Brush of Shade (18 page)

“Do you want me
to leave?” he asked, giving no indication that he’d taken offense.

Great, here I
was all but admitting that I was having trouble accepting his—and apparently
my—genetic makeup, and he had to go and be understanding. “It’s not what you
think. I mean . . . I’m an awful person.”

“I’m not
offended. Like you said, you need time to orient yourself. I’m the one who
should be apologizing.” He shifted over to the window next to mine. Fingers
that were a streak of tan against the white sill tapped out the beat of a
super-caffeinated woodpecker. “I should’ve listened to your aunt. Why do I
always have to push? I’m as bad as Mark Cassidy. I’ll just go.”

 “Don’t
beat yourself up. It’s not your fault or my aunt’s that I was thrust out of my
nest clueless.”

“Your father—”

“Had his reasons.
Good for him. Did he ever consider this
from my side? Do you have any idea what it was like to be in my head last
night? I’d be surprised if there wasn’t an alien movie I didn’t consider.
Skin-crawling,
creeped
out, ready to run screaming
into the night is my dad’s legacy. Don’t look at me like I’m a terrible
daughter for being angry with my dead father. He had plenty of time to explain
or to bring me here like he did Daniel.”

“I really did
mess things up by bolting like that,” he replied, his voice filled with
recriminations. He turned me by my shoulders and gave me a stern look. “If you
can believe in only one thing for now, I want you to accept that you’re not
crazy.”

 “It would
be easier if I was. At least crazy is familiar.” Long fingers squeezed my shoulders.
“Look, I’m dealing in bits and pieces because I can’t keep feeling off
balance.”

His eyebrows
dipped severely, drawing attention to ice flecks breaking off thinning white
bands. His gaze shifted towards the patio, holding the scene for nearly half a
minute while the toe of his right boot tapped a staccato against the baseboard.
“Maybe I should’ve waited.”

“I asked for the
connection.”

“That’s not what
I was referring to. In regards to last night, as the Whisperer and as
your
. . . friend, the decision was mine and it was wrong.
What’s done is done,” he said in a sharp tone as though this was an argument.
“I need to know if you can get through a visit with a revered clan elder. If
this is too soon for you, I’ll take her home. She can blame me for pushing you
after your fright at the Cassidy’s.”

“This guest, her
opinion is important. So much so that you’d put yourself in a bad light for me?
I don’t know what to say. I’ve not done anything to deserve your kindness, and
yet, you keep turning up. You’re a good man,” I said, making no distinction
between human and Whisperer. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be staring at white
walls.”

“You don’t give
yourself enough credit; neither does the valley. If you didn’t freak out a
little, I’d be concerned. While we’re on that topic, I’ve a confession to make.
I might’ve inadvertently caused you to question your sanity. Don’t be mad. I
was getting in some practice time with crowds. I’d been timing the elevator,
but then I misjudged how long you needed to get inside.”

Elevator?
I was broadsided by a memory of nightmarish
minutes spent suffering through the loosening of the glue that held me
together. My boulder wobbled, upsetting the pieces of truth I’d been striving
so hard to curl into.

Fingers that were
fading in and out raked through his hair. “I felt just awful about the doors.
You were ashen and shaking.”

My voice was
rough and a just a hair cranky when I replied, “Your mistiming practically
scared me straight into a padded room. I suppose in the scope of things—” He
spun away, giving me his profile. Too late, I’d already seen waves slapping
against towering ice wedges, knocking slivers into shrinking seas. Apparently
he was determined to be blamed. Fine, that meant he might talk, and I wanted a few
facts clarified.
“The bike messenger?”

 “Guilty.”

“Thank God.”

“What?”

I rubbed my
arms. The prickly sensation had been Shade following me. “Thank you.”

“I’m confused.”

Best not tell
him that it wasn’t only the noise of the doors closing that had shaken me to my
core. His coloring looked off; he definitely wasn’t ready for that shocking
reveal. Neither was I. Folks wanted to check the viability of my Pepperdine
ancestry. I already knew the results. It scared me shitless.

 “Shock,”
he said, shaking his head as he eyed me carefully. “Are you sure you don’t need
to sit down?”

“What happened
to, ‘If you didn’t freak out a little, I’d be concerned’?”

