A Glint O 'The Green

A GLINT O’THE GREEN

by

Debi Rogers/Kenna Jayne Macrae

 

        “Bertie, will ya push the hair behind my ear?” the waitress asked, hands filled with dishes she’d just cleared from his table.

        “Lean closer, Fionna.” The rotund butcher whose shop was around the corner from the pub used a chubby finger to push back the wayward red curl.

        Finnagan’s Rainbow overflowed with lunch customers and Fee Glen Eire shimmied, slid, held her breath, turned sideways, whatever it took to get between the mismatched chairs and rowdy patrons. She bounded to the kitchen with her precarious load, her heart light. It had been three months since she’d come home to Sedona to roost. And, if she were honest, to get away from an untenable situation. But that was over.

        She’d spent three glorious, hedonistic years living all over Europe with her boyfriend. Dublin. Edinburgh. Stratford. Canterbury. Giverny. The Loire Valley. Tuscany. She couldn’t even remember all the places they’d stayed. As a free-lance photographer, his pictures graced a myriad of magazines. Requests for his celebrated expertise exploded into full-blown, eighteen-hour workdays. Trains, hostels, backpacks and hiking boots became their ever-constant companions.   

        As the luck of the Irish would have it, she’d found a gold piece shaped like a shamrock in the pocket of her jacket just as her foot touched the soil of the Emerald Isle. Left on her own for a time in Dublin, she’d stumbled into a timeworn, waddle and daub pub, the Rose and Shamrock, that made her feel like she’d been transported back in time. Inside she’d found her roots, kith and kin, Celtic and Viking. That first night, Fee asked for a Guinness and the barkeep offered her a pint she shared with new friends, the rowdy patrons surrounding the carved bar, hewn with the history of centuries of travelers and locals.

        Staying in a bed and breakfast, owned by the McGregors, Fionna wrapped herself in the homey atmosphere of the tiny village outside Dublin. In the evenings she ate lamb, shepherd’s pie, colcannon, honey mead––that had been stronger, thicker and more bitter than she could stand––and her favorite, Irish cream.

        One night she overindulged in the cream, swinging joyously to the fiddlers magic, nigh on into oblivion. The hopping cacophony raised the roof until dawn. To quell her dizzy head, she pushed through the crowd to reach the cool summer air. Strong hands held her arms as she swayed, slightly wobbly just outside the door. ’Twas the raw-boned, six-pack honed, Irish biker son of the woman who owned Whispering Willows, the bed and breakfast.

        “Aahhh, lassie, ya smell of lavendar.” He placed a light finger under her chin to bring her gaze to his. The world spun and if he hadn’t slid a strong arm behind her back she might have collapsed in the bracken. He pulled her tight to keep her upright, bringing them so close, his cologne, mingled with her soul, pulled her straight to heaven. His scent lodged in the deepest recesses of her brain, springing forth at the damnedest times, reminding her of the mystery of this man, of this moment in time.

        He lowered his head and touched her lips with his, like a fog softly covering the world. So gently, so thoroughly, so unobtrusively, he captured her innermost self. She deepened the kiss, luxuriating in the electrifying jolt his domination caused, melting her bones, binding her to him in a way that she knew he was the one.

        He stopped far too soon. “Why...why are you stopping?” She slid her thin arms around his brawny neck and ran fingers through his thick, blond hair, pulling it from the queue. “Don’t stop. I––we––the night…” Fionna knew she sounded like a babbling fool, but she couldn’t stop herself. And the worst part was, he did stop. He walked her to her room, opened the door and left her with a light, chaste kiss.

        And then she found herself across the sea in Scotland, following the photographer. But her Irishman rarely strayed far from her thoughts. And guilt began to torture her.

        Eventually she tired of the vagabond life and left her boyfriend, because she feared he’d never stay put and Fionna wanted a home and children. A home that stayed still. Her traveling days were over. But not her sweet memories.

        Sedona was home. Safe. Though her parents despaired of her getting real work, she liked the feel of the bar. Patrons knew her. Besides, Chef allowed her to create dishes to add to the menu and they had become popular. Her dream was to run her own kitchen. Maybe even her own restaurant.

        She pulled the chalk board into the back room to scribble the menu for the evening. Irish lamb stew had never been a favorite of hers. Too bland. And she refused to make corned beef and cabbage. The dinner special would be her potato soup and roast lamb, slowly braised.

        Shuffling in slippers to the bar, she found Aidan scowling behind it.

        Honestly, the man was a veritable Pandora’s box of moods. Refusing to indulge him, Fee leaned on the bar and grinned lewdly over the taps, just to irritate him.

        “Shall I get myself a bottle of Baileys or do you want to hand me one?”

        “Why?”

        “Why what?” she asked teasingly.

        “I’m not givin’ ya a bottle, ya wee drunkard.”

        Letting loose with a chortle, she shook her head, sending pins and clips slipping down and out of her heavy mane. “Well, I’m going to make Barmbrack, but first some Bailey’s cupcakes just for the evening,” she finished spritely.

