Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Luna
The moment the door closes behind my new friend, I grab the first aid kit and delve through the contents. Thank goodness, I’ve got some truly meaningful painkillers still in here somewhere.
Hopping to the kitchen, I fill the glass with water to help me swallow two pills before hopping back to the couch and falling down onto it. Staring up at the ceiling made from varnished logs, I let my mind drift over the last few hours.
Dante. Dante who? And how was a motorcycle gang connected to Aunt Tempest?
The rider’s abrupt exit from my life has brought more questions than his entrance did.
But there is something bugging me. Did he like me?
I know that I can come across as abrasive sometimes. People have told me that often enough for me to be aware of it.
Tallie and Giulio used to clear out whenever I told them I was PMSing. And I’m a Scorpio, too, with a mean—and dare I say bitchy—sting in my tail.
I know we had a conversation, Dante and I, but I still know nothing about the stranger who brought me home from the forest.
He seemed repulsed by me sometimes, from the way he pressed one finger to hold the bandage so that he did not have to touch my skin. And the efficient way he handed the cream for me to rub on my ankle myself.
I allow myself to get momentarily distracted as I imagine the macho motor biker massaging the cream into my ankle with slow, deliberate strokes. Maybe with his dark blue eyes locked on mine as his hand moves further up my leg…
The man is an enigma. From the first time his dark shape materialized out of the mist, I was dying to know everything about him.
He must be about thirty-five to forty years old, I think. Perhaps younger, but it would be hard to tell if he dyes his hair.
But he’s mature. I like that. There’s not an ounce of gaucheness or frat bro banter about him. I find that refreshing.
Stretching out on the couch as the painkillers kick in, I revel in the waves of euphoria rippling over me.
I would love to see what he looks like without that bulky leather jacket. Heck, who am I kidding? I would love to see him without the jeans, bulky biker boots, and black t-shirt, too. I was getting serious muscle daddy vibes from him.
Landslide might just be the perfect place to live out my beastly biker fantasies. Damn, he must be so strong to carry me like it was nothing.
These painkillers are making me irrational. Remember what Tallie told me.
Don’t go putting any noses out of joint. Try not to rock the boat. Get in. Sell the properties. And get out.
Done and dusted.
Still… it would be so nice to have Dante as a friend while I’m tying up all my loose ends…
The morning brings me much needed clarity.
Those two pills really knocked me out. My dreams were a jumbled mess of lurking shadows with the sensation of wind whipping my hair into a comet’s tail of knots as I flew a few feet off the ground.
When I dared to look down, silver chrome and spinning wheels showed me I was on the bike, but I was alone. A jolt of fear woke me up when I realized there was no one there for me to hold on to.
Muohta is sitting right in front of my face blowing fish breath up my nose.
“Gah, Muohta! You’re the worst alarm clock in the world. Okay, are you happy? I’m up.”
Sleeping on the couch was not a good idea, but my ankle feels a bit better. Hop-walking up the stairs, I head for the shower.
I can’t get Dante off my mind. It’s like our meeting was part of the long dreams I had last night. Standing under the warm jet of water, I try to remember every moment.
The way he knelt at my feet to free my ankle. How he lifted me with so little effort. How he placed me on the motorbike seat like a fragile porcelain doll…
And then how he raced me home like a complete maniac!
I suppose men like him don’t have an off-switch when it comes to speed.
Did my thoughts get a tiny bit lewd when the painkillers lowered my inhibitions?
But I stand by them all the same. I’m a woman in the prime of my life, and Dante just might be hot underneath all that leather and hair.
His musky scent intrigued me enough to want more.
Who knows how long it will take to sell this place? The country is not exactly swarming with people who want to live the unplugged life to the extent that Landslide offers.
I will be needing a lover to keep me sane if I am to stick it out here through winter. No, let me amend that. I need orgasms to keep me sane. And I left my vibrator in Minneapolis.
I never got around to fucking Giulio out of my system back home. Would it be irresponsible of me to hook up with a biker for one night? Maybe more than one night?