His lips curled
up slightly. Shoulders relaxed. “Olivia Rose Pepperdine, you’re extraordinary.”
He held out his hands and said, “Share your worries and be strengthened.”

I stripped off
my gloves and did as he asked. Warmth vibrated down the length of my taut body.
Shade ghosted. When my fear held me back, for my own good he waded in to tie a
lifeline around my boulder. A basecoat of reassurance spread over the festering
wounds. Next, a topcoat of belonging soothed to bolster me against the hard
edges of loss. Lastly, bristles of loyalty imbedded beads of hope to ease my
fears. I imagined the life rope pulling me onto solid land. His amusement
washed across my thoughts. Calm saturated my being. While I basked in his
mental embrace, my boulder steadied. For a wonderful moment, I felt at peace.

Winter’s bite,
clingy, wet jeans; creaking, snow-laden branches, everything not Shade ceased
to be. The breeze tousled his hair and I felt it skim my . . . his forehead. In
his sudden, noisily inhaled breath, I recognized the sweet pea scent of my hand
lotion.
Longing.
His body faded and reappeared,
flushed with heat.
Shock.
Hopelessness.
Unbidden, my heart responded to his anguish. We leaned into each other, needing
to be held. To be claimed. Electricity sparked in my veins. I gasped. Turbulent
seas churned ice flows into shavings resembling toasted coconut sprinkles on
icing. Shade spun away, staggering, his body fading in and out.

Thrust out of
the connection, my mind filled with an indefinable ache.
“Shade?”

“Trying . . .”
he mumbled, his voice fading like his body. A semi-transparent hand gripped the
nearest windowsill, shaking the framework hard, triggering a rumbling sound
overhead. Sheets of snow slid off the roof.

“Let me help
you.” I reached out a steadying hand. A pulse of air slapped it aside.

“Long, hard
night,” he responded, slowly regaining control over his body. Rapidly moving
fingers shredded the wrapper on a power bar. He stuffed the bar in his mouth
and started working on a second while his troubled gaze stared over the top of
my head, towards the distant peaks. Finally, after the silence had grown
uncomfortable, he cleared his throat and said in a voice that still quivered,
“It would seem that I’m again responsible for sanity questioning activities.
Allow me to reassure you, Warden, these incidents don’t reflect my competency.”

“I’m not five
years old. You don’t have to spare my feelings. Baggage, remember?”

“This wasn’t
your fault.”

 “For the
record, you’re not the reason I’ve been questioning my sanity. It was the
accident and the nightmares caused by whatever the other Whisperer did to me.
Stop feeling guilty.”

“You can’t order
emotions.”

I smiled. “It
was worth a try, especially with a stubborn, hero type personality.” The corner
of his lip started to curl as though he was going to grin, but then it slipped
into a serious expression. The tapping of a branch grated in the prolonged
silence. I leaned against a window frame, crossing and uncrossing my ankles,
wishing he would stop pacing and look at me. “Aunt Claire said you were
responsible for putting up the storm windows and tidying up the place. It looks
nice. I should’ve thanked you sooner.”

“I had the time.
It needed the attention. Besides, there was something I wanted to find. I was
going to let you discover it on your own, but I think it would help you now.
Come look over here,” he said, angling towards the window that looked out upon
the craggy peaks. Smiling broadly like a kid with a secret he was bursting to
share, he pointed. “You have to look up at the beam where it meets the wall.
It’s in shadow so it’s hard to make out.”

I had to strain
up on my tip toes to get a good look at my dad’s name carved in the wood.
Gently, Shade placed his warm hands on either side of my face and shifted my
head to get my attention. Three more names were carved into the side of the
beam: Marie, Daniel, and Olivia.

“Dad added these
later,” I said, my voice suddenly thick.

“According to
your aunt, your mother’s name was added before they left for their honeymoon.
On the first trip to the valley after Daniel’s birth and then later after
yours, Ethan came out here to carve his children’s names into the wood. See,
you are connected. Don’t ever think you’re not,” Shade said with a touch of
ferociousness.