        Grabbing her hair she wound it into a knot using a pencil to hold it in place.

        At his raised brows, Fee trotted behind the bar and snatched the necks of two new bottles of Baileys, disappearing into the kitchen as quickly as she’d come.

        “Ya be answerin’ fer those, not me,” he bellowed.

        In the back, shepherd’s pie baked, filling the breathable air with tantalizing aroma. Vivid memories of her grandmother covered in flour and dough tumbled over themselves until she expected to see her. Chef’s specialty was the pie. Using a secret ingredient or two, he refused to let anyone else prepare the dish.

        The bar had a few lingerers, but otherwise the ring of the old fire bell at the door signaling a customer jarred Fee from her baking. She was the only waitress who stayed through from lunch until close. Hands sticky with dough and flour, she waited. Aidan’s voice came.

        “Fionna! Customer.”

        “Patrice, keep an eye on my soup, will ya?” Fee shot over her shoulder.

        Venturing into the front, she saw a man talking to Aidan. Long, heavy blond hair pulled neatly into a thong jarred her mind to a time she longed to forget. It couldn’t be. His arms were sheathed in a long-sleeved teal shirt covered by a sleeveless brown leather vest, but the tight jeans covering the sculpted butt sent a jolt of recognition zinging through her. OMG, it could be. A symphony of memories poured over Fionna. European memories.

        How could it possibly be...him? How had he found her? Again.

        As she neared, a nerve-tingling cologne swirled, ebbed and then paralyzed her. Only one person in her small world smelled of this seductively, male scent, Kilian’s, Straight To Heaven. And it was. She grabbed for a chair.

        He turned and she sucked in a tiny gasp, forgetting to breath then. Wide eyes the shade of magnolia leaves in the deep, wet summer eclipsed his face. And dammit, but he made her knees buckle. No. She wouldn’t let him do this to her. Not again.

        His smile went from mild surprise to deep delight. “Finally. You’re a hard woman to find.”

        “Dublin is a long way from Sedona.” Her breathy voice faltered and cracked. The last man on earth she wanted to see stood in her bar. Her voice turned cold. “Where’s your entourage?” 

        He had the decency to dip his head, then give her a lopsided grin. Blatant understanding in his eyes, he shook his head. “Left them behind.”

        She snorted. “I bet.”

        Women. Women of all ages flocked to him wherever he went. Each time he appeared to plague her, to tug at her heart, a woman clung to his muscular biceps. Though his mossy eyes would talk to her, twinkling and inviting, the women spoke volumes. Another roving man, just a different interest. But why the hell did he follow her around Europe? And how? It was like he had a sixth sense or a honing device.

        His smile never wavered. Thirsty eyes drank her in like she were a real lake in a desert filled with mirages. Rapidly becoming more than disturbed by his sudden appearance, she wanted him to disappear.

        “Flour becomes ya,” he ventured nearer her, a finger extended toward her nose.

        She stepped back and brushed at his hand, not wanting him within a million miles of touching her. Just the sight of him set her heart to beating wildly. This was why she left Europe.

        “How did you find me?” Her tone cut sharper than she’d meant, but he didn’t flinch. In fact, his shamrock green eyes lapped her up from head to toe.

        “To tell the truth, I don’t know.” He spread his legs and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Something keeps tugging at me. Ever since you left Ireland, I’ve had this––this urge to travel. And here I am. All those times we met all over Europe, it was the same. Like a whisper drawing me.”  A glint of green flashed as he drew an object from his vest pocket.

        His Irish brogue unsettled her. This was the problem. He’d woven a spell around her in Europe. All the places they’d met should never have happened. Every time she saw him, a tiny sigh escaped her heart, leaving an ache to replace it. Then she questioned, why any relationship? Conflicted, she left.

        A snicker from Aidan drew their attention. He hunched his shoulders in a gesture as if to say, “what?” when they both stared.

        Fee breezed past Donal with a shrug. “You have to leave. There’s no reason for you to be here.” His aura captured another whisper of her heart as she passed him.

        “Is this reason enough?” He slapped a gold shamrock on the counter. Aidan  pounced on it, but Donal was faster. He covered it, turned his head toward Fee and crooked one cocky brow. Daring her to run from the room.

        The blood drained from her face. “W––wh––where did you find it?”

        “Deep in one of my jacket pockets. ’Tis guessing I am now, ’tis been there since the first time we met. Ever after I’ve had this unexplainable pull that runs us into each other. What else could it be?”

        “Pfft. It’s called love ‘em and leave ‘em. No pull or magic to it. Just you. Give me back my coin and then leave me alone. Go back to Ireland.”

        “Hold now, lass!” Aidan blurted. Frowns all around. “He’s a paying customer, Fee. Ya can’t trow him out. Besides maybe he’s here for green beer.”

        “He’s not.”

