Chapter 5
At the end of a line of German-style market stalls was a wide-open, much larger enclosure filled with wooden sculptures cut with rough, deep strokes.
Guardians of the Wood read a dangling sign.
Seeing it in person was a bit uncanny after her algorithm had been feeding her bite-sized portions of it—and of Stephan—for the last year.
A middle-aged woman with a fringe of silver-gray hair looked up from where she sat carving details into an eagle in flight. “Can I help ya?”
“I’m here to speak with him.” She pointed toward the back where Stephan was crouched, and the woman waved her on with a knowing chuckle. Hayleigh’s nose wrinkled at the suggestion in the laughter—that she was here as a fan. “This is a business matter.”
“ ‘Business,’ yeah,” said the woman with a raise of her brow and a twinkle in her eye. “People do seem to have all kinds of business with him.”
Hayleigh stared at the woman a moment longer and then let out a frustrated grunt before stomping on. She was not a fangirl, and there was no booty in what she planned on calling him.
The tent floor was a carpet of cedar shavings that gave off an earthy, grounding smell with every step. Something mingled with the wood smells—nutty, and a little sweet; it must’ve been the oil they used to make the sculptures shine.
Stephan was deep in his work but still registered her approach. “Gimme a second on this.”
His thick blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but a few strands had fallen over his face while his attention fixed on carving a small, arcane-looking symbol into the back of a Sasquatch giving onlookers the middle finger.
His tongue pressed against his upper lip, which was surrounded by a thick but well-kept beard closer to the amber of honey than the wheat field of his hair. A wince of pain passed over his face, and he idly rubbed a spot on his upper arm near the shoulder.
“Is someone really going to stick that in front of their house?” said Hayleigh.
Stephan startled up, blue eyes locking onto her in a way that caused her breath to hitch in her chest, and after a moment of considering her, he rose. It wasn’t until he was on his feet that she remembered a detail about him the cameras hadn’t been able to capture.
Standing at least six and a half feet tall, he towered over her, and his shoulders had to be at least twice the breadth of her own.
No wonder he could lift logs as if they were filled with nothing but air.
For a moment, she forgot her purpose but then regained her senses.
She was used to dealing with handsome men.
It was basically a prerequisite for client-facing work.
Not to mention, her social circles selected for it.
But those men all had a certain look to them, polished and oiled, slick like an expensive car. Stephan, on the other hand, was handsome like the cedar he worked with. Solid, rough, textured in just the right way. You didn’t just want to look at him—you wanted to breathe him in.
Curse. Red. Impending financial disaster. She carefully named the things she should think about instead of what Stephan Midwinter looked like. Or how easily he could probably hoist her in the air.
“It’s a commission,” Stephan rumbled, lips quirking into a smile, “so I don’t know what they’re gonna do with it, but they’re paying. People like what they like. We don’t judge.”
“Well, I judge,” called the woman at the eagle. “But I take their money anyway.”
“Sal judges.” His eyes twinkled as they swept Hayleigh up and down, and her body tingled. “Do I know you?”
“You should—your sister is trying to kill my horse.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “My sister is doing what now?”
“My horse…he. He’s got a lump. I think it’s…” And then the word she’d been trying not to say slipped out. “Cancer.”
Naming it sent a crack splitting down the center of the dam holding back her emotions, and for all she tried to remind herself that Grays didn’t lose control, a tear slipped out.
His eyes widened before crinkling softly. “Hey, you okay?” Sal had stopped her work, and they exchanged a glance.
“Of course I am.” But then a second tear slipped out despite her best efforts.
“Why don’t we head into the back?” he said. “You can have a sit, get something warm to drink…”
The offer was tempting, but she pushed back against it. “I can’t. You don’t understand. I have to figure this out. I can’t lose him. He’s the only thing I’ve ever done right.”
“Well, now, I’m sure that’s not true. And…is it actually gonna slow anything down if we have this conversation sitting and sipping?”
She hesitated, but the thought of curling her hands around a mug of something warm and sweet was too much to resist, and she finally surrendered. “I guess not.”
He drew in close and all she could smell was a mix of cut wood, exhaust, and not unpleasant sweat, ushering her back behind a curtain to a small break area with a chair and table, as well as an old russet hound splayed on a sheepskin bed stitched with the name “Ozzy Dogbourne.”
