyn sniffed her hand. “Roses were my mother's favorite. She died when I was young. My father, he might as well be dead." Rosalyn watched Bodie’s eyes slip from hers, and wander down her neck where it met the plunging collar of her black satin and lace robe. Last month’s splurge in Wal-Mart’s sleepwear did not cut it as meet-the-client stable attire. Could he just keep his eyes on mine, please?
She brought the conversation around. “So, you want to board a horse? And how do I know you?”
“Well actually yes, I am boarding a horse. I mean, I hope he’s here.” Bodie thrust out his hand. “Bodie McClanahan. Sign-killer … and I will pay for it.”
“You are the new client?”
“Don’t sound so pleased. Me and Ace can go somewhere else, you know.”
Rosalyn’s brain overcame her mouth.
“No, no. I didn’t mean it like that. You shust jocked me. I mean, you just shocked me. You could have called. No, I mean, it’s fine. I’ll just change. Don’t move.”
Rosalyn slammed the door in Bodie’s face.
“No, really, I already had coffee,” he said to the door. “Don’t go to any trouble.”
The gingham back-door curtain moved, and a blond dog face peered out. Buck grinned, fangs flashing. The curtain fell back in place.
***
Wood grinding against wood from Rosalyn yanking open her back door caught Bodie, who had been sitting on the porch step, by surprise. He turned, and the Yellow Lab launched himself up and over Bodie’s head, out to the back yard. The dog ran in erratic serpentines, nose to the ground.
“Does he ever stop?”
“Rarely,” said Rosalyn. “I got him at the pound. He was on death row for running too much, away, too often. So, anything in particular you want to see?”
“Nothing major, just everything.” Bodie surveyed the layout, heavily treed, bathed in golden suns. Restrain yourself, son. An offer to buy would be, well, tacky. Bodie hated it when his father’s voice stepped in. “Not to be nosy, but where exactly is my horse at this particular moment?”
“Turnout. Let’s go see. We put them out every day in little horse families, that is, when they’re not grazing in their pasture rotation.”
“Little horse families. How … caring.” Bodie nodded in a way that he hoped displayed intelligence. Frankly, he could care less about the specifics. Those lips of hers were exquisite, sort of a plum color, full, and the way her mouth turned up at the corners. He had to keep this woman talking. He watched as she led the way, her tight Wranglers displaying, well, a very fit person. “You must ride a lot,” he said.
Over her shoulder Rosalyn looked at him as if he were an idiot. “Stable owners are like carpenters. Their families – their horses – are the last on the list.”
She turned forward, and the jeans continued sashaying in front of him. “What a shame,” said Bodie. The sentence came out in a predatory Texas drawl.
Rosalyn smiled for the first time in days. An unfamiliar warmth lit her cheeks. Her breath caught in her throat. Right. Horse. He wants to see the horse. Sadly, Bodie’s horse, Ace, was nowhere in sight.
“He probably just hasn’t been turned out yet,” said Rosalyn. “Just wait.” She gestured to a field below the bluff on which they stood. “That’s the lower pasture.”
The couple watched as a breeze stirred the grass, and leaves trickled from trees. Once-full branches had begun to reveal tree skeletons, and last night’s snow pretty much finished off the late fall color. Even as the sun glowed, winter crept in. They could also see Excalibur, standing, head up, watching them. The horse never took his eyes off Rosalyn.
“Nice horse. Yours?” Bodie cocked an eyebrow at her.
Rosalyn nodded. “He’s sort of messed up … it’s eerie the way he watches a person. He dumped me once already.” The golden gelding stuck his head over the fence, and ground his teeth. She’d never seen a horse do that before. Excalibur followed Rosalyn's movements.
“Just what you need, no time to ride, and a dangerous horse,” said Bodie.
An awkward silence descended. Rosalyn broke it. "His stablemate was standing in a puddle when the RV hooked up its shorted-out cord,” she said. “Excalibur just missed completing the circuit." Rosalyn met Bodie’s eyes, caught up for the moment in her horse’s tragedy, and Bodie found himself drowning in two glistening, emerald pools.
Somebody screamed, "Loose horse!"
Bodie's black horse, Ace, ran by them toward the street on which 8,000-plus cars sped by every day, most of them traveling above the 30-mph speed limit.
(Next: Blood dripped onto the tablecloth)
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