        Fionna flipped directions faster than a fish slipped out of reach. Fine, let him keep the coin. She’d learned to be without it. Luck she didn’t need, not with him standing in front of her, making her blood race like a thoroughbred. She needed a curse to send the man away.

        Her hands shook so, she had to clutch them together while she strode through the swinging doors to the kitchen. “Let it lie, Donal. I’m not interested,” she lied.

*

        The hell she wasn’t interested.

        Donal McGregor kicked off his shoes after he slammed shut the hotel door. How had he ended up in the very bar in Sedona, face to face with Fionna, the most stubborn woman he’d ever had the pleasure to meet? Truth was definitely stranger than fiction. He felt bewitched. His heartbeat raced whenever he got near the lass. Inexplicable.  

        Lying with ankles crossed on the king-sized bed, coin clasped tightly in his fist, the golden shamrock burned like molten lava. A reminder of the lass’ fiery hair and blazing temper. A wispy breeze floated over his lips to awaken the memory of her buttery-soft lips touching his in a kiss that branded her name on his heart. Damn the woman. 

        The smallest of sounds escaped her and his eyes flew open. She was here. The temperature of the room heightened until an ethereal, sultry mist hugged him. He leaned up on both elbows and jerked his head, scanning every corner, looking for her.

        Closing his eyes, he sensed her all over again. He lay the shamrock on the bed covers with his hand protectively over top of it.

*

        Though she stayed busy with dinner and a wildly crazy crash of people, her mind strayed to Donal and the shamrock. Suddenly the pub noise died to nothing. At the door stood the towering blond biker.

        Fionna worried her bottom lip and sucked in a ragged breath. No words would form.

        He crooked his finger at her and she shook her head. She swallowed hard and backed away. Backed into a solid, warm body.

        Aidan whispered in her ear. “Go to him, lass. You know you want to.”

        The crowd opened a path for Donal that led to Fee. She felt a nudge that pushed her into his powerful arms. He placed the shamrock into the cup of one of her palms and closed her hand around it. While they held it, a glint o’ green sparked from his gaze into her bistre eyes and he said, “I love ya, Fionna Glen Eire. I’ve loved ya since the first time we drank the mead.”

        The shamrock slipped from her fingers and rolled across the floor as she slid her palms around his waist. The glow from her perception enveloped his dear face and she accepted what she’d felt all through her travels.

        “We were meant to be, Donal. I love ya. And I’ll no run from the guilt of it nay more.”

        “’Twas a kiss, lassie. Only a kiss. Naught else.” Then he lowered his head, branding her as his forevermore with only a kiss.

        Aidan chuckled gleefully and sprinkled magic dust over the couple. “An’ the luck o’ the Irish be with ya. May ya live happily ever after.”

       

Happily Ever After

Chocolate, Flowers and…

Happily Ever After

     Val and Tina Hart nestled in front of the fire in their suite and clinked wine glasses.

   “Here’s to another successful Valentine’s Day, darlin’.” Val’s deep voice rumbled with a suppressed chuckle.

    “We did good this year, didn’t we?” Tina’s eyes twinkled like an elf’s.

    Val slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulders and snuggled her into his side. “We had a few close calls but all in all, true love won out.”

    “I was definitely worried about the Kramers, honey. She was so distraught over the loss of their little girl, but Spence loves Aileen. They needed the magic of Valentine Mountain to find their love again. You did well on that one.”
     “They’re acting just like newlyweds now. They’re both wearing their golden bands.” He kissed her temple. “And thank goodness Lance and Angie finally figured things out.”

     Tina laughed, the sound, light and airy, warmed his heart.

     “I was about to give up on those two,” she added. “I decided he’d never get it and she would never break that silly girlfriend rule. Those two have been in love forever but just couldn’t admit it. Lance did me proud when he dug through all the candy hearts to find the one that said BE MINE.”
      “Good thing Jesse was here with that dog of his, huh? I’d hate to think what might have happened to Megan without them.”

     “I almost didn’t recognize her when she checked in, even though I read all her books. She gets her own happily ever after now. And that boy finally gets to know how special he is to all of us.”

     “Darlin’, Jesse hasn’t been a boy for a long time. He’s a full-grown man and a hero.” Val squeezed Tina’s hand. “He just needed to be reminded of that he’s not an outsider.” He poured champagne into their glasses.

      Tina giggled, her eyes twinkling with a memory. “What about Taffy and Ben? I can just picture that poor girl coming out the cardboard cake at the bachelor party. Thank goodness Ben is such a gentleman. And thank goodness that party didn’t leave any shocking remnants lying about.” She shuddered in mock dismay.

      “A gentleman with good tastes—in women and champagne. I think the two of them will be very happy together. Do you suppose Taffy’s friend, Kayla, will volunteer for Ben’s bachelor party?”

      Her giggles erupted into a throaty chuckle. “I do hope they’ll celebrate it here!”

Val clinked his glass against Tina’s again. “This has been a year for starting over, don’t you think?”