While I didn’t
know the man who’d led these people, I’d known the dad who’d built me a doll
house and had carved my name in his gazebo. For now, that was enough. If I
spoke, my misty eyes would generate a waterfall. My hand found his and
squeezed. I should’ve known he’d see through the gesture. My head was tucked
against cozy flannel that so often covered his solid chest.

“I’m going to
have to keep a spare shirt in the truck,” he whispered into my hair. I couldn’t
tell if he was amused or serious.

“Sorry.” I tried
to pull away, but his arms tightened. To him, the gesture was nothing more than
an offer of comfort to a friend overcome with grief. For me, though, it was
everything. How pathetic was that? I breathed deep, taking in his spicy, woodsy
scent, mingled with the crisp clean smell of his shirt, forging a memory of
this moment.

Thankfully,
there was a good excuse for my thick voice when I said, pushing back against
his arms, “Your guest and my aunt are waiting. I still have to get out of my
wet clothes.”

He beat me to
the door, but didn’t open it as I expected. Instead, he studied my face like he
did often at Hattie’s just before he offered his assistance. “Are you up to
this?”

“First, tell me
what I’d be postponing. Even extraordinary has its limits.”

“Relax. This is
just a get-to-know-you visit and the chance for questions to be answered.”

“Alright, I’ll
go play the charming diplomat’s daughter.”

“What about the
warden’s heir? Are you up for that?” he asked, zipping up his coat.

“I’m working on
it.”

He held the door
open. “For what it’s worth, I believe in you.”

Now that he’d
recalled the reason he’d come down here, I expected him to hustle me up the
slope. So it came as a surprise when I realized that he’d stopped next to my
snowman. “You don’t have to do that,” I said when he bent down to grasp the
head.

“It’ll only take
a minute. If you’re too cold, go on up to the house.”

“I should
probably stay to make sure you maintain the integrity of my vision.”

A broad smile
lit up Shade’s face. The head plopped into place, cracking the twig nose so it
looked like a wart was growing on the tip. 

“Very funny.
Now it’s crooked. Shift it over to the left.
A little more.
Careful it’s slipping. Quick, more snow. In
the back pack some around its neck,” I ordered, grinning when gloves streaked
through the air. Despite his irritated expression, a minute later I said
sweetly, “Maybe if you shaped it a little more on the right, it won’t look like
it’s got a hump.”

“I have made one
or two snowmen in my time. But if you think you can do better, then by all
means,” he said, stepping back and waving a hand towards my hunchbacked
snowman.

“I’m good.”

“Bossy you
mean.” He cocked his head and squinted. “Now I see your vision, a snow witch.
You should’ve told me this was a self-portrait.”

I waited until
his back was turned. My brother always said I had a good arm. Besides, it would
be criminal to waste perfectly good packing snow. The snowball made a
satisfactory
thunk
against Shade’s coat. Not that I’d
waited around to see my handiwork.

“Not fair,” I
shrieked. Strong arms caught me around my waist lifting my feet up into the
air. I hadn’t taken into account his quick, stealthy speed.

He chuckled
“Don’t you know not to play with fire? The same holds true for wind.”

I was released.
Before I could take a step towards the upper patio, a miniature blizzard
descended on my position. Wind-swirled flakes stuck to my lashes and hair if I
leaned to far one way or the other. “Cheat!”

“Just using what
I’ve got.” His amused voice came at me from all sides.
“Any
more comments about my snowman building skills?”

Icy pellets
struck my body. I yelled, “I surrender. You’re the master builder.”

The snow settled
into a boot top deep pile at my feet. “As if there was any doubt,” he said,
starting to laugh. “I’m sorry. You should see yourself. You look like the poor
bloke’s mate.”

I looked down.
My coat and jeans were coated as though I was a scarecrow left outside for the
winter. Snow crunched as I bent my elbows to brush off my hat. Shade burst into
another fit of laughter. Very deliberately I took off my snow-crusted hat, so
snow didn’t go down my neck. I stretched my arm out and shook it in his face.
It was childish, but his wide eyed gasp was worth it.

The thought of
retaliation came a half second later. I braced myself for the war. Instead, he
started to laugh even harder until he had to bend over and grab his thighs
while he caught his breath. Some opportunities were just too good to be wasted.
I wiped my gloves through the ends of my hair, squeezed, and then stuffed the
ice ball down the back of his neck.