MyHoofPrints

Finger lickin' good

(The conclusion, 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

Part 6: The ground loomed up at the woman

Part 7: Something fuzzy and wiggly tickled her neck

Part 8: The duo cast a long shadow on the leaf-strewn ground

Part 9: 'Snag-infested little beast'

Part 10: Not a woman to waste her rage

Part 11: 'Shoot, that ain't nothin' but a little speed bump

Part 12: 'Never get involved with a man to whom you owe money'

Part 13: 'Succulent buns, they're the best'

Part 14: Dam beavers at it again

Part 15: Talk about rider's block

Part 16: Shooting stars danced

Part 17: The still form in the frigid water

Part 18: Darkness closed around her mind

Part 19: Only five exist, each worth $200,000

Bodie and Rosalyn walked hand in hand to the front pasture. She had not seen Excalibur since the night of her near death, four days ago. Rosalyn was sure the doctor Bodie insisted on calling had been bribed to prescribe bed rest, just in case she had a heart attack or something.

But now she was free, and believe it or not, on a date. Before they left, Rosalyn insisted on checking Excalibur first. She picked her way across the lane in black patent high heels, topped by a fitted black Givenchy skirt, white silk blouse, cashmere coat gold chain necklace, and gold button earrings. The fashion statement was a gift from Bodie.

She munched the last of the fortune cookies from that FAT-company-idiot. The last cookie had predicted “a heartbreaking life unless you call Fiduciary Answers Today”.

If her penny proved worthless, Rosalyn supposed she would have to get used to these gifts of Bodie’s. He couldn’t help himself. Fortunately, the more time she spent with this man, the better he got.

Excalibur waited at the end of the pasture, still as a statue. Rosalyn stepped through the gate, and whistled. She held a new treat in her hand, something from her childhood. Excalibur's head shot up at her call. The golden gelding nickered, and ran toward the woman. She held out her hand with the Chick-O-Stick.

The horse slid to a stop in front of Rosalyn, and extended its muzzle. Whiskers twitched. Nostrils flared. Excalibur lipped the candy, took it in his mouth, and began chewing. A sigh escaped the horse. He lowered his head and let Rosalyn run her hands over sculpted golden ears. The horse rubbed its mouth along Rosalyn's sleeve, leaving a wet, green swath of saliva.

Bodie snickered. "Give a horse 10 minutes with a white shirt, and you’ll find boogers and slime that you never knew existed anywhere on earth."

Excalibur lowered his head for more scratching.

Rosalyn turned to Bodie with tear-filled eyes. “I think he’s learned to trust again.”

“Or maybe he just likes Chick-O-Sticks,” said Bodie.

His cell phone interrupted them. He listened, nodding. “I see. Thank you.” Bodie disconnected. He looked at Rosalyn. "Dry those tears, Roz. Your penny passed. You've got a deal. The $200,000 will be in your account tomorrow. It's amazing what you find in pond slime these days."

***

Rosalyn and Bodie sat at what would become their favorite table at the little Italian place, which as it turned out, Bodie also owned. They shared white chocolate cheesecake topped in raspberries and hot, dark chocolate sauce. The two had stopped at the local boutique to replace the horse-slimed blouse with an ivory version. In front of the boutique, the man in dreadlocks walked past them, brushing slightly against Rosalyn. “Winds of fortune, winds of fortune,” he muttered. He wore clean clothes, nodded, and flashed a big, green-eyed grin.  

“At least he seems happy.”

“Who?”

“That hobo guy with the dreadlocks.”

Bodie turned to look. “I don’t see anybody.” The hobo had disappeared.

***

In the restaurant, candles sent golden shafts of light dancing around the room. The violinist softly drew out the melody to “White Christmas.” A very large diamond ring glittered on Rosalyn’s left hand, not the tainted, cast-off circle of metal belonging to Money Mona, Bodie’s ex-wife, but an embedded diamond designed for a horsewoman.

Bodie had presented it to her two days ago while she was under house arrest. Now, clad in a black tuxedo sculpted to his lean frame, Bodie gave Rosalyn a fresh understanding of how Scarlett O’Hara must have felt when Rhett Butler walked into the room.

The chocolate sauce from their dessert dribbled off her fork on to the index finger of her ring hand. Rosalyn shook her head and fumbled for her napkin. “You sure you know what you’re getting into, Bodie? In case you haven’t guessed, I’m a slob.”

“Wait a minute,” he said. “Let me check.”

Bodie took Rosalyn’s chocolate-covered finger in his mouth. He delicately, meticulously, licked off the sauce. Rosalyn shivered.

“Oh yeah, that’s what I’m getting into,” said Bodie, “finger-lickin’ good for the rest of our lives."

“Stop being nice,” she said. “You’re making me cry.”

Rosalyn reached into her handbag for a tissue. She pulled out something crackly and hard. “Where did that come from?” She held it out for Bodie to see.