     Nodding and then taking a sip, Tina swallowed before answering. “When those twins set up the reservations for their parents, I thought my heart would break. Andy and Glory almost lost each other.” She sniffled a little. He reached for a tissue and handed it to her. “I can’t imagine what they went through but I’m so happy love won out and they’re back together.”

      He sighed and then noticed the plate of goodies Tina had set out. “Are those from Holly’s bakery?” At his wife’s smile, he snagged two of the cake balls and popped them into his mouth one after the other. “How long before we’re catering the reception for the sheriff and Holly?”

      The corners of Tina’s mouth curled up. “If I know Brett Landers, not long. He’s a man of action, after all and Holly definitely found a recipe for love.”

     “What do you think about Philomena and Nate getting together?” Val asked, a bit distracted as he eyed the plate.

    “Don’t ruin your dinner, dear,” Tina admonished. “And she prefers Mena. I’m thrilled Nate finally realized she’s not Sean’s little sister any longer—that she’s a grown-up in her own right.”

      Val chuckled. “I don’t think wild stallions could pull them apart now.”

      “It was good to see Toddye back here, and as much as I worried about her being alone, Brian certainly made sure she’d forget about any heartbreak her divorce caused.”

      “That man is handy for all sorts of things.” Val waggled his eyebrows. “I wonder if he’s ever uncovered the sign on his cabin.”

      “You mean the one with the intertwined hearts that says Cupid’s Cabin on it?” Tina leaned closer to kiss her husband. “I loved living there when we were newlyweds. I’m certain the magic is still there.”

    “It was nice to have so much family here this year.” Val's expression turned thoughtful. “I almost sent that Collin packing when he showed up.”

      Tina harrumphed softly. “You and Angelique both needed to trust that young man. Rumors only bring remorse so don’t jump to conclusions when you hear one. Luckily, he was determined to make Angelique see things his way.”

      “And what a way to end the Nearlywed Game! Him down on one knee proposing? He made our Angel a very happy girl.” He slipped his arm around his bride of sixty years. “It bodes well, I think, that Brian and Toddye won the game.”

       Burrowing against his side, Tina sighed happily. “Happy Valentine’s Day, darling.” She raised her face for a kiss, and he was happy to oblige.

     “Every day with you is Valentine’s Day, sweetheart. And every day here at the SweetHart Lodge means true love finds its Happily Ever After.”

♥♥♥♥

Thank you, everyone, for stopping by to read our Valentine stories. We hope you enjoyed. Stay tuned for more editions of the Wild Okie Writers coming to a blog near you. Updates will be posted to let you know about our next project.

Happy Valentine's Day

from

The Wild Okie Writers!

May you always have Chocolate, Flowers, and a Happily Ever After!

The Outsider

 The Outsider

by

Silver James

     Megan Carter stared at the blank window open on her laptop screen. She’d returned to Valentine, Colorado to be inspired, so this was supposed to be easy. She sucked hard on a chocolate Tootsie Pop, the white paper stick jammed in the corner of her mouth like a skinny cigarette.

     “What was I thinking? Oh, wait. I wasn’t thinking. Idiot. It’s February. In the Rockies. I hate snow.” She pushed back from the desk and rose to pace the confines of her luxury cabin at the SweetHart Lodge.

     The cell phone on the desk buzzed, dancing across the polished surface like water on a hot griddle. Megan didn’t bother to answer. The caller was either her editor or her agent. Both were panicked about her deadline.

     “Which is why I freaking came up here!” Her frustrated shout echoed through the empty room.

     This trip was supposed to be all about inspiration. She’d lived in Valentine for a couple of years in high school. Until her mother got wanderlust, picked up everything they owned, and moved to San Diego. It doesn’t snow in San Diego. But it snows in Megan’s unfinished romance novel. Hence her trip back to Valentine for inspiration. Her hero was a hunky ski patrol member and her heroine a reckless downhill skier. The whole idea was ludicrous. She knew nothing about skiing. What had she been thinking? Oh, yeah. Back to that again. 

     She poured a cup of coffee, lacing it liberally with cream and sugar before moving to stand in front of the picture window. Fat snowflakes drifted down and she experienced a moment of vertigo like she’d been caught in a snow globe, held upside down and shaken, not stirred. She’d have to bundle up soon and trudge over to the main lodge. Maybe that whole après ski thing would soak in as guests schmoozed around the fire. She could eavesdrop to get her Muse into high gear—and get an Irish coffee at the bar.

****

     Jesse Travers ducked his chin to his chest and hunched his right shoulder as he turned away from the couple strolling along the sidewalk he’d just shoveled. Holding hands and making goo-goo eyes at each other, they passed him like he was invisible. Just as well. He’d hate to give the woman nightmares.

     Wiping the sweat off his brow, he knocked his hood back. If it kept snowing, he’d have to get out the snow blower to keep up. He hated the noise and oily stink of the engine fumes when it was running. The sound and smell reminded him of things that gave him nightmares.

