(This is part 6 of Fortune Cookie: A Christmas tale)
In the tradition of the nasty, bloody heart of the previous afternoon, and yet another tortured night, it had been a rough morning.
Rosalyn brewed her first cup of coffee without the coffee, which she hated about as much as putting on her underwear inside out. Then she saw a mouse run across the stove top, and had to sterilize the counter with spray cleaner, and set out a trap before doing anything else. Of course the trap snapped her finger when she first tried to put in the cheese.
What felt like hours later, Rosalyn sipped the first real cup of coffee at her butcher-block table. She smirked.
It was not like Bodie had tried anything, more like her mind had raced ahead to the possibilities, and she terrified herself with herself. Really, it was the heart-shaped blood ... a bad sign. Just like the one that dripped off her mother on to Rosalyn’s pink quilt in the car wreck. Rosalyn would never forget that day. The toddler had distracted her mother while driving, pointing to a field of horses, and the next thing she knew, they were behind a 20-car pileup.
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
Rosalyn took a deep breath. Forget the blood. Forget the man. Time to try again with Excalibur. Now, when nobody is around to see you.
Rosalyn gulped a Little Debbie Christmas Tree cake - one of her favorite things about Christmas - and tossed down the rest of the coffee. Twenty minutes later, she had Excalibur brushed, and tacked up in the stable’s round pen. The gelding's coat shimmered in the light of the late afternoon sun.
This horse was no stranger to saddles. Rosalyn looked at him. He looked innocent enough. She put her hand in a stirrup and leaned on it. Excalibur stood still. With one hand on the reins and a handful of the horse’s mane, Rosalyn reached up with her left foot and slid it into the stirrup. She pushed off from the ground, and stepped up into the saddle. The gelding remained still, ears twitching. With her calf muscles, Rosalyn squeezed him into a walk.
Wind sent leaves tumbling. A plastic grocery bag rocketed skyward, then shimmied sideways, slapping Excalibur in the face. The horse bolted.
Rosalyn lost her right stirrup and slipped over Excalibur’s side. The ground loomed up at the woman. She reached for the mane and caught a handful, just in time to save herself.
***
Sitting in the cab of his truck in the parking lot up above the round pen, Bodie watched the flailing horse and woman. Sweat broke out between his fingers, and his heart raced. Fool woman, she should know better than to work a renegade horse alone.
He watched her dismount, and lead the Palomino toward the barn – and him. Bodie got out of the truck and blocked her way through the gate to the stable yard. “What do you think you were doing?” he demanded. “You should know better than to ride a horse like this alone.”
Rosalyn avoided his eyes, but caught the aggressive jut of his chin. She spit back, “Yes, well, life would be so much easier if we all had a good map. Sadly, we don’t. I can ride when I want, and I will. Get out of my way.”
Bodie backed off. “Shoot, I wouldn't give a plugged nickel for a stupid person’s opinion.” He pushed past Rosalyn, through the gate. “I assume you don’t mind if your clients walk on the property?”
“Suit yourself.”
Bodie stuffed his hands in his pockets and strode off. He reached the end of the pond a few moments later and stopped, staring into its bleak grayness. His fingers unconsciously found the penny from the gas station, curled around it, and lifted it out. Bodie stared at the coin. “Damn her!” He threw the penny into pond, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed a number.
***
Rosalyn sank into a kitchen chair, a fresh cup of coffee in her hand.
“Good job, Rosalyn,” she said to herself. “That went really well. Not.” She sipped her bitter brew. The doorbell rang.
A delivery man stood on the step, holding a bouquet of roses in an ornate, gold-on-black-enamel Chinese vase. In the place of a greeting card, a fortune cookie hung from a set of chop sticks.
"Ms. Mallory?"
Rosalyn nodded.
"These are for you."
(Next: Something fuzzy and wiggly tickled her neck)
(An ad-free version of this story is available on the Kindle "Hoofprints" blog.)
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