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Healing Time by Jane Carver Time moves on. Why do I have to? Brianna tapped her fingers against the steering wheel as the windshield wipers tapped time to the song on the radio. A week after being honorably discharged out of the Army at Fort Hood in central Texas, she now drove cautiously into the Gulf Coast/Piney Woods region of the state. Cautiously because rain fell in buckets, and the daylight, long hidden behind black clouds, dimmed even more with sunset. This is like waiting for the other shoe to fall. She no sooner said that than she cringed, waiting for lightening to strike the rented Camry she drove. Never wise to challenge the Fates, she reminded herself. As a way of reinforcing her thought, a bolt of lightening struck further up the road, and a deafening rumble of thunder rolled over her. Okay, okay, so I’ll stop whining. Won’t do me any good anyway. When it’s my time to go, it will be my time to go. * * * * Watching the signs, she turned on to the road headed for town. Reaching across to the passenger seat, she picked up the email she got a week earlier. No need to read it—even if she could while negotiating the narrower road—she’d read it so many times already, she had it memorized. I did some investigating after
I met you last fall in that Army hospital in Iraq. There is something
about you that is quite special—healing is a strength you wear like a
second skin. I sensed that through our brief touching of hands.Spellfire,
Texas—my hometown— has need of a person with your skills. I offer
you a job and a place of peace. Perhaps you might like our town so well
that you decide to settle here. Sincerely, Noah Spellfire Pertinent contact information followed. Because she seemed to have time on her hands, Brianna decided to take him up on the offer. But the words ‘settle down’ really drew her. At no time in her life—her long life—had she settled down in one place long enough to feel permanent. She never got close to anyone because sooner or later, she left. Often unexpectedly. She wanted no one left behind to mourn her absence or rage at how inconsiderate she was for not telling him or her goodbye. * * * * A good ten miles out, she once more drove through thick pine forests though she could have sworn she smelled the Gulf’s salty tang. A few turns more and she pulled up at a drive, crushed rock surrounded by a thick grassy lawn, shaded by water oaks at least a century old. Turning up the driveway, she spotted a house ahead. One story, dark green roof and wide front porch, it almost beckoned her with its warmth and charm. One end of the house faced a pasture, grown high with native grass withered into winter’s fodder. A frisky December wind tossed the stalks, bent them so they appeared to roll like waves on a brisk sea. That end of the house lay wrapped in windows so she guessed the view would be spectacular whether seeing winter’s undulating dried foliage or spring’s flowered adornment. Normally at ease no matter what the situation, and only the fates knew how many situations, her pulse sped while she gulped from a sudden case of nerves. What the hell? If Hannibal, McArthur, those stinking tunnels in the ‘Cong delta and those frigging mountain passes in Afghanistan didn’t shake me up then why in hell am I so jittery about meeting this man? The last time I met an Alexander… Now that man was reason to be concerned. She gave up her mental musings and got out of the car. Up the wide stairs and into the shelter of the front porch, she stood before a wide front door out of the nippy wind. An adjustment of her purse strap on her shoulder and both hands smoothed down her hair then she put her disquiet aside and rapped sharply on the sturdy portal, prepared for whatever came next. What she got certainly wasn’t what she expected. The door flew open, and a man barked out, “We don’t want any. Go away!” Then he slammed the door in Brianna’s face. * * * * Kaden Garrett stood on the other side of the portal, hand still on the knob and suffered the distinct impression he’d just closed the door on the most important thing in his life. More important than his heritage, his work or his family, what there was left of it. * * * * “I think he does not like you, Brianna.” Alexander watched his son’s actions and hers and refrained from smiling though he wanted to so badly his jaws ached from holding his muscles still. “He is an insufferable lout.” Her words came out with more fire in her voice than she intended apparently and then must have realized to whom she spoke. “Oh, I am sorry, sir. He is your son, and you love him, I’m sure. It’s just that…” Words escaped her evidently. * * * * Kaden stared out the window. Rain fell in soft sheets, at once gentle yet insistent. Maybe this would be a good time to test out the new motor. His air boat recently went in to the marine repair shop for a new motor. He hadn’t had it out yet. Built to skim the surface of water with only a four inch draft, he’d taken it up to Silky Falls and out over land when the river flooded past the Signal Rocks. Few houses dotted the landscape out that way. Not many folks wanted to risk being cut off for a week or longer when the river filled the pastures and covered roads. More of an inconvenience than anything else, as he figured. Suddenly his thoughts of riding an air boat gave way to something entirely different. Slowly an eerie