     Seemed he hated a lot of things these days. This place. The people who vacationed here. Life. He’d ended up back in Valentine by default after his discharge from Walter Reed Hospital in D.C. His old man had finally died and Jesse had to return to pay off the bastard’s debts. Val Hart offered Jesse a job and a place to stay in one of the old cabins on the back of the property. He hid out, doing odd jobs and repairs around the place. Come spring though, he and Sarge were leaving.

     A woman’s terrified scream raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Without a second thought, Jesse dashed toward the sound. He rounded the corner of one of the cabins and slid to a halt. Sarge had someone cornered on the ground. The woman was curled into a tight ball, still screaming even as she tried to fend off her furry attacker. Jesse waded into the fray, wrapped his fingers in Sarge’s collar, and yanked the big idiot back.

     “Stop screamin’, ma’am. He won’t hurt you.” The dog lunged at the woman’s face and she screamed again, right before the damned dog licked her face.

     “Jeez, Sarge. Release.” Jesse barked the order and the dog, with one final lick which dislodged something from the woman’s mouth, obeyed.

     She stared into amazing blue eyes—as hard and bright as aquamarine glinting under the summer sun—the same blue eyes she saw whenever she dreamed up a new hero. She recognized those eyes. Megan gasped.

     Jesse flinched at the sound she made. He flipped up his hood and shifted his face into the shadows. Only then did she realize he thought she was upset by his scars. She wasn’t. This man—who’d once been a boy as furtive in the shadows as he was now—had both rescued and humiliated her. She remembered the boy Jesse Travers had once been—the son of the town drunk—and a brutal man. She’d seen the bruises and cuts the boy tried so hard to hide. He’d been proud, even then, wearing his lost-and-found clothes like they came from an upscale store at the mall. He’d had a lean and hungry look in those days, much like his current expression.

     Megan peered around her. The dog had knocked off her glasses and now that both man and animal had backed away, she couldn’t see them as plainly. She patted the snow and rolled to her knees to check underneath her. Jesse just watched, silent and sullen. The dog—wolf—ravenous monster—decided she was playing a game. He jumped on her back, knocking her face first in the snow. She whimpered and tried to fend off the crazed animal.

     “Sarge, fuss.” Jesse’s voice crackled with command. The word sounded like “fooss,” German for “heel.” The dog seemed reluctant to leave her alone but he responded, dutifully returning to his master’s side. “Platz, Sarge.”

     A moment later, Sarge was belly down in the snow but his shining eyes tracked every move Megan made as she searched the snow again.

     “Lose something?”

     “Yes. My glasses.”

     Jesse kicked at the snow around his feet then bent from the waist and retrieved her heavy black frames. He hesitated then pulled out the tail of his flannel shirt and dried them off before handing them to Megan.

     She took them, settled them on her face, and gazed up at him. “I know you.” He shook his head and backed away. “Wait. Please? Jesse, right? Jesse Travers. You…I…we…” She inhaled and blinked a few times. “You saved me in high school. Down under the bleachers at the football field.” She held out her hand and offered a smile. “I think you just saved me again.” Megan wasn’t about to mention what else they’d done, or how he’d broken her heart.

     Jesse stared at her face before his gaze traveled to her outstretched hand. He wiped his palm down the side of his thigh before taking hers and pulling her to her feet. He didn’t say anything but his shadowed eyes glinted like gemstones under the soft streetlamps lining the pathway. Once she was on her feet, he jerked his hand away, like contact with her skin burned.

     “I’m Me—”

     “I remember. Megan Carter.” He turned on his heel and slapped his thigh for the dog to follow him. They left her standing there.

     If it hadn’t been so cold, Megan would have butt-planted in the snow. As it was, her knees barely held her upright. “Well, damn.” She exhaled on the oath, softening the sound of it.

     Jesse Travers. The boy of her dreams. The slayer of her dragons. And the man who’d broken her heart.

****

     His heart pounded in his chest and he fought the adrenaline surging through his body setting his fingers and toes on fire. He wanted to hit something. Or run. Megan Carter. She hadn’t changed a bit. Big doe eyes blinking behind the veil of her thick glasses. Full lips begging to be kissed. And he had. Despite everything, he had. Kissed her lips and more back then.

     Sarge whined at his side and Jesse automatically dropped his hand to the big dog’s head. He’d dreamed about her, hunkered down in a dozen different war zones. He’d pretended she was still his, that she’d be waiting for him when—if—he returned. He didn’t deserve her, but he’d wanted her. What the hell was she doing here? Especially now.

     The dog whined again as Jesse gripped his ruff so tight he was pulling fur. He relaxed his hand and breathed. In. Out. Thinking about the action until the pressure in his chest eased.

     Another couple approached, arms wrapped around each other. Jesse turned away, burying his face against the rough wool of his coat. He was still the invisible man. Just as well. He couldn’t stand to look in the mirror so how could he expect anyone else to look at him. Except Megan. She’d watched him. Even though she gasped—he knew he’d frightened her—but she didn’t turn away. She didn’t hide from the scars on his ruined face.