Sealed in shiny wrap, a Woo’s Fine Fortune Cookie lay on Rosalyn Mallory’s open palm.

(MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE! MAY YOUR CHRISTMAS BE FULL OF WONDERFUL SURPRISES. -- Karin Livingston)

Only five exist, each worth $200,000

(This is Part 19 of Fortune Cookie: A Christmas Tale, ending on Christmas Eve.)

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

Part 6: The ground loomed up at the woman

Part 7: Something fuzzy and wiggly tickled her neck

Part 8: The duo cast a long shadow on the leaf-strewn ground

Part 9: 'Snag-infested little beast'

Part 10: Not a woman to waste her rage

Part 11: 'Shoot, that ain't nothin' but a little speed bump

Part 12: 'Never get involved with a man to whom you owe money'

Part 13: 'Succulent buns, they're the best'

Part 14: Dam beavers at it again

Part 15: Talk about rider's block

Part 16: Shooting stars danced

Part 17: The still form in the frigid water

Part 18: Darkness closed around her mind

Bodie lowered his mouth to the limp form of Rosalyn, pinched her nose shut, and began mouth-to-mouth breathing. One of her gloves had come off and Buck licked Rosalyn’s hand. Seconds passed. Rosalyn twitched, and Bodie rolled her over just in time to miss the coughed-up stream of water.

“You’re alive!”

Rosalyn coughed again, rolled over on to an elbow, and groaned. “I’m sick … beat up … why do I feel kissed to death?” She rolled onto her back and stared at Bodie.

“It’s you,” she observed. “I’m cold.”

***

Sitting up on her couch, wrapped in blankets, Rosalyn watched Bodie stoke an already-blazing fire. Buck lay on the floor, his head on her feet. The television droned in the background, one of those soothing public-broadcast features. Rosalyn’s naked body under the blankets bothered her the most, but she supposed stripping off a hypothermic person’s wet clothes was normal in a situation like this. Rosalyn pulled the blanket tighter around her. She unclenched her dirt-encrusted hand, and let a clump of drying mud drop on the lamp table next to her. The dirt broke. A penny rolled out.

“Huh, look at that. I found a penny while dying.”

Bodie glanced up from the fire. “You ought to have it framed as a memento of this lucky day.”

“Trust me to get bad luck from good luck,” said Rosalyn.

A parcel lay on the table, addressed to her. “What’s this?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It was on the porch when I went to get fire wood.”

Rosalyn took a fingernail to the tape on the box. She opened it to find a selection of Woo’s Fine Fortune Cookies. A gold-embossed card on the top read, “Don't leave your safety to fortune. Have you considered your retirement investments? We’re here to help. Happy Investing from Fiduciary Answers Today”

“Somebody give me a gun. I can’t believe this,” said Rosalyn. “That FAT guy dares to send me this. Thanks to him, my only future is old age and poverty. However, I am hungry.”

Rosalyn broke a cookie, and unrolled the fortune. It read, "You will be unlucky in love, and too dense to know it when you see it."

"Right. The only fortune I make is my own," said Rosalyn. “Who writes these fortunes, anyway?” She wadded up the black prediction and threw the paper ball over Bodie’s shoulder into the fire.

"You know, I got one once that said I would hit upon a thing of great value." Bodie eased away from the fire, sat down next to her, and wrapped muscular arms around Rosalyn. She squirmed. However, her nakedness and the likelihood of blankets falling off, prevented further protest.

Before Rosalyn could say anything, Bodie kissed her hard. She couldn’t help it. Fire poured through her veins. She kissed him back.

Bodie stopped himself. This was, after all a nearly-drowned woman. He ran the blanket edge against Rosalyn’s neck through his thumb and forefinger. "OK, if you don't want my money fine, but at least let me help you with yours … What do you think I do for a living?"

“I don’t know. What do you do?”

“Let’s just say Warren Buffet gets help,” he said.

“Oh.” Rosalyn looked away, out the window. It killed her to accept help. A breeze pushed its way through silent snowfall, and what had moments ago been a pleasant holiday greeting card turned into a winter storm. The television droned the end of a feature, something on coin collecting. The final sound bite caught Rosalyn’s attention: "Well folks, that’s it. Only five of the pennies known to exist, and worth $200,000 apiece, imagine that." Jazz music played while the credits rolled, backed by an image of the rare coin.

Rosalyn picked up her penny and scraped it. Her gut clenched.

“Bodie. “ 

“What?”

“Tell me I’m not crazy. It looks just like the one that was on TV.” Hands trembling, Rosalyn used her remote control to freeze the screen and zoom in on the photo of the prize penny.

Bodie picked up her coin and looked at the television. “I’ll make some calls. Don’t get your hopes up.”

(Next: Finger lickin' good)

Darkness closed around her mind

(This is Part 18 of Fortune Cookie: A Christmas Tale, ending December 25.)

