Irene Radford - Thistle Down

“The woods know what awaits them,” she whispered.

“We can fix this. We have to.” He gestured to encompass the entire wood and themselves. “Can we fix what’s between us, Dusty?”

“I don’t know.” She snuffled again.

“Why did you run?”

“It seemed the right thing to do.”

“How?”

“You accused Haywood of being behind the plot to destroy The Ten Acre Wood. I was starting to like him. He was the first man I chose to date. It was my decision, not my mother’s or Dick’s. Just me.”

“He seems like a logical suspect. Thistle had some information she shared after you left.”

“But… but he kissed me. It was magic. I can’t be that bad a judge of character. I know I can’t!”

Anger sent heat to Chase’s head and heart. “When and where have you given yourself the opportunity to learn enough about people in general to judge a man’s character?”

He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her. He got as far as reaching for her.

“What about you, Chase Norton? I thought I knew you. I thought I could trust you.”

“I fixed your damn music box!”

“Then you go manufacturing evidence against a man who says he loves me. A man who makes my heart lighter and my toes tingle.”

“I didn’t manufacture anything. I found evidence that links him to this operation. Thistle watched him give bad mushrooms disguised in chocolate to a bunch of kids, encouraging them to blow up the cell tower and start fires with illegal fireworks. They talked about tipping over the Ferris wheel at the carnival.”

“You drew conclusions on bits and pieces of evidence because you can’t stand that I like him. Thistle doesn’t like him. She hasn’t… she…”

Too angry to speak, he clenched her tight against him and ground his mouth into hers.

She pounded his chest with her fists. Three blows came sharp and fierce and frightened.

He loosened his grip and softened his kiss, tasting, savoring the tenderness of her inexperience. If this was the only time in his life he got to hold her this close, he needed to make the most of it.

Then her fingers spread and clutched his shirt. She rose on tiptoe to come closer.

His blood sang. The world fell away.

And still they kissed, explored, cherished this moment out of time. Nothing existed but the two of them.

They pressed closer. He needed to merge with her body, mind, and soul, become one being, one thought, one life.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take advantage of her innocence and inexperience. With a monumental effort, he contented himself with exploring her mouth, her eyes, her neck, with his kisses.

Slowly they relaxed and drew apart.

Chase’s hands shook and his knees knocked together.

“What just happened?” he whispered into her hair, too afraid of shattering into a million pieces if he let her go.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Dusty, I…”

“This is too much! Too soon.” She wrenched away from him and ran, thrashing through the woods. “I don’t know who to trust. Who to love.”

“Dusty!”

The only reply was the sound of a sapling thwapping against a bigger tree as she thrust it aside in her headlong flight.

“DUSTY, PLEASE COME OUT of the basement and talk to me,” Thistle called down the deep black hole into Dusty’s lair.

Why did her friend have to hide down there?

Dusty mumbled something Thistle couldn’t understand.

“I know you feel hurt and betrayed, Dusty. The same thing happened to me. It’s why-it’s why I’m exiled.” Thistle had to swallow hard to get the words around the lump in her throat. Then she swallowed again.

“What?” Dusty appeared at the bottom of the crooked stairs, her face a pale blob in the darkness.

“Please, Dusty, come up. You know I can’t go down there.”

“Why not?” She came up a few steps, enough for her face to resolve into two huge eyes and a mouth surrounded by shadows.

“Because underground is death to Pixies. Elves and Faeries live underhill, at least during the day, and banished us to the sun when they removed themselves from humanity.”

“That’s folkloric nonsense.”

“So are Pixies.” Thistle giggled for the first time in hours. “Want to know what happened between me and Alder? I can almost guarantee it’s more embarrassing than your date with Haywood. Some day I’ll be able to laugh about it. Not yet, though.”

“Is that the beginning of some sage advice?” Dusty moved closer to the light.

Thistle breathed easier and signaled with a hand wave for M’velle and Meggie to back off. She couldn’t do anything about Joe trying not to be obvious in his listening. But his office door was open and he read the same page on his computer three times without touching any key to make it move.

“Advice in the form of a long story that I can’t tell you while you hide.”

“Oh, well, it has to be more interesting than Dick promising to always take care of me. He had the audacity to tell me I didn’t need a man of my own, he’d always be there for me. But he can’t. He won’t. He’s my brother, not a potential lover.”

“Another good reason for you to take charge of your life and stop hiding.”

“Bad habits die hard,” Dusty sighed, emerging from the cool depths of the dreaded basement. “You can go back to work, girls,” she called, without having to see Meggie and M’Velle hovering around the corner. “But thank you for your concern.”

“They’re your friends,” Thistle whispered. “You can’t have too many friends.”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

A large tour group entered the front door of the museum. “Is this place air-conditioned?” a woman asked, presenting admission tickets to M’velle.

“No, ma’am. It’s well designed with deep overhangs and shade trees. We try to keep the place as authentic as possible.” She led them off into the parlor.

Meggie greeted the next smaller group and led them upstairs so the tours wouldn’t overlap.

“First time I’ve known those two to jump into tours without protests or at least rolled eyes and huge reluctance to heave themselves out of their chairs.” Dusty stared in the direction they’d departed with hands on hips and pursed lips.

“They are learning. Today, they know you and I need to talk, so they’ve given us the back room.” Thistle looped her arm through Dusty’s and led her into the lounge with its refrigerator, worktable, and blessed air-conditioning.

Thistle had never thought about the outside temperature in summer. Heat was heat, a fact of life that couldn’t be avoided. In winter, when cold nearly froze her wings, that was when she sought shelter.

“So tell me why you feel betrayed and why it’s worse than Chase thinking Hay is the culprit behind the logging order,” Dusty ordered while fishing the pitcher of iced tea out of the refrigerator. “And maybe the instigator in the recent rash of vandalism. I find it hard to believe. Very hard to believe. He’s sweet and kind.” She looked out the back window toward the cliff and the waterfall.

“Talk, Thistle, or I go back downstairs and try to piece together that Russian pot found in a Chinook tribal midden.”

“You know about the Patriarch Oak and mating flights,” Thistle said quietly, trying to find a way to say this so it wouldn’t hurt any more than she already did.

“Enlighten me.”

Drawing a deep breath, Thistle told her how important a mating flight was, told her about absolute trust. Told her about how the public display was an announcement of soul mates finding each other.