     Sarge crunched something in his teeth. Jesse bent to take whatever it was away, only to pull out a sticky mess wrapped around a wad of paper. He laughed. Sarge’s penchant for sweets was legendary. That’s why the dog went after Megan. She’d been sucking on a chocolate Tootsie Pop. The muscles of his face stretched and felt odd. Then he realized he was smiling. He hadn’t smiled in…he couldn’t remember.

****

     Megan cupped both hands around her Irish coffee and stared at the flames leaping in the massive fireplace. Her view was blocked momentarily as Tina Hart, one of the owners of the SweetHart Lodge plopped into the chair next to her.

     The grandmotherly woman didn’t waste time with small talk. “Val and I saw you talking to Jesse.”

     Blinking a few times, Megan considered what to say. Her jaw finally loosened so she could speak. “Is there a problem with that? Is he not allowed to speak to guests?” She snarled the questions.

     Tina arched one brow. “Jesse can speak to whomever he pleases. I just—”

     “You just what? If he’s allowed to speak to guests then there is no problem with me talking to him, is there?” Megan clenched the glass coffee mug so tightly the whipped cream on top threatened to slosh over the edges. What had gotten into her? She inhaled, relaxed her hands, took a sip, and then exhaled. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hart. That was rude of me. I just…Jesse and I were in high school together. Things were… Well… His life back then…I mean…” She inhaled deeply. “I just want things to be okay for him.”

     The woman leaned closer and patted her knee. “My grandson went to school with Jesse, too. It’s okay, hon. I understand. And I’m glad to see he has a champion. Afghanistan was…”

     Megan winced. “Is that how he was injured?” She was relieved, though, as she’d worried his father had scarred Jesse’s face with one of his beatings.

     Tina nodded and spent a few minutes explaining about the IED explosion, Jesse’s injuries, what Sarge meant to him, and why he was back in Valentine. The longer the innkeeper spoke, the more Megan’s heart broke.

     That night in bed, she tossed and turned. Every time she closed her eyes in an attempt to sleep Jesse’s eyes pierced the darkness. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen and he was the most handsome man she’d ever known. Even with the scar. She wanted to kiss it, kiss him. Hold him. Her body ached with the memory of their one time together. It had hurt and been uncomfortable and she’d cried but Jesse held her and kissed her and told her everything would be okay. Only it wasn’t. He disappeared the next morning and a week later, her mother was packing them up to move.

     Megan knew what she wanted. She’d always loved Jesse and she was positive her feelings were more than the lingering effects of a schoolgirl crush. No other boy had ever affected her like he did. And now he was a man—a man still confined to the shadows. Her stomach lurched at the thought. He must be so lonely. She wanted to bring him out into the light, to prove he didn’t have to be on the outside looking in. Never again.

     With her mind made up, she rolled over and drifted off to sleep.

****

     Jesse greeted the dawn without ever seeing his bed. He’d been too restless, but he’d come to a decision. He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t face Megan, or the pity he knew would be in her expression whenever she looked at him.

     Sarge was curled on the rug, his muzzle resting on his front paws, eyes never leaving his master. He occasionally whined and offered a gentle thump of his tail on the worn wooden floor of the cabin.

     “We can’t stay, Sarge.”

     The dog’s gentle woof sounded chastising. Ignoring the dog’s censure and the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Jesse got ready for his day. A couple of the snowmobiles needed maintenance. He’d take care of those and then tell Val Hart that he was moving on.

     Chores came hard and fast and before Jesse realized it, the sun dipped behind Valentine Mountain. Lights blinked on in the gathering shadows even though the sky looked like someone had painted it with pastel pinks and purples. Mr. Hart would be in the office. It was time to say goodbye. As he turned the corner of the building, he found the parking lot full of vehicles, including the sheriff’s SUV. A crowd gathered near the front doors to the Lodge.

     “There he is, Sheriff Landers!” Brian Benjamin, the Lodge’s ski instructor, pointed toward Jesse.

     He slowed and hunched lower under his hood.

     Val Hart waved him over, calling, “Jesse, we need you! We have a missing guest.”

He relaxed a little but kept his chin down. There were a lot of people and lights and he wasn’t comfortable with either.

     “We don’t know when she went missing,” Mr. Hart explained to the sheriff. “One of the maids saw her headed toward Cupid’s Creek Trail. Nobody saw her come back, her room is empty, and with weather moving in, we’re worried.”

     The old man gave a quick description but when he said the guest’s name, Jesse stopped breathing. Megan was missing? Sarge quivered at his side, picking up on the tension in the group.

     The sheriff split the searchers into groups and gave terse orders. Sarge did his best to pick up the scent but the area was muddled with tracks, people, and too many odors for the dog to winnow out the right one. Hard dark and a fast-moving winter storm had the sheriff calling off the search around ten p.m. Disheartened people tramped into the Lodge looking for food, drink, and warmth.