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

Part 6: The ground loomed up at the woman

Part 7: Something fuzzy and wiggly tickled her neck

Part 8: The duo cast a long shadow on the leaf-strewn ground

Part 9: 'Snag-infested little beast'

Part 10: Not a woman to waste her rage

Part 11: 'Shoot, that ain't nothin' but a little speed bump

Part 12: 'Never get involved with a man to whom you owe money'

Part 13: 'Succulent buns, they're the best'

Part 14: Dam beavers at it again

Part 15: Talk about rider's block

Part 16: Shooting stars danced

Part 17: The still form in the frigid water

Silently, eerily, white flakes of snow floated down through the night, and settled one after the other on the ground, on the pond. Rosalyn began to cough as water lapped at her lips. She closed her eyes, and images of Bodie the day he effortlessly lifted the Gator one-handed, muscles rippling, his lips hovering, oh so close to hers, floated before her.

The cold closing around her became soothing numbness. Rosalyn grappled behind her, trying to stop her slide under the water. Her hands hit mud, roots and something disc-shaped, smooth.

She grabbed the handful, and dug deep. The world moved slowly now, nothing really mattered in this numbness, except that she felt like she had forgotten to do the most important thing in her life, but couldn’t think what it was. Something her grandmother once said came to mind: "If you have to die, you should be with the one you love."

As darkness closed around her mind, it came to her, something Bodie had said: “Choose now, Rosalyn. Quit hiding.”

“Sorry, Grams, blew that one,” she mumbled.

***

Rosalyn did not hear the crashing sounds of Bodie bolting down the embankment through snow and tree branches, or Buck’s frenzied barking. Bodie lashed a rope to a tree, and threw the loop over his shoulder and torso. He edged farther down the bank. "Hang on, I've got you. Just hang on!" His fingers plunged through the water, and curled around the collar of Rosalyn's coat, just as the top of her head slipped under the ice.

Bodie hauled on Rosalyn’s limp form. He slipped on the wet bank, and slid toward the icy water. His boot heel caught a tree root. Bodie pulled against the rope, and it held. He half-threw Rosalyn past his shoulders to drier ground. She hit the ground, a heap of arms and legs.

Bodie knelt, and flipped Rosalyn over on her back. He lowered his head and listened for her breath. Buck nudged his owner’s face with his wet nose. Nothing. Bodie felt her neck for a pulse. So faint.

“Shit,” he muttered.

(Next: Only five exist, each worth $200,000)

The still form in the frigid water

(This is Part 17 of Fortune Cookie: A Christmas Tale, ending December 25.)

Ponds could be deadly, especially when you were drowning.

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

Part 6: The ground loomed up at the woman

Part 7: Something fuzzy and wiggly tickled her neck

Part 8: The duo cast a long shadow on the leaf-strewn ground

Part 9: 'Snag-infested little beast'

Part 10: Not a woman to waste her rage

Part 11: 'Shoot, that ain't nothin' but a little speed bump

Part 12: 'Never get involved with a man to whom you owe money'

Part 13: 'Succulent buns, they're the best'

Part 14: Dam beavers at it again

Part 15: Talk about rider's block

Part 16: Shooting stars danced

Buck barked again and again, and edged as close as he could get without falling in. The cold water sank through Rosalyn’s heavy coat, past her sweatshirt and T-shirt, into her skin. Icy numbness froze her arms. Without the strength to pull out of the frigid water, Rosalyn began to sink.

The pond water rose higher and higher up her neck.

***

As he peered under the hood of his dead truck, Bodie idly wondered what Rosalyn would look like in a dress, something black, something in satin, cut just right around those curves …

Nothing appeared wrong, with her or the truck, for that matter. Then he saw it. One of the clamps on the battery had come off. Crashing into stone signs could have that effect on batteries, he supposed. Bodie slammed the clamp back in place. Loose, but he would have to tighten it later.

***

Rosalyn chanted to herself through chattering teeth. ""Got to get out, got to get out. Got to, got to, got to!" She heard an engine and saw movement on the driveway. Bodie’s truck, thank God.

Bodie opened the door. The flurry of activity at the pond caught his eye. Then he heard Buck’s mad barking.

"Fool woman, now what?"

He watched the horse. Excalibur trotted back and forth. The horse tossed his head, stopped, stamped his front feet, and resumed the frenzied trotting along the bank. Bodie followed the hoofprints in the snow. His breath caught in his throat. The prints stopped at the crazed dog. The dog stared at the still form in the frigid water.

(Next: Darkness closed around her mind)

Shooting stars danced

(Part 16 of Fortune Cookie: A Christmas Tale)

Battling beaver clogs was not for the meek.

