Marin
Hand in hand, we walk through the woods, following a path that runs along a little stream and past a mud-slicked meadow.
The weather man Grandpa listens to was wrong about the big storm because the sun is peeking out and the chill is being chased away by the sunshine, but Davis said it’s still a treacherous walk.
I’m wearing the big red rubber boots and my dress and the jacket feeling completely natural and beautiful out here.
His hand engulfs mine, giving me support and warmth. His firm hold makes me feel safe and protected. Every now and then, he squeezes my hand and looks at me. Like he’s trying to make sure I’m okay.
And I am. His silent attention makes me feel precious.
As we reach a footbridge at the brook, he helps me across; every bit the chivalrous gentleman. In the middle of nature, his body isn’t radiating tension, his jaw muscles are relaxed, almost like he may smile. He seems at home here. Familiar with the forest.
“Is this all your land?” I ask.
He glances at me and nods. “Yeah. Inherited it from a grandfather I never knew. I walk at night a lot. Saw the light in the cabin and knew someone was trespassing.”
I smile up at him in the rare sunshine. “You sure know how to treat criminals that violate your property rights. Beat them into submission with that weapon of mass destruction you have.”
Now he really smiles, and it’s beautiful.
I haven’t seen him smile much. And it warms me as much as the sunshine itself and a little ball of tension settles in my belly wondering if he’s going to delve more into why I was in that cabin.
My flimsy explanation about being left by friends won’t hold up and when he finds out who I am and why I was there…
I push it away. I’m Mountain Marin now and I’ll survive whatever happens.
We continue along the path, talking about everything and nothing then round a little bend.
Up ahead, there’s a house with a center front peak that points toward the clouds and two shorter ones on each side.
It’s like a mash up of the Tudor style houses in the fancy old neighborhoods in town and a Swiss chalet.
It’s funky but classic and there’s a warm glow in the windows that makes me feel like it’s a safe place.
Pines and tall oaks hug the perimeter making it feel walled off with the autumn leaves falling like fire-colored snowflakes onto the dark roof. Dreamy.
“Is that your house?”
“Yeah,” he sighs, causing my attention to shift to his broad chest. “And there’s someone I want you to meet in there.”
“Have you always lived here? I think it would be just the best thing to grow up someplace like this.”
Davis shakes his head, then drops his chin for a moment before answering.
“No, I wish. First part of my life I grew up in a tin can. This? This place…was a like a lottery win from a grandfather I never really knew. Every day I wake up and look around, making sure it wasn’t a dream.
I never want to leave here. Never.” His voice hardens along with the square angle of his beard-covered jawline.
“I’d never want to leave either. Do you, you know, share your life with someone?” That question catches in my throat. He asked me if I was with anyone but I didn’t ask him if there was a girlfriend or a wife in his stable. “Someone special, I mean.”
But, why would he bring me here, telling me he wants me to meet them and holding my hand if there was?
“That’s a dumb question. Sorry,” I blurt on a tight smile before he can answer.
He stalls, tugging at my arm as I step forward, spinning me around.
“What happened back there…” he starts, clearing his throat, the tendons in his neck tight as his chest puffs up making the buttons on his flannel shirt strain.
“I haven’t done that in a long fucking time and never felt like that when I did.
So, first…” He pinches my cheeks with his other hand, holding my eyes to his.
“There are no dumb questions. You ask me anything, anytime, got it? In fact, if you don’t ask me something you wanted to know and I find out?
” He exhales on a low growl. “I’ll turn that perky little ass of yours over my knee to remind you that everything you think, you need and want, it’s your job to bring it to me. ”
If he wasn’t holding my mouth in his hand, my jaw would be on the forest floor but I manage a quick nod as he runs his tongue over his lips on a little like sexy snarl before he continues.
“Second, just to answer your not dumb question, no girlfriends, no wives. But, I don’t live alone—"
The sound of a voice calling from down the driveway cuts him off and Davis turns us back toward the house.
A woman probably in her late forties with wild red hair piled on top of her head and bright red lipstick is standing there waving like crazy. She’s wearing what looks like carton scrubs, like in the pediatrician’s office Grandpa took me for check-ups and when I was sick.
She stands on the porch with her hands on her hips as we approach. “Jesus and Johnny Cash, there you are, Mr. Ray!”