     Jesse wasn’t ready to give up. He’d run away from her in high school. He wouldn’t abandon her now. “We’ll find her.” He turned on his heel and gave Sarge a sharp command. “Fuss. Heel.” They started up Cupid’s Creek Trail and Jesse issued another order. “Such, Sarge.” The word sounded like tsuuk and meant track. “Such Megan.”

     The dog raised his muzzle, lifted one front foot then he lowered his nose to the snow and took off. Jesse followed close behind, his breath catching in his chest as his heart hammered. Within minutes, a curtain of snow cut off view of the lodge. Jesse didn’t stop. Megan was out there, lost and alone, and she wouldn’t survive the night if he didn’t find her.

     Midnight arrived. And left. The military watch on Jesse’s wrist glowed. Two a.m. The sharp wind abated but still swirled and drifted snow so that he had to struggle forward. He was so cold. And so afraid. Then Sarge’s bark echoed through the night. And he heard a faint shout.

     “Help!”

     Megan! He pushed through the snow, running hard now, no longer exhausted. Sarge’s excited barking guided him and he found her halfway submerged in a pond at the bottom of a short slope. The ice had broken, dowsing her legs. The dog had her coat sleeve in his mouth and was tugging even as Jesse slid down the slope.

     After dragging her up onto the bank, he noticed her blue lips. Her teeth chattered so much she couldn’t talk. He didn’t have a radio. Staring around him, wild-eyed and panicked, he realized they were trapped in white-out conditions. Even if he had a radio, no one could find them. It was up to him to get Megan to safety. He wouldn’t fail her again. He’d die first. He pushed away the very real possibility that neither of them would make it.

     “Megan? Megan, you have to hang on, baby. I’m going to get you out of here. I’ll get you home and safe.”

     She nodded mutely.

     “Sarge! Home, boy. Take us home.” With a happy bark, the big dog followed an overflow trough below the pond. Jesse wanted to carry Megan but she’d be better off moving, getting the blood to flowing.

     After what seemed like hours, the area around them looked familiar. A few minutes later, Sarge led them straight to Jesse’s cabin. Inside, Megan collapsed on his ratty old sofa while Jesse stoked the fire.

     “I’ll start the shower. We need to get you out of those wet clothes, Megan. I have to get you warm, baby. Okay?”

     Once in his bathroom, Jesse discovered Megan didn’t have the strength to stand on her own. He stripped her and then, after a moment’s hesitation, he stripped as well. Taking her in his arms, he stepped into the shower, under water as hot as Megan could stand it. The small room filled with steam but he knew she could see his scars—every last ugly one of them.

     Megan gazed up at him, her eyes tracing the scar that ran from his forehead and down around his left eye to slash across his cheekbone. The tip of her finger followed the same path a moment later. Her touch felt almost reverent. Her teeth had stopped chattering and color flooded her cheeks.

     “You’re always saving me, Jesse.”

     He shook his head, denying where the conversation was headed. “I’m no hero, Megan.”

     “You are to me.” She rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. “You always have been,” she murmured against his mouth.

     With a groan, he wrapped her tighter in his arms and kissed her back, his tongue tracing her lips before they parted and let him in to taste the sweetness of her mouth. The bands constricting his chest and heart eased.

     Later, after he’d called the sheriff to let everyone know Megan was safe, they lay curled together under a pile of blankets in front of the fire. He told her about his life. About what had happened the night after he’d pledged his love to her and she to him. About the Army. About Afghanistan. About Walter Reed. Sarge lay beside Megan, adding his warmth.

     “I loved you, you know,” she whispered when he finished his story. “I still do.” He opened his mouth to protest but she stopped him with a gentle finger laid across his lips. “Shh. All I want is the chance to get to know you again.”

     Jesse closed his eyes. “There’s not much to know. Not much worth knowing.” He mumbled the words and moved to roll away from her. She’d have none of it.

     “I love you, Jesse Travers. Period. Just the way you are. I have since that day under the bleachers when you scared those bullies away.” She snuggled into his arms and within a few minutes, her misadventures caught up with her and she drifted off.

     When Megan awoke, she was alone. The fire radiated heat and looked liked it had been stoked not too long before. She found a neatly-folded stack of her clothes—jeans, sweater, socks, and dry boots. She dressed in front of the fire, still chilled to the bone from her ordeal. She’d been terrified but never once doubted that Jesse would find her. She knew all she had to do was hang on until he came. He didn’t disappoint.

     Something scratched at the door. Curious, Megan opened it. Sarge sat on the porch, the handles of a bag from Serendipity Bakery in his mouth. She retrieved it and peeked inside—chocolate, flowers, and… She glanced up at the man who stood in the shadows of the porch. He’d always been an outsider. She refused to let him remain one.

     “Are these for me, Sarge?”

     The dog woofed and she rubbed his ears as he nosed the bag. Megan smiled at Jesse and stretched out her hand. He took it and moved into a small patch of sunlight. He wasn’t wearing his hood. Her eyes glistened with tears as she twined her arms around his neck.