Rosalyn paused, breathing heavily. "Putrid rodents," she muttered. She turned to Excalibur, who stood nearby, watching. “You know, rodents and men, they are a lot alike: Into everything, and always causing problems. Why can’t they just leave me alone? Or better yet, quit throwing their weight around?” Rosalyn remembered the kiss on the church steps, and bit her lip so hard it made her eyes water.

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

Part 6: The ground loomed up at the woman

Part 7: Something fuzzy and wiggly tickled her neck

Part 8: The duo cast a long shadow on the leaf-strewn ground

Part 9: 'Snag-infested little beast'

Part 10: Not a woman to waste her rage

Part 11: 'Shoot, that ain't nothin' but a little speed bump

Part 12: 'Never get involved with a man to whom you owe money'

Part 13: 'Succulent buns, they're the best'

Part 14: Dam beavers at it again

Part 15: Talk about rider's block

Next to her, Buck began digging, too.

*** 

 Headed her way with the solution to all of Rosalyn’s problems in tow behind his truck, Bodie whacked the steering wheel again. His truck lurched to the right. Bodie swerved back to the middle of the lane. He caught a glance of himself in his rear view mirror. The face staring back was masked by days of frustration, probably frustration over this idiot woman who wouldn’t take his help.

Was it just a lie? Bodie put their imaginary future on the imaginary line, and repeated what he said to Rosalyn earlier: "Choose now, Rosalyn. Quit hiding."

The engine died. "Perfect," he said, “just perfect.

***

Excalibur stamped a foot and snorted. His nostrils flared. He pawed, but the woman scrambling at the beaver dam ignored him. He wanted her to stop.

***

Looking over his shoulder inside of the Woo’s Fine Fortune Cookies factory where he had just been hired, the man with dreadlocks saw that he was not being watched. He logged in to his workstation and opened the fortune file. A few sentences later, his mission was accomplished. The man threw his locks back and laughed. He stood up, and walked out of the factory into the parking lot.

The modern art anchoring the lot’s decor was a metal tree with fortune cookies for leaves. It was also an experiment in the art of sound. A breeze hit the cookies, and they began to moan. The hobo looked up.

***

A shooting star cascaded across the horizon.

“Nope, I’m not even going to bother with a wish. Whatever I want, the opposite will happen, anyway.”

Tears welled up in Rosalyn's eyes. She wiped them with the rough sleeve of her work coat, and chewed her lower lip. As a child, she had growled when angry, until her mother told her to quit acting like an animal. It was either growl or cry. Rosalyn growled.

The horse paced, watching her. Buck looked up from his own digging, and whined.

Then it hit Rosalyn. Not the horse or the dog, an idea.

She reached into her pocket and held out a treat. “Come here, Excalibur. I have a job for you.” The horse stretched out his nose, and refused the treat, but let her slip on the halter.

“Now that’s more like it. Trust the human. Good horse.” Rosalyn held his lead line in one hand and bent over to pick up the rope. The palomino snorted softly. “We’re just going to use a little horse power here,” she said, and wrapped the rope around the base of Excalibur’s neck. “See I just need you to give a little tug here, get the stupid dam loosened. Just one stick loosened, just a little leg up, so to speak.” She smoothly tied a bowline, the one knot that wouldn’t slip.

“OK, Excalibur, I need you to walk. All you have to do is walk. Can you do that?” The horse flicked an ear at her. “Walk, Excalibur, walk.” The horse walked as if on explosive egg shells, but he walked, nonetheless. The powerful gelding appeared to agree, just this once, to do her the favor of a truce. The rope tightened.

The clog unclogged with a huge whoosh of debris. The blob of a load shifted and slipped out of the rope. Frightened, Excalibur lunged away, and his momentum upended Rosalyn, pulling her feet out from under her.

Rosalyn hit her head on a rock, back-sledded down the iced-over bank, and plunged into icy water up to her neck. Shooting stars danced in front of her eyes.

(Next: The still form in the frigid water)

Talk about rider's block

(This is part 15 of Fortune Cookie: A Christmas Tale)

Bodie remained gone.

Stepping away from the pond, Rosalyn peered down the road. I’m just checking the traffic. I have no interest in whether his red truck happens to show up. No interest at all. And, it’s not here, so there. Rosalyn set down the rope and shovel. She kept the pry rod in her hand, and squared her shoulders. Pond water from the beaver clog oozed higher. Soon her land bridge would disappear.

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

Part 6: The ground loomed up at the woman

Part 7: Something fuzzy and wiggly tickled her neck

Part 8: The duo cast a long shadow on the leaf-strewn ground

Part 9: 'Snag-infested little beast'

Part 10: Not a woman to waste her rage

Part 11: 'Shoot, that ain't nothin' but a little speed bump

Part 12: 'Never get involved with a man to whom you owe money'

Part 13: 'Succulent buns, they're the best'

Part 14: Dam beavers at it again

Nearby, where she had turned him loose, Excalibur nosed through the snow looking for tender bits of grass. He watched Rosalyn out of the corner of his eye. A muscle in her jaw clenched. She watched the horse watch her. I should be riding you, not fighting beavers. Talk about rider’s block. Then again, you’d probably just dump me, so what’s the point? Rosalyn swore. Excalibur winked. Or at least she thought he did.