apparition formed in the window glass before him. With the light behind him, he swore he saw a woman wearing only a white man’s shirt and nothing more standing at the door. Even though her hair was as light as the shirt, he could distinguish where it fell just above her shoulders then curled under. So powerful was the image, that his guts clinched, and his neither regions jumped to attention. When someone cleared her throat, his thoughts of cool sheets and hot sex vanished in disgust. “Oh, it’s you.” He meant to sound condescending, but instead his words came out sounding…disappointed? Was he disappointed that the phantom in the glass was only this woman, or was he disappointed because what he imagined wasn’t real? Either way, she moved further into his workshop, dispelling any notions of sex. Well, to be honest, once he turned around and caught sight of her, she may have tamped down the idea of sex, but it still tickled the edges of his mind. Sex yes, but not with her, for pity’s sake. He could see where he got the idea that she was naked. She wore a flesh colored tank top and khaki colored jeans. The man’s white business shirt was correct though. In the distortion of the rainy windowpane, she could have appeared naked. He didn’t like her, he remembered. So naked sex wasn’t an issue. However, like being told not to look at the elephant’s knee, he feared he would not be able to ‘just forget’ the picture he created. “What can I do for you?” He moved to a tall stool, sat and stretched out his legs wide, resting back against the edge of the workbench, his elbows on the table, his hands folded across his stomach. He tossed his hair over his shoulders then prayed the headband still lay in place over his ears. “Your father asked me to deliver this note.” She stopped a good ten feet away from him and held out a piece of a paper. Rather than go get it, he held out one hand but not very far. “May I have it?” What he meant was, bring it to me. Did she recognize a dare when she heard one? Apparently she did, and she accepted it. Stepping between his long legs, she stopped beside his ankles and handed the paper over. But she didn’t move away. “I’ll wait in case you have a reply.” “As you wish.” Kaden shot her a look that he remembered always excited his young wife. One of those ‘we can get a lot closer than this’ looks. Brianna merely stuffed her hands in her pockets and gave him a level stare. Cocky bitch, isn’t she? Her attitude annoyed the hell out of him. Thinks she’s so cool. “Can you tell me what this word is?” His elbow still rested on the counter behind him, so in order for Brianna to see the script, she had to step closer. Further into his trap. Closer with her warmth, the smell of outdoors. What the hell is the matter with me? She took the bait and moved closer, inches from his crotch. Kaden’s shorts grew uncomfortably tight, and he cursed this game he started. Yet, he pointed to a word, which one he wasn’t sure of at that point. “Statue.” Brianna interpreted the word and started to step back. “Wait!” As if it were an emergency, Kaden almost shouted at her. Once she stopped, he had no idea what to say or do next. Only…he had to keep her close. She smelled so good. And her eyes… A pair of emeralds couldn’t be any greener. Or sparkle with… Sparkle with teasing. Kaden jumped up and almost knocked her back. She’s laughing at me! Instantly he lost his temper. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he shook her. “Why are you laughing? Why?” Two good shakes were all she allowed him before she took matters into her own hand. Literally. She might have been tall but she wasn’t as tall as him so her hand was a lot closer to his privates than he knew. Pain shot through his groin as she grabbed his balls and squeezed. Immediately he let go and tried to step back. But she had him well and good by the short hairs so he stood still, mere inches from her heaving breasts. And to add to the incredible moment, instead of shrinking in pain, his penis enlarged inside his shorts, bumping her wrist as she still held his balls in a powerful grip. “Many a man has tried to take me, but this seems to quell their desires. No one has taken it as an invitation to join with me.” Her words seemed oddly old-fashioned. “You can hate me all you want, Kaden, but I’m not leaving.” A Fairy-Barry Christmas by Elizabeth Eden (aka Jane Carver) A man lay silent and still beneath a white sheet and thin blanket. The room looked as sterile as a prison cell. The wall light emitted a faint hum, and the smell of disinfectant assaulted her nose immediately. An IV bag hung beside the bed, and a monitor next to it beeped. She cared little for hospitals except to enjoy the flowers that patients received. How many bouquets had she painted to order for people over the years? Up close the man wasn't anything special to see, no hunk or drop-dead gorgeous pin-up model. She knew drop-dead gorgeous. More than one paranormal in town could melt hearts at twenty paces. This man, however, was plain. She moved to the side of the bed and rested her chin on the side rail. Upon further examination--one that took a good ten minutes--she decided that he wasn't so bad looking at all. His light-colored hair, was it gray or pale blond, stood on end. The bump on his right temple already sported a variety of bruise colors ranging from deep purple to icky green around the edges. Thick eyebrows shadowed