Nothing long-term; strictly temporary.
From what I have learnt from reading and watching television, bikers are all about those one-night hookups.
Lucky me… I think.
And then it hits me. I could still be lying in the woods with my ankle in a snare.
Tottering, I grab the faucet to steady myself before jumping out of the shower. Only pausing to wrap my hair in a towel and push my arms through the sleeves of my dress robe, I hop down the stairs like a jack-in-the-box.
“Muohta! I love you. You are such a good boy. I promise to never neglect you again.”
The Samoyed is lying on the couch snoozing, but he wakes up when he hears my voice.
Shuffling to the cupboard, I find a packet of freeze dried small fry fish. The label says “not for human consumption,” so I know they are for Muohta. Pouring the entire packet into the steel bowl, I hug the dog hard when he comes to scoff his treat.
“Thank you, Mu. You’re a star.”
The sound of Muohta licking his slobber chops follows me up the stairs and into the bedroom. I plan on driving to the inn today. That’s why I want to look nice.
Maybe looking attractive wasn’t high on Tempest’s priority list, because there are no mirrors in her bedroom. Shuffling back into the bathroom, I dab some tinted moisturizer on my face and then cover my lashes with lashings of mascara. Nothing like a bit of color to raise the spirits.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I slip on some cotton panties and wriggle into some baggy jeans so that I don’t have to point my toes.
As always, I check my waistband for weight gain. I’m not obsessed with my weight—I’ve never owned scales—but going shopping for a new wardrobe would be a pain in the ass, so I monitor my weight and fitness levels by the way my clothes fit.
That scare yesterday must have eaten up some calories, because I need a belt to hold up the faded blue jeans to stop them slipping down over my hips.
Like the jeans, my old brown leather belt has also seen better days. The end of the belt flops this way and that as I thread it through the loops and buckle up.
I’ve always preferred sports bras, but today I feel like wearing something different. Sifting through the pile of lingerie that I chucked into one of the drawers while I was unpacking, I find a lacy white balcony bra.
It’s not the most practical item of underwear, I’ll admit, but it’s definitely pretty enough to make me ooze femininity. I’ve forgotten how enjoyable it is to be a woman since Giulio left.
Glancing down at my newly supported breasts, I lift and smooth the soft flesh until I am sure the outline under my long sleeve, scoop neck t-shirt will be perfect. No lumps or bumps. And just the right amount of cleavage.
My thoughts are never far away from the man I met last night.
I need him to know that I’m not just a one-note damsel in distress. I would never want any man to think of me like that.
And there is so much I want to ask him.
Does he have any photographs of Tempest? Could he show me how to get the home brewery in the inn’s basement working?
What about his connection to my aunt?
Not willing to take any risks, I choose a suede sheepskin coat as my outdoor wear. Hooking my fingers around a pair of matching sheepskin boots, I hobble downstairs.
Seeing my choice of footwear, the Samoyed gives a half-hearted howl.
“I know, Mu. Ugg-ly shoes. But my ankle is so swollen, it’s the only boot that will fit me.”
Placing the sheepskin boots by the door, I pad around in my socks cleaning the kitchen and preparing breakfast.
It can’t hurt for me to visit the general store. Some butter and fresh milk would be nice.
Spreading peanut butter and jelly on four slices of toast, I grab my mug of coffee and sit down. It’s second nature for me to reach for my phone so I can play on it while I’m eating. I left it in my jacket upstairs. The battery’s probably dead by now anyway.
Muohta licks the drool from his mouth as he watches me eat. I can’t even Google to find out if peanuts and jelly are good for dogs, so I give him the toast corners instead.
Sipping the last dregs of coffee, I go upstairs again to rinse my teeth with mouthwash. I’ve never been a gum-chewer.
Spitting out the minty fresh liquid, I hear a knock on the door. Muohta barks.
That tells me that it’s not Dante revisiting me to find out how I’m doing.
Damp baby hair curls stick to my forehead from the shower. Mussing them with one hand and baring my teeth to check for toast crumbs, I head back downstairs.
