(Part 8 of Fortune Cookie: A Christmas tale)
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!'
Part 5: Blood dripped onto the tablecloth
Rosalyn faced a choice, to tell Bodie that she was a screw-up, or to let the lie of “normalcy” continue. She could feel Bodie out there somewhere, wondering just exactly what she was all about.
He’s not here now, so we can just keep on, well, letting sleeping dogs lie.
Cup of coffee in hand, Rosalyn sat down at her computer, and sipping, clicked her way to the miracle job site someone had told her about, Indeed.com. At the very top of the list of jobs, one in her neighborhood was listed. Flexible hours at Handy Houndy Hairstyles. Sighing, Rosalyn began filling out the online application. She had to do something to keep this place going. Twenty minutes later, Rosalyn hit “Submit” and sent the application flying to the Cloud. She scowled. Maybe it’ll get lost there.
***
Trudging downstairs to the mudroom, Rosalyn shrugged on her beat up, horse-dirt-infused barn jacket, and sought out therapy. Equine therapy, that is. She walked to the turnouts, feet crunching on leaves and half-frozen bits of snow.
Excalibur stood apart from the other horses in his pen. His hazel eyes followed her approach. He ignored her outstretched hand with the ritual treat. Excalibur was sticking to his turf. Rosalyn rolled her eyes.
“Oh, of course, it would be too much to ask for you to come here.”
She walked up to the horse and held out her palm. As if it might contain poisonous gases, Excalibur tested the air around the treat. He snorted. The horse turned his head away.
“OK, fine. Skip the junk food. I don’t care.”
Rosalyn laid the lead line over the gelding’s crest, slipped the halter over Excalibur’s muzzle, and buckled the throat piece.
“See? That wasn’t so bad.”
Holding the lead line, Rosalyn pulled Excalibur’s head down to touch his muzzle to her cheek. Most of the horses put up with this, but the gelding refused to give his head. As the line tightened, he flinched back. His rolled eyes exposed blood-shot whites. The line between horse and woman pulled tight.
“OK. So we’re going to have one of those days, are we? Fine,” she said.
He snorted.
Rosalyn gritted her teeth, and gave Excalibur some slack. She muttered her don't-give-up-now mantra: "Five years from now, none of this will matter. Five years from now, none of this will matter."
"What won't matter?"
Rosalyn whirled. There Bodie sat, mounted on Ace at the turnout gate. Low-hanging autumn sun glinted on the black’s coat. The duo cast a long shadow on the leaf-strewn ground. Talk about a natural in the saddle. He sat tall, sympathetic fingers curled around the reins, well-muscled legs flexed around the horse’s barrel, a strong, yet relaxed rider.
“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,” said Rosalyn. “We were just finishing.”
She reached up to stroke Excalibur’s neck, and as if he knew they were done, the horse relaxed and stepped forward willingly. Rosalyn unbuckled the halter. Excalibur trotted away, watching her out of the corner of his eye, and shook himself. It was like he had just woken up from a bad dream. She sighed, and eyed the gate. There was no way to get through it and sidle past Bodie.
“Do you always sneak up on people like this?”
“Oh, no. Only on people who need sneaking,” he said. Bodie stepped down out of the saddle, and opened the gate for her. “Allow me.”
“Thanks,” she said. Her eyes flashed. “But really, I can open gates myself.”
Bodie smiled.
Rosalyn's moist lips beckoned, even as her words slapped him away.
“Not so fast,” he said. Bodie took her wrist, and spun Rosalyn toward him. He lowered his head. “It’s OK,” he murmured, and gently, he brushed his lips against hers.
Rosalyn’s pulse raced. Sage. He tasted like sage. And this? This felt like the time she fell off of the high dive at the city park pool the summer after first grade. She wafted through the air, defying gravity. That is, until she slapped the water; in this case, when their lips met. Rosalyn pulled back. "No. This is all wrong." She choked out the words. "You don't know, we can't do this."
Rosalyn wrenched away and Bodie watched, awestruck, as she ran down the lane toward her house, dark hair flying behind her.
The sky darkened to a flat lead color, a storm color. A lone snowflake landed in Bodie’s eye, and he wiped it away.
A sob, and the back door of the house slammed shut.
(An ad-free version of this story is available on the Kindle "Hoofprints" blog.)
(Next: 'Snag-infested little beast')
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