(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.”
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)
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