The mention of Jesus makes my heart drop. My feet stop on their own accord and I squeeze Davis’ hand. His hazel eyes fall on me, searching and protective. “That’s Janie. But don’t worry. She’s big on Johnny Cash. Not so much on Jesus.”
Reassuring. Kind of? “If you say so. Who is she? Housekeeper?”
Davis clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Sort of. A caretaker, for sure.”
I nod, but also feel the change in his mood. His jaw is now tight, the muscle on his cheek is ticking. A frown appears on his handsome face. Sadness paints his features. As if a cloud descends over him.
“Are you okay?”
He clears his throat as if to answer, but Janie chooses that moment to bustle down the steps to greet us.
“Who’s this sweet little thing? You find little red riding hood out there in the forest?
I damn near filed a missing person report for you, Mr. Ray!
Security system said the front door was last opened at 4am—that’s eight hours you’ve been gone!
Gotta be some kind of record you being gone that long and not for work!
And your phone has gone crazy. Kept beeping and vibrating. I thought you’d been kidnapped.”
What the what?
I lift my eyes to Davis, cocking my head slightly. So much to process. Eight hours away from the house is a record? Kidnapped?
I blink quickly at him, furrowing my brow.
Lord, what have I gotten myself into now?
Janie ushers me inside, telling me she doesn’t know where I sprang from but it’s nice to have another woman around here for once. The house is clean as a whistle. Nothing looks out of the place, and miracle of miracles, there’s no crosses anywhere. No Jesus looks down at me, judging me.
There’s lots of brown and green and soft cream colors. It’s masculine but comfortable with some pictures on the wall that look like modern art all done by the same hand. Wide windows look out the back over a field with an enormous, weathered wood barn and mountain peaks in the distance.
From somewhere in the house, I hear the unexpected sound of cartoons playing somewhere on a TV. But there are no signs of kids, toys, or any of the mess of children; so whoever he wants me to meet doesn’t seem to be a kid.
Just as I’m about to ask, Davis takes me by the hand and leads me into the living room.
And there, parked in front of the big flat-front TV, is a young man in a wheelchair.
Dark hair like Davis’, with a cowlick, slightly bony.
Running down the back of his close-cropped hair is a terrible scar, long-since healed but a tight river of angry white in the dark brush of hair.
There’s a large easel and jars of paint on a tray with a canvas propped up in process and I know who the artist in residence is.
“Hey, bud,” Davis says. “Sorry, I had to go for a bit. You alright?”
I come around and finally get a better look at him. He isn’t really a boy, a bit older. Maybe in his late teens. His eyes carry the spark of recognition and intelligence, but it’s obvious he’s experienced some kind of accident. A terrible one, it seems, judging by the result.
When our eyes meet, his face lights up. “Whoa, big brother, what the heck? You go missing for eight hours and come back with a girl. I thought you were going out for donuts. What is this, Goldilocks and the Three Bears? Or red riding hood?”
Davis chuckles at his excitement and this red riding hood thing is becoming a pattern.
It’s cute, I don’t mind having a nickname that doesn’t make me sound like the devil’s hand maiden.
“Stevie, meet Marin. Marin, this is Stevie Ray. Marin’s shitty friends dropped her off at the cabin and then took off, leaving her all alone. I went walking, she was trespassing.”
Stevie narrows his eyes as he meets mine, and I can see he doesn’t believe it. “Is that so? You must have been cursing your luck when you ran into this cantankerous bastard. Probably better if you met a grizzly.”
I snort a laugh, covering my mouth and instinctively extend my right hand for a shake. Only to notice his right hand is stuck in a fist. Embarrassment warms my cheeks as my laugh falters, but Stevie grins.
“Awkward!”
His laughter vanishes all my discomfort and I laugh along with him.
Weakly, he offers his left hand and I shake that one instead. He smirks and playfully glances at Davis. “I thought you went out for donuts, big brother. But she’s better than donuts.”
Davis looks away, embarrassed, shaking his head. “And you wonder why I never bring anybody here.”
Stevie Ray scoffs and turns down the television volume. “You never bring anybody here because you’re a cantankerous old bastard.”
Davis grumbles, the kind I’d expect from someone who has heard this many times before. He shakes his head, laughing, and then signals me to come over and talk to him.