     “I love you.”

     “Yeah…I…I love you, too.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Be sure to return tomorrow for the next story, CHOCOLATE, FLOWERS, AND...CHAMPAGNE by Anna Kittrell. If you missed a story, you can use the Older Post button below or the archive list on the right to go back and catch up. Happy Valentine's Day!

My True Love Gave to Me

My True Love Gave to Me

...twelve days of Christmas cheer...

The Wild Okie Writers

Pemberton Hall, England

After midnight

December 26, 1814

       Servants moved about the Hall dousing candles and clearing away the last vestiges of the ball. Weary footmen escorted guests to their carriages or their sleeping rooms. In the kitchens, scullery maids washed dishes while the cooks began preparations to feed guests in the morning. In the Hall itself, only a few creatures still stirred. Lords and ladies, maids and geese, swans and French hens were off to their beds, where visions of true love danced in their heads.

       The Duke and Duchess of Pemberton retired to their rooms for a warm winter’s nap, secure in the knowledge their Christmas Ball was once again a success. After all…

       Twelve drummers drumming announced the identity of Maximilan Francis Leopoldo Corvinus, the Duke of Montrovia and Crown Prince of Austria just in time for him to dance the last waltz with his true love, the Lady Edwina Swann. They discovered Christmas was the most wonderful time of the year to fall in love.

       Despite her harrowing experience with eleven pipers piping, Lady Dinah Cooper found salvation with playwright Owen Fletcher, and the chance for a new life with him. She found her peace on earth in his faith and admiration.

       Sinclair Fitzholden, the Duke of Hawksford, lost his heart to the grateful Lady Victoria Gremswell, even as his roguish reputation warred with his concern for hers. He didn’t care if those merry gentlemen rested or were dismayed, only that he won out over the ten lords a’leaping.

       Even with nine ladies dancing for his attention, Lord Dominick Carrington, the new Earl of Abernathy, rediscovered his true love when the Scottish lass, Lady Mackenna Douglas, materialized as if from his dreams. He’d thought her lost to him forever, but her appearance reminded him that Christmas wishes did come true.  

       Lord Robert Wolverton, Wolfy to his friends, once declared he’d never pluck a feather from Lady Eleanor Swann—in fact he’d be more likely to kiss one of the eight maids a’milking Lord Waverly’s cows, but amid halls decked with holly, Wolfy was positive he’d marry Lady Nora, just as soon as he convinced her to lose her aversion to marriage.

       Seven Swanns went a’swimming and found true love, bringing joy to the world—especially to their parents, Lord and Lady Cockswood. Lady Georgette, identical twin of Edwina, never expected to find it at the Christmas Ball, and especially not in the arms of her best friend’s older brother, David Barrington, the Duke of Alford. As Georgie discovered, David was the man who knew her heart—could tell her apart from her twin—and who loved her for herself.

       Six geese a’laying eggs of innuendo and rumor couldn’t stop true love from finding the way, despite the gaggle’s cries of “Do you hear what I hear?” Lady Olivia Standford and Lord Andrew Randall overcame the scandal spread by malicious siblings. A very private ceremony was held in the snowy gardens of Pemberton Hall before the reunited bride and groom dashed away.

       Bartholomew Dixon, Viscount Weston, future Earl of Hartley made a damnable bet to collect five golden rings from five different ladies. In pursuit of the fifth and final ring, belonging to the Lady Evelyn Powell, he was distracted by the lovely Lady Philippa Swann. And rather than collect the bet, Bartie lost his heart to Pippa on the midnight clear.

       Four calling birds seemed destined to ruin Lady Catherine Swann’s reputation but Lord Richard Sefton, the Earl of Saxonhurst, intervened each time and saved her chestnuts from getting roasted— much to her chagrin at having to be rescued. Convinced curiosity might harm his Cat, Richard intended to keep her safe for the rest of their lives.

       When Lady Charlotte Swann was confronted by the man who broke her heart, she already knew who’d been naughty and nice. Lord Evan Leighton lived a double life, and with the assistance of the three French hens, he hoped to settle the unfinished business between him and the lovely Lady Lottie—business of the heart to be sealed with a kiss.

       Upon arriving at the winter wonderland that was Pemberton Hall, Nathan, Duke of Hastings, discovered that his one true love, Lady Theodosia Swann, was there. With the help of two turtle doves and a bit of mistletoe, Nathan rekindled the passion he and Thia once shared and the two of them found a life of love and hope.

       Marcus, Viscount Weatherby loved Lady Emma Surrey with all his heart, but her conniving family took matters out of his hand long ago. Hearing the truth, and her secret, from Emma’s lips, Marcus knew he’d finally be home for Christmas with her in his arms. And that partridge in a pear tree? It flew away through the silent night to bring true love to other lords and ladies.

       We hope you have enjoyed our little Regency tale. We’ll be back again for Valentine’s Day. In the meantime, the Wild Okie Writers wish a Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!