Rosalyn jammed the pry rod up the clog and wiggled it. A twig, some ice chips, and half a cup of sandy dirt flowed away. She tried again, this time on the other side. More sand, ice, a handful of what looked like shredded tree bark. Beaver food, of course. The beavers, her money situation, Bodie’s arrival on the church steps, his kiss, they haunted her.

The sky darkened, and sleet spat down. Half-frozen water drops struck dead leaves, and rustled. At the edge of the pond, Buck whined.

Everything was against her. "Stupid men! Stupid money! Stupid clog!" Rosalyn whacked the root- and-dirt-infested mass with her shovel. "You pig!"

Buck barked.

She hit the clog again, and leaned against the pry rod, mouth against her glove. Its soft leather reminded her of Bodie’s lips. That darn kiss would not go away. She rubbed her mouth. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" She hit the plug again, and then stopped. There was another sound, a shout.

"This is it! The time is now!" The derelict man walked down the road and gestured. He stopped at the bus stop sign just outside her driveway. Again the man cried, "This is it! The time is now!" The No. 9 bus pulled over. Clutching a page of the classifieds where an item had been circled in red, the man, dreadlocks flapping against his shoulders, boarded No. 9. The bus pulled away, headed for the light industrial section of town.

At least he’s going somewhere, unlike me. Rosalyn pummeled the clog. Nothing.

The rustling leaves faded into silence, as sleet turned to snow. Rosalyn pulled a knit cap out of her pocket, and shoved it over her dark mane of hair. She muttered, “So much for a clear and mild week."

***

Bodie stepped on the accelerator, and the truck sped forward. The rattling of the equipment on the trailer behind reminded him to slow down. He sighed and slowed. Why all the hiding who he was? Why couldn’t she just take the help and be done with it? He smacked the steering wheel. "What’s the deal, lady? Over and over again, I try to tell you, I won't hurt you, for real."

***

Rosalyn pounded the pry rod through the center of the icy clog. A double handful of sticks and mud fell away. Water flowed through the break.  She inhaled, stepped back, and stared at the darkened sky.

(Next: Shooting stars danced)

Dam beavers at it again

(This is Part 14 of Fortune Cookie: A Christmas Tale)

Glancing behind, afraid she was being followed, Rosalyn ran straight into Bodie at the bottom of the church steps.

“So, now you’re stalking me.”

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

Part 6: The ground loomed up at the woman

Part 7: Something fuzzy and wiggly tickled her neck

Part 8: The duo cast a long shadow on the leaf-strewn ground

Part 9: 'Snag-infested little beast'

Part 10: Not a woman to waste her rage

Part 11: 'Shoot, that ain't nothin' but a little speed bump

Part 12: 'Never get involved with a man to whom you owe money'

Part 13: 'Succulent buns, they're the best'

Bodie, with Buck the Prodigal Dog discovered by somebody who cared, explained: "You looked like you needed time, and I followed, yes. Plus, you shouldn’t be out walking alone. And I needed to tell you … you've got a problem. The beavers expanded the dam. The place is going under water."

“You’re kidding!” Rosalyn closed her eyes and groaned. “I can’t take this any …!”

The protest died as Bodie lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was fierce. His lips covered hers, almost devouring her. With his hand behind her head, there was no quick escape. Rosalyn opened her eyes, and glared.

He backed off and shrugged. "I know, I know. Don’t know what came over me. Get in. I’ll take you home."

Words escaped Rosalyn. She followed Bodie and Buck to the truck, and absently handed her hound the succulent bun, wrapping and all.

***

Inside the church, the derelict again knelt at the pew. The prayer candles hissed and popped. Without warning, the sanctuary spotlight above the Virgin Mary bas relief flickered, burned brightly, and then popped. Its bulb was finished. Deeper gloom descended.

***

As Bodie drove back down the driveway, Rosalyn could see pond water glinting. It had spilled over the banks. It threatened her bridge, and farther out, horse sheds and pens.

“Oh, great,” she said. “Just great. The boarders will love this.”

Bodie stopped the truck next to Rosalyn’s red barn, but kept the engine running. He reached out a hand and softly caressed her cheek. She stiffened. “Hey, we have a crisis here, Bodie.”

“You’re telling me,” he snapped, then caught himself. Bodie bit his lower lip. “No, what I mean was you’re telling me what I already know, and I think I have just the solution, I mean, I know somebody who does. Wait here. I’ll pick you up when I get back.”

