In a Moon Smile (25 page)

“Okay, well, gotta go,” She hung up and stomped across the kitchen, poured herself a cup of coffee and slurped it down. Then she looked down at the puppy, now destroying one of her flip flops.

As my dad would say, ‘I’ve got bigger fish to fry.’ So have fun, little puppy. That wasn’t my favorite pair, anyway. Dang it. What in the hell am I going to do about the dead deer?

“Obviously, my first impulse would be to seek a male opinion about dead stuff in the water. But that was the old me. This is the new me and I certainly don't need a man,” Chesney said to the dog as she began to pace. “I have a brain. I am able-bodied. Of course I can deal with a dead deer, right?” The puppy promptly peed on the rug and hid under the cabinet. “That’s exactly what I want to do, too,” She felt nauseated.

“Well here’s the truth about me, little puppy. The truth is that I don't bait fishing hooks. I don't touch mice or spiders. but I'm the captain of this ship now.” She stopped pacing and sucked in her breath. “A dead deer is in my pond. Obviously it must be removed. And since it's my pond and my problem, well, it's my job to remove the deer. I don't have a man. And I don't need one. I can handle this.”

She walked over to the kitchen window, praying that the deer miraculously came back to life and escaped from the pond. “Shit,” she hissed. “It’s still there. And it’s still really, really dead.”

Since it was drizzling rain again, Chesney grabbed her rain coat and drove into town.  Like a soldier filled with a lot of false courage, she marched into the hardware store.

“Good morning, Luke. I need some waders.”

Luke seemed puzzled by Chesney’s request, but he stepped over to aisle three and returned with a giant, shiny gray pair of wading boots.

“Hey, gorgeous girl! How are things going?” Deke hollered from the top of a ladder. “Haven’t seen you around lately. Everything okay, Chesney?”

“Yep,” She nodded. “Everything is fine. I’m just busy, trying to get ready for winter.”

“We’ll go for another bike ride before the weather breaks,” Deke said.

“Sounds good,” she smiled over her shoulder and hurried out the door before Deke could question why she purchased waders. In Chicago, she could walk in and purchase fifty pairs of waders and the clerk would never ask a single question because the clerk did not give one single little damn about customer intentions. But here in Bean Blossom, news that Chesney Blake bought a pair of wading boots would likely drift from table to table at Cathy’s Café. Everyone would discuss why she might need them.

As she stepped outside and climbed into the rusty old truck, heavier rain started to fall. And the stupid windshield wipers went on strike. Chesney had no choice but to roll down the driver’s window and stretch her left arm like a Gumbie doll. Manually moving the closest wiper blade so she could see to drive meant, of course, that rain pelted inside the truck. Her clothes and hair were soaked. By the time she got back to Chesney Ridge, she was screaming cuss words that she didn’t even know she knew. Once the truck was parked, Chesney kicked off her sandals and shoved her bare feet into the wading boots. “Don’t give yourself time to think about it,” she yelled loudly in the rain. “It’s got to be done, so just go do it.”

In the too-big boots, she sloshed though the slick grass toward the pond. The deer was still floating on its side, still just as dead as it was when she discovered it. She shivered again, noting that its big black eyes seemed to be staring at her. “I hate dead stuff,” Chesney mumbled nervously as she stepped into the pond. Her stomach felt queasy as the murky water enveloped her legs, her waist, her shoulders. She didn’t remember the pond being this deep. “Okay, here’s a million-dollar question, God. What am I supposed to do with the body once I pull it out of the water?” She stared upward at the stormy clouds, hoping for a sign directly communicated from heaven.

All she got, however, was the stinging sensation of the downpour. Rain fell so hard that it stung her face and arms. She forced herself to look more closely at the deer, suddenly wondering what the answer would be to such a stupid question. Why hadn't she thought about this problem before she was nearly chin-deep in dirty pond water? How in the world should she dispose of the deer carcass? “I'll bet there are snakes in here,” Chesney said as her lips began to tremble, partially from the cold rain and partially from good old-fashioned fear. “If I see a damn snake, I will be found floating out here in the pond right beside the deer. If I see a snake, I will keel over from a massive coronary. Are you listening to me, God?” Suddenly so overcome by the fear of possibly seeing a snake slither through the water, her body began to shake uncontrollably. It was already difficult to keep her footing while walking in the gigantic boots. The bottom of the pond was gummy and difficult to step through because of gnarled branches and weeds. Add the possibility of an ugly meltdown and she was close to paralysis. She didn’t look forward to touching the dead deer at all, much less dragging the poor thing across the water to the bank.

Oh, my God! Where on the deer’s body am I supposed to grab it? I can’t possibly put its dead head in a head lock. Oh yuck, I can’t stand to see that deer’s dead face up close. Oh, my gosh, I have no idea what to do. I think I might just vomit all over the place but then would that yuck on the water’s surface draw fish and snakes over here?

“You can do this,” As the rain fell harder, she wiped her eyes and slicked back her dripping hair. “You can do this. You must do this. You've got to stop being a baby about everything. Take control of your life.”

Now the rain pelted so hard that she could barely open her eyes. She looked upward again at the clouds. If lightening happened to lick at the gray sky, she would have a perfectly legitimate reason to quickly remove her ass from the pond. Just as Chesney decided to pray for a streak of lightning, Dalton Moore appeared on the opposite bank. His shirt was soaked, which meant it stuck to his skin. A beautiful, flat stomach and a rippled chest was revealed under the thin, wet fabric. And even though Chesney was in the midst of a dead deer crisis, desire wound its way through her body. Yes, she wanted the handyman. She ached to touch him. But he belonged to Rose. In her rather foggy, soggy state, she looked again, allowing her thought to register past the lust. What was Dalton doing here? And why in the hell was he smiling? Maybe even laughing, which really pissed her off. What in the hell was so damn funny about this situation?

“Need a man?” Dalton yelled.

“No,” Chesney yelled back furiously. “I've got everything under control.”

She turned her head, partly because she was so pissed off. And partly because she knew that her hair was unattractively plastered to her face.

“I'll pull the deer out of there with a tractor and chain,” Dalton yelled.“Come on out. We'll go to my house and get the tractor.”

“I am perfectly capable of removing the deer,” she shouted stubbornly, trying to sound like she was not one bit creeped out by this situation. “I don't need your help.”

“You can’t move the deer, Chesney. It's too heavy,” Dalton said. “Come on. We'll get my tractor.”

While she tried to decide whether to believe Dalton or not and how to climb out of the pond with her dignity intact, a skinny little snake skimmed across the water near her right hand. At that moment, all pride went out the window. Chesney squealed and dove for the bank. Trying to hurry out of the water, she lost her footing in the too-big waders