(This is part 6 of Fortune Cookie: A Christmas tale)
The fortune cookie hung there, much like Rosalyn's life, hanging in the balance, possibly turned by the mere discovery of a hidden message.
Rosalyn reached for the cookie, and opened it. "Life can be a bed of roses. Stop and smell them; watch for thorns," read the fortune. Rosalyn frowned. She hated non-fortune fortunes. Something fuzzy and wiggly tickled the back of her neck. Rosalyn reached up, and found a caterpillar.
Fortune Cookie
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!'
"Great. In Under the Tuscan Sun they get a ladybug. I get a caterpillar. What’s a caterpillar doing inside anyway? It'll probably grow up to be a Miller Moth. Just give me a fortune that says prince charming is coming to fix my broken fence."
A very large something had bashed through the fence by the wash rack. Of course, nobody of the stable client variety bothered to tell her, let alone admit to doing it. She had discovered the break after her failed workout on Excalibur.
Rosalyn sighed, and picked up her box of tools. She let the back door slam as she carried the equipment to her John Deere Gator parked by the horse barn. She hopped in and drove to the broken fence, which lay in shatters. Rosalyn picked her hammer out of the box, rubbed chilly hands together, and began pulling at nails that still held broken pieces in place. The hammer slipped, and Rosalyn whacked her knuckles on the fence post. “Pig fence – I hate you too.”
“Looks like you could use a hand.” Of course. Discovered by Mr. Know-It-All.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Look, I’m sorry, OK?” Bodie stood in front of her, arms folded. “Feel free to ride the idiot horse whenever you want. No problem here.” Bodie held up his hands, hostage-like.
“Fine. That’s fine. I’m fine. You’re fine.” Rosalyn stopped for air. She hefted the tool box. “I don’t need any help.”
The smell of roses wafted in Bodie’s direction. His nostrils flared as he savored her dusky scent underneath the perfume. He would never admit it, but he also savored her temper. Bodie scuffed the dirt with his boots. "Not to make a bad situation worse, but did you know your tire is flat?"
Rosalyn whipped her head around. Impossible. No, true. Bodie squatted next to the little green machine. His muscles rippled under a green-and-black-checkered flannel shirt. He lifted the Gator without using a jack. Rosalyn pushed a log under the wheel. Bodie lowered the Gator, and knelt to pull off the wheel. Their mouths nearly met, inches apart. "Looks like you got goat head thorns here," murmured Bodie. "Somebody should have warned you about thorns." Rosalyn, who fleetingly wondered how Bodie could have gotten the thorn fortune into her bouquet of flowers, forgot everything. She felt her mouth inextricably drawn to those lips, wanting their touch, their breathed electricity.
***
The homeless man in dreadlocks was on a stroll along the river bike trail. He laughed, and continued walking down the trail, shouting and gesturing. “Caterpillars! They move earth! They move people!”
Excalibur stood in his turnout, watching the man intently, his horse ears forward. The man stopped and looked Excalibur in the eye. The horse snorted and backed two steps. Out of a pocket that probably contained all sorts of unknowns, the man pulled out what looked like a stick, and slowly held out his hand. The man walk closer to the fence. Excalibur inhaled sharply, then sniffed. The stick was pushed closer. Excalibur lowered his head, and nibbled the stick. Then the horse took a huge bite. The horse lowered his head, and crunched away at the treat.
“Ah, the joys of Chick-o-Sticks forever unfold,” said the man. “Good day to you, sir. I shall return.” He bowed to Excalibur, and turned away down the path. The palomino followed his progress until the man disappeared into a grove of poplars.
***
The hammer fell from the edge of the Gator where Rosalyn had set it, and landed on Bodie’s foot. His eyes bulged, and he flinched backward. Rosalyn jumped up.
“Oh, jeez. I’m sorry.”
Bodie swallowed hard, and sucked in a breath of air. “No worries. There are more toes where that one came from.” Bodie reached toward Rosalyn, who flinched away. Insead, he picked up the hammer as if that was what he planned to do all along. “Guess we better just get to this fence, huh?”
Rosalyn nodded.
An hour later, against her better judgment about accepting help, everything was fixed. Bodie was gone, mumbling something about needing to exercise Ace. Strangely exhausted, Rosalyn walked into the living room carrying a glass of her latest favorite wine, 14 Hands Hot to Trot red. She had started a fire, which now crackled in the fireplace. It cast dancing shadows on the walls. In her other hand, Rosalyn carried a stack of mail.
She slid her thumb under the flap of the top envelope, which was red, probably one of those cloying Christmas brags people loved to write, and unfolded the contents. Her eyebrows shot up. The power company threatened to shut down her power within a week unless she caught up on her overdue $1,757.82 bill.
(Karin Livingston is a career 4-H horse leader, and author of the young-adult horse novel, Winning Bet.)
(Next: The duo cast a long shadow on the leaf-strewn ground)
Comments