Rosalyn jumped out of the truck followed by Buck, who licked his chops. The succulent bun wrapping wafted unnoticed to the ground. Rosalyn waved as Bodie backed out. As soon as his truck’s tail lights disappeared at the end of the driveway, Rosalyn bent over Buck and ruffled the dog’s ears.

"I can handle this," she said. Buck wagged his tail. "I’m getting my shovel. This is the last time any beaver is going to bother me." Buck whined.

***

Bodie pulled into the parking lot of the construction company, one of his many acquisitions. He scowled. The lie to Rosalyn about his “friend’s” construction company irked him. But the way that woman reacted to money and favors, especially his money and his favors, truth was not an option. Bodie unlocked the front door and went into the office. A few minutes later he emerged, drove to the equipment yard, and hitched up to what he hoped was the solution to the beaver problem.

***

Rosalyn kept a collection of farm tools in a shed off the side of the horse barn. She grabbed the heavy pry rod, a narrow shovel used for trenching, and a coil of rope. You never know what you’ll need around a barn. Or beavers. At her side, Buck wagged his tail. This looked like fun.

The winter sun had almost set, and horses stood at their mangers, eating. Just for one teeny, tiny moment of reprieve, she stopped in the barn doorway, and soaked up the best part about having a horse boarding stable: the smell of sweet grass hay, and the sound of horses munching in counterpart rhythm.

Past the door, she saw Excalibur in his pen, rolling, and in one adrenaline-stab of fear, Rosalyn thought her horse had colic, the number one killer of horses. Rolling was after all, the classic sign. Seconds later though, he hoisted himself back to his feet and continued eating. Rosalyn had never known a colicky horse to eat. Then again, a little walk to the pond might do the beast good. With my luck, you’d kill me if I tried to ride. She could let him graze while she worked.

As she haltered the gelding, Excalibur flicked an ear at the radio, which played “The River”, soft and low. “Never knowin’ what’s in store makes each day a constant battle.”

Rope over her shoulder, pry rod and shovel in one hand, haltered horse in the other, Rosalyn squared her shoulders and set out. Buck trotted along behind.

“Constant battle,” she muttered. “True, so true.”

(Next: Talk about rider's block)

'Succulent buns, they're the best'

(This is Part 13 of Fortune Cookie: A Christmas Tale)

The money didn't work, the man didn't work. Rosalyn sat at the table and stared into her coffee cup as if it were a crystal ball. Maybe the horse would work.

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

Part 6: The ground loomed up at the woman

Part 7: Something fuzzy and wiggly tickled her neck

Part 8: The duo cast a long shadow on the leaf-strewn ground

Part 9: 'Snag-infested little beast'

Part 10: Not a woman to waste her rage

Part 11: 'Shoot, that ain't nothin' but a little speed bump

Part 12: 'Never get involved with a man to whom you owe money'

Bundled up against the chill, Rosalyn crunched through a thin layer of snow on her way to the horse pens. Excalibur stood at the far end of the turnout, watching something on the bike trail. Rosalyn unhooked his halter from the gate and walked toward him.

“Excalibur,” she said. “Come on, let’s see what you can do, huh?”

The horse flicked an ear toward her.

Rosalyn moved closer and the golden gelding trotted off a few steps. She held out a piece of the large, pelleted horse candy she often kept in her pockets.

“Come on, big guy.” She stepped closer, and Excalibur took off. The horse galloped around his pen, dodging the other horses, which looked at him with disinterest, even pity for the idiot animal.

Rosalyn slung the halter over her shoulder and turned away. “You know, beast, there may have been a good reason you were in the auction yard.” She returned the horse’s halter to its spot on the turnout gate. Excalibur had stopped about 20 feet away along the fence line. His hindquarters faced her full on, an eloquent reply to the auction yard comment.

Rosalyn half expected to see Bodie materialize at yet another moment of failure. She looked around, but nobody was there. She shivered. It was as if she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. “I know,” she said. “Let’s go kill the vacuum.”

***

Rosayn’s house-cleaning plan worked until the vacuum, in fact, breathed its last, for the time being anyway. Apparently vacuums resented tangles of dog and human hair in their little spinny carpet-sucking thingies. Rosalyn kicked the plastic tank and hurt her toe.

From his perch on the couch, Buck the Dog wagged his tail, and whined.

“Come on, let’s go for a walk,” she said. At the W-word, the dog went into spasms of joy. He leaped off the couch, and raced to the mudroom where his leash lived.

***

In tow behind at least one kind-and-loving companion, Rosalyn wandered the streets of the downtown neighborhood to the south of her property. Rosalyn squinted her eyes, and used all her brain power to try and forget everything. It didn’t work. She walked faster. All she could think of was Bodie’s hand gripping her forearm, the electricity between them that set off the radio, the check she had stupidly torn up, the worthless horse. Because Excalibur clearly was an emotionally-damaged, worthless bronc.