closed eyes. Crinkles of what might be laugh lines outlined his eyes and the curve of his mouth. His mustache fascinated her. Straight over his thin lips, it curved around the corners of his mouth and bracketed each side half the length to his chin. She wanted to touch that line of hair but refrained. She noted that his chin wasn't quite in the center of his face, but off to the right just a little. A deep line divided the space between chin and bottom lip. Fairy did reach between the rail and touch his shoulder. Nice and wide. Not hunk-wide but not narrow either. Unbidden, a sigh escaped. It would be nice if he weren't guilty of arson. And sooner or later, he'd return to wherever he came from. Like a watercolor wash, the image of burned forest eased over his features. Her muscles tensed; she couldn't let her personal feelings get in the way of business. This man might be an arsonist. Besides, even if he wasn't, he was still a 'normal'. And she was anything but. * * * * It wasn't easy opening his eyes. As hard as he commanded his body, his eyelids slid open reluctantly. Then he snapped them shut. Where he might be was confusing enough without wondering if he'd lost his mind as well. Surely that was a quee… No way, queens didn't sit in hospital rooms. Did they? And they didn't have a nose like Barbara Striesand. Did they? He opened his eyes to narrow slits and focused on the person sleeping in the chair beside the bed. That was no queen though the dark auburn braid woven in a circle around the top of her head gave the illusion of a crown. Heck, she's just a kid. He shifted on the firm mattress, uncomfortable, fast losing interest in the person sleeping in his room. His moving around must have awakened her because she stretched her arms and legs then… She bowed her back and stretched her short body fully. Oh stars above, that's no kid! Not with a chest like that! As if she sensed that someone watched her, she abruptly shot out of the chair. “About time you woke up!” * * * * The doctor stuck out his hand. “I'm Doctor Mathias.” “Barry Gaston from Dalhart.” He shook the man's hand but stayed flat on his back. He felt like shit. “A word of advice, Gaston. Don't piss off that woman.” The doctor said that with all seriousness. “Who? The deputy? Not likely. She has a gun.” Barry sat up with the doc's help so he could listen to his lungs. “Oh, I didn't mean Deputy Granger. I meant Fairy May Jones.” “Who the hell is that?” Barry chuckled because the name sounded so funny. “Ranger Jones to you.” Barry lifted his eyebrows. “Give me a break. What's she going to do? She's what? Four foot nothing?” The humor of that tiny woman bothering a fly hit him as funny so he laughed, gently because his head still hurt, but he laughed nevertheless. “Ever heard that a redhead has a red hot temper?” He nodded. “Well, this little ranger can hurt you if you're not careful.” * * * * Winkle, a roving reporter for the Spellfire Spawn newspaper, hid in the shadows, a mere two inches in fairy size. His listening skills were far larger than his appearance so he tuned in as the group left Gaston's room. “Miranda, he telling the truth?” The sheriff rarely asked such questions in public; Winkle knew he guarded the town's secrets with a vengeance so this must have been important. The reporter also knew Miranda Myers could see the true present for anyone she touched. He avoided her like the plague, seeing as he didn't want her to know the often-illegal things he did to get stories. “I wish Megan could have been here. She might have seen something in his future that would have helped. Him, if not us.” Malachi pulled out his notepad to take down the information the women could share. “Malachi, the man is innocent. He actually saw a fire starter. But whether it was a real fire-starter, a fire fairy or what, I'm not sure. Whoever it was, he didn't see a face well enough for me to read him.” Miranda turned to her sister, Molly and cocked her head. “Molly, you see anything other than what he told Lilly?” “No, he's telling the truth. Past is just what Lilly heard. Florist in Dalhart. Two other stores.” “Oh and Malachi, he was camping out to try and decide if he should open a florist store somewhere in this area. Houston maybe. One other thing, he puts up a good front about Fairy May, but he thinks she's the sexiest thing he's seen in a long time.” Miranda giggled then slid her purse up on her shoulder. “Need anything else?” “Gaston and Fairy May…huh. What a combo.” Spellfire grinned and winked. “If you two will come by the office for a few minutes and write up what you heard from Barry and then what you picked up when you touched him, I'd appreciate it.” “Sure, I can do that.” Miranda headed for the elevator. “Coming, Molly?” “Right behind you, 'randa.” Molly followed her sister, her flowing vintage dress a bright spot of color among the pastel walls of the place, Winkle though. The sheriff joined them. When the elevator doors closed, Winkle moved from the shadows. Gaston and Fairy May Jones. Now that presented a funny image in his mind. That Fairy May is such a do-gooder. It would serve her right to fall in love with a human. She thinks she's too good for me. Huh! I'll show her. With no criminal story to file, he flitted off in search of a certain shady potions dealer. One who dealt in potent patents like Love Potion Number Ten. |
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