At the sight of them, the dog clambered to his feet, baying.
“Chill, Ozzy.” At this distance, Stephan’s voice rumbled not only in her ear but in her body as well. “You okay with dogs?”
“More than okay.”
He grinned, waving her toward a simple wooden chair. “You asked for it. Ozzy, release.”
As soon as her butt was down, the hound, Ozzy, plopped his head directly in her lap.
She smoothed her hand across his velvety crown, and he butted against it, asking for more.
With every stroke, it became easier to hold back the tears.
Her grandfather had once said that the Lord made dogs by way of apology for the inevitability of death, and in that moment, nothing seemed truer.
A moment later, Stephan shoved a mug of something warm and appley into her face. “Drink this.”
She stared at the cup, and fresh tears welled in her eyes. “Red…loves apples.”
“O-kay, maybe no cider, then.” He swapped out the mug for another, and this time it smelled of chocolate mixed with spices, as well as the sharp tang of alcohol.
“Is this cocoa spiked?” she asked.
“And how.” Stephan winked.
“Thank God for that.” She sipped, finding it was more alcohol than chocolate. “What’s in this?”
“Butterscotch schnapps, Sailor Jerry’s, and a dash of orange bitters.”
“Well, that sounds horrific.” But it wasn’t, actually. She kept drinking, enjoying the way it warmed her palms alongside her belly.
Stephan grabbed a crinkled bag of peppermint-coated popcorn and offered it to her, but she waved it away. With a shrug, he popped a handful in his mouth, chewing noisily. He eased into a crouch, looking her directly in the eye.
“Feeling better?”
“No, but I am feeling…less.”
“Sometimes that’s the best we get.” He studied her. “So why do you think Rowan gave your horse cancer?”
“Because she cursed me. She ruined my life. I don’t understand. She won. I lost. And I lost my job because of it.”
A flash of realization passed through his eyes. “You were here with the Goshen Group last year.”
Hayleigh stiffened. Now that he knew who she was, she readied for the welcome to wear off. He’d probably throw her out of the tent, with a few choice criticisms to add to the pile she’d already collected today.
Instead, his brows only knit as he asked gently, “You lost your job because of what happened here last year?”
At first, she didn’t know how to respond. She’d been ready for anger, not sympathy. A knot she hadn’t realized was there unraveled from her chest, and she sank into her chair.
“Yes,” she said finally, then added, “And so they could hire a younger model.”
He coughed on his drink. “A younger model?”
“Briley,” she said, nodding and leaning in closer. “She’s an in-fluen-cer.”
He arched a brow, mirroring her lean in so that only a thin strip of space remained between them. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-one,” she said low, as if admitting a terrible secret. “She can’t be any older than twenty-three. She has perfect boobs.”
His eyes danced, clearly suppressing a laugh. “The audacity.”
She let out a long sigh, the alcohol loosening her tongue. “They’re going to eat her alive. Chew her up and spit her out and trade her in when they’re done.” She sipped her cocoa. “This is actually really good. Not horrific at all.”
“My mother’s recipe. Good for what ails you. So why do you think you’re cursed?”
“Everything’s gone wrong. Everything.”
“You wanna tell me more about that?”
Hayleigh was surprised to find she did want to tell him and almost opened her mouth to spill the whole story of her last miserable year.
But then she remembered where she was—who she was talking to.
She had no reason to trust this man—he was one of them.
He was probably using a spell to lower her guard and loosen her tongue, just like his sister had last year.
Hayleigh recoiled and stumbled to her feet. “Are you using witchcraft on me?”
“What?” he asked, eyes widening at the accusation.
“I shouldn’t be back here with you. I shouldn’t be drinking anything you give me.” She gasped. “Is the spell in the cocoa?” She dumped it into the wood shavings without waiting for a reply. “I demand to see Rowan.”
“Oh, you demand, huh?” He got back to his feet and put his hands on his hips with a grin, and she was once again bowled over by the sheer size of him.
“Take this seriously!”
His eyes danced, but then he held up his hands, like someone trying to soothe a spooked horse.
“Look, Rowan isn’t here right now. She and Gavin snuck in a little anniversary trip before things get crazy here in a few days.
If you want someone to check you for curses, the best person would be Birdie. ”
She narrowed her eyes. “Do you think this Birdie person cursed me?”