She kicked a rock on the sidewalk. It bounced against a hand-hewn stone wall to her right, and boomeranged back against Rosalyn’s tennis shoe. “Ouch!” As luck would have it, this was the same foot hurt kicking the vacuum. Rosalyn hopped around one-legged, and held the injured foot in her hand. The pain eased, she stopped hopping, and looked up.

A church spire soared to the sky. Rosalyn studied the Gothic building, its stained-glass windows perennially lit from within. She vaguely remembered going to this church with her mother when she was young, dressed up in a green velvet jumper and patent-leather, Mary-Jane shoes. She had hated those shoes. They always pinched. Rosalyn wiggled her toes, and lowered her rock-bruised foot.

Something pulled at her, here at this church. Something behind those colorful windows. Then it hit her. Today was the day her mother had died, twenty five years ago. Rosalyn tied Buck’s leash to the nearby bike rack. He whined. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right back,” she said, stroking his ears. “I just have to see something.”

***

You never know who you’ll see in church. Hunched into a worn army coat, Rosalyn’s very own derelict, the man who shouted strange things on the streets, finished lighting a candle. He walked up the center aisle, nodded to Jesus hanging on the cross, and settled into a pew.

Rosalyn hesitantly followed. She picked a spot a few pews forward of him, genuflected, and pulled down the padded kneeler. Rosalyn knelt, not sure where to begin. Echoes of those gone before traveled back and forth in the light cast by the silent, stained glass windows. Candles flickered across poinsettias filling altar spots, and threw shadows behind pillars decorated with red-ribboned, evergreen wreathes. The bas relief wall scenes of Jesus in his various states of imminent disaster almost seemed to move on their own.

Rosalyn shivered and stood up to leave. As she turned, she ran into the derelict, who must have snuck up behind her.

"No excuses!" His blurted comment bit into her. The homeless man’s dark eyes fixed on hers, from under a hood pulled well over his head. He pushed something into her hand. “Choice City Bakery,” he said. “Succulent buns, they’re the best, outside of fortune cookies.”

Rosalyn looked at the tissue-wrapped package in her gloved hands, ducked left around the smelly creature, and fled.

(Next: Dam beavers at it again)

'Never get involved with a man to whom you owe money'

(This is Part 12 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

Part 6: The ground loomed up at the woman

Part 7: Something fuzzy and wiggly tickled her neck

Part 8: The duo cast a long shadow on the leaf-strewn ground

Part 9: 'Snag-infested little beast'

Part 10: Not a woman to waste her rage

Part 11: 'Shoot, that ain't nothin' but a little speed bump

Excalibur raced around the pen with his prize. On the third loop, as he sped past Rosalyn and Bodie, the horse dropped the hammer. He stopped, head down, blowing, ears twitching back and forth.

“Oh, lookie, we have a trick horse. Just what I want and need.” Rosalyn tossed the hammer closer to the fence post, and turned her back on him. “Won’t let me ride worth a darn, but he loves his tricks.”

“Just give it time,” said Bodie. “Any horse that smart deserves a chance.”

Rosalyn looked at Bodie out of the corner of her eye as if he had just sprouted gills. “Mr.-Criticize-She-Who-Even-Tries-to-Work-With-the-Horse speaks.”

“Hey, I’m getting in touch with my sensitive side.” Bodie jammed a pry bar against the chunk of concrete. “You know, there’s a price for this.”

“Oh, here we go.” Rosalyn rolled her eyes and stopped digging. She waited.

“I think a home-cooked dinner is in order. You get started. I’ll finish this.”

“I’m no shirker.”

“I didn’t say you were a shirker. I’m hungry.” Bodie’s eyes trailed over her face, flushed from the digging.

Rosalyn blushed even more. “All right, but just don’t get any ideas,” she said. “This is payback. Not romance. I’m done with that.”

“OK. Fine. Go cook, woman.” Bodie sent the pry bar into the concrete blob with a particularly vicious whack. As he worked, a chill wind stirred, and lifted dead, gray leaves into a whirling dervish.

***

Rosalyn opened and banged shut cupboard doors as she searched the kitchen, wondering what would qualify as food. Buck the Dog, looked up from his old saddle blanket on the floor, and wagged his tail. Rosalyn sniffed the air. A smell wafted around the room, sort of a dead smell. “I know I emptied the trash,” she told Buck. Rosalyn lifted the lid off a pot in the sink, and a fetid wave washed over her. "Aha! It's amazing what a handful of broccoli left to rot for two weeks can smell like." She dumped the mess down the disposal, and opened a window.

“So, the man wants home cooking. Little does he know.” Rosalyn pulled spaghetti and a jar of sauce out of the cupboard, garlic bread and green beans out of the freezer. Eggnog waited in the refrigerator and brandy in the liquor cabinet for dessert. “This will have to do,” she said.

Bodie stomped into the mudroom about an hour later. “Mission accomplished,” he said. “If a horse tries going through that fence again, it’s gonna break its body in 12 places.”