It’s Ben Magoo. Shit. Is he here to ask me about the bear trap?
He’s wearing a cap and touches the peak when he sees me.
“Morning. Just came by to see how you’re doing?”
Ben is definitely the kind of gentleman someone would have no hesitation inviting into their home.
“Morning, Ben. Would you like some coffee?”
He shakes his head as he sits down in the same chair as Dante was sprawled on last night.
“I’m headed out to the mainland in my boat. Got a whole heap of chores to do before winter comes back round. Wanted to know if you’ve got any mail you want me to post? It’ll go quicker if I take it.”
“Thanks, yes. But I’ll have to write the letter first. The sooner my friend knows I’m only contactable by mail, the sooner she can relax.”
“I hear you,” Ben says.
Moving to the hutch by the wooden dining table, I slide a few drawers open until I find what I was looking for: one of those yellow legal notepads and a pencil. Scrabbling deeper, I find a packet of envelopes.
Looking at the banded packet of folded rectangles makes me smile. My dad used to give me my allowance in one of these until I left to go to college.
I haven’t seen an envelope in years. All my bills arrive electronically.
Muohta settles at my feet as I write.
Dear Tallie,
There’s no connectivity on Landslide. No streaming services, search engine, texting, nothing!
My neighbor (he’ll be posting this letter for me on the mainland), Ben Magoo, says we have reception about a third of the time, but I have had zero proof of that since my arrival.
Aunt Tempest left a spiral spine notebook for me. I haven’t read it all the way through yet, but she said there’s a radio on board a boat somewhere. Maybe we can chat via a two-way radio?
I just don’t see this house selling in winter. And the bad news is that all postal deliveries stop when the lake freezes over. Once everything is wrapped up here, I’m not going to be able to return to my apartment anyway, because I’m a dog mom now.
Do you know any good realtors on your side? I’ll have to sell the apartment. I’m cool with that, though. It’s time I got rid of all that bad Giulio juju anyway.
Please contact Serena for me and tell her to publish a “currently not available for commissions” notice on my website. And if my dad calls the studio, can you explain the reason for my lack of communication to him? Thank you.
Love, Luna.
Lifting my head, I ask Ben, “Do you know what address my friend can write me here?”
“That would be your name, care of Angle Inlet Postal Service.” He waits for me to write that down before spelling the zip code for me slowly.
Folding the letter, I slip it into the envelope and lick the flap.
“Can I give you money to buy a stamp?” I scrawl directions to the studio address on the front.
Lumbering to the door, Ben shakes his head. “This one’s on me. How did that map work out for you?”
“Er… it was very helpful, thank you.”
He looks down at my freshly bandaged ankle. “You hurt yourself?”
I don’t bat an eyelid as I reply. “You could say that, yes. Are there any predator animals around here? Any traps I should be worried about?”
Ben shakes his head glumly. “Used to be a real problem around here forty-fifty or so years ago. My father was driven to distraction; he lost so many animals. There might still be a few traps left here and there, so stick to the road if you’re walking, and watch out for that dog in my fields.
Damn dog’s a menace—likes to chase my sheep. ”
I stop him before he can step down from the porch.
“Thanks for helping, Ben. What happened to the predators?”
“They probably moved on to greener pastures. Thank God.”
Tipping his cap again, Ben settles behind the truck steering wheel and carefully backs down the steep drive.
I wave, wait for him to disappear in the direction of the jetty, and then pull on my sheepskin boots. “Come, Mu,” I call for the naughty dog and close the door behind him. “So, you like chasing sheep, do you?”
Muohta gives me a bashful grin.
Hobbling to the hatchback quickly, I back the car down the incline and head off in the opposite direction—to the inn.
I just remembered what my aunt wrote to me in her notebook.
She didn’t die in the house, and that might mean she did not die on the island, either!
Jolting over the potholes, I am excited to see the red painted general store opposite the sweet Swiss chalet inn.
But that’s not where I’m headed. Parking as close to the log cabin as I can, I hop-walk to the clubhouse and pull the door open.
It’s completely empty inside.