“That’s all right,” said Rosalyn as she pulled the hot garlic bread out of the oven. “Who needs horse clients, anyway? Sit down. Dinner is served.”

Rosalyn and Bodie munched as Eric Clapton crooned “Wonderful Tonight” on the radio.  Bodie half-smiled at the song. Rosalyn was wonderful. She was getting to him, but he knew better than to say anything of the kind. Instead, he said, “So, tell me about the father that might as well be dead.”

“God, you have the memory of an elephant. Remind me never to tell you anything again.” Rosalyn swallowed a gulp of Gabbiano Chianti, her favorite, especially because of the knight and horse on the label. “My father disappeared. I don’t remember him, but my mother always said I have his eyes. They found his car over the edge of a cliff when I was three. This was before my mother died. The car exploded on impact. They had money troubles. He may have killed himself. Who knows? Maybe he got incinerated. They never found a body, and she got stuck with all his bills.”

“I’m sorry.” Bodie reached out and touched Rosalyn's arm. The electricity between them turned the song’s “wonder of it all” into a fit of static. “And speaking of money,” said Bodie, “let me help.”

Rosalyn’s stomach lurched, and the Chianti-laced spaghetti dinner nearly spewed back up. “I told you, just leave it be.”

“No, look. Just call me a shadow shareholder. Here.” Bodie pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, and extracted a check.

Rosalyn glanced at the writing and her jaw clenched. "You will not loan me $10,000.” She paused for breath. “If there's one thing I've learned, it is never, never get involved with a man to whom you owe money."

Bodie shoved the wallet back in his pocket. "This is nothing, and you know, I have a friend in construction that could help with some of this stuff that needs fixing around here."

Rosalyn just glared at him. Bodie grabbed her forearm in an iron grip.

“Look lady, speaking from experience, if you never let anybody in, you're gonna be one lonely little flower that dries up and blows away. I'm not going to hurt you.” Words that Bodie never expected welled up from within. “Choose now, Rosalyn. Quit hiding."

Buck the Dog looked up from his spot under Rosalyn’s feet and growled.

“Fine, be that way.” Bodie dropped the check on the table, stood up, and walked out. Rosalyn picked the check up and tore it into shreds.

(Next: 'Succulent buns, they're the best")

'Shoot, that ain't nothin' but a little speed bump'

(This is Part 11 of Fortune Cookie: A Christmas Tale)

Rosalyn sniffled. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually such an idiot. Just go. I’ll be fine.”

“Come here.”

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

Part 6: The ground loomed up at the woman

Part 7: Something fuzzy and wiggly tickled her neck

Part 8: The duo cast a long shadow on the leaf-strewn ground

Part 9: 'Snag-infested little beast'

Part 10: Not a woman to waste her rage

Bodie pulled Rosalyn into his arms. His touch sent a warming sensation up Rosalyn's arm. He smelled like sage, the wild kind in the mountains, not the spice rack version. “It’s just work, and we can do it.”

Rosalyn nodded into his shoulder. A moment later, she pulled away, and took a deep breath. “OK, I’ll take you up on the offer. I don’t see how I’ll ever get this fixed.”

"Shoot, that ain't nothing but a little speed bump, and I got four-wheel-drive,” he said. “No, no. Don’t say it. You’re welcome.”

The corners of Rosalyn’s mouth curved upward in the slightest smile.

On the way to the shattered fence, Rosalyn opened the gate and turned Excalibur loose with his horse friends. The hot wire had survived the ordeal and would hold everybody in place for the moment. The concrete-embedded post was a problem though. It would take hours to dig out. There was no way to get to it with machinery, unless all the horses were sent back to their stalls.

Rosalyn kicked the pile of broken boards. “Idiot horses! Idiot people that own horses! Idiot person that put this post in cement!”

A blue jay screeched and launched itself into the air. Bodie knelt down. He filled his arms with the smaller broken pieces and handed them to Rosalyn. “Here, take a little time for yourself and put these in your dumpster.” Rosalyn took the wood. Her eyes remained carefully averted in case, well, she got distracted by him again.

By the time she returned, Bodie had half her tool collection pulled out and scattered around the offending post. New boards lay nearby. They each took up a posthole digger and dug in silence.

Excalibur watched the humans, ears pointed. The horse walked a few steps. He eased behind Rosalyn, placing each foot carefully, almost silently. The horse lowered his muzzle, and ran his lips over the handle of the hammer lying on the ground. Excalibur closed his mouth around the hammer handle. He whirled away and broke into a run, the hammer still in his mouth.

“Excalibur, get back here!” Rosalyn straightened, and hand on her hip, pointed to the spot where the hammer had lain, as if the gelding were some sort of dog that would come on command. “Whoa!”

Excalibur flagged his tail high above his back and shook his head.

(Next: 'Never get involved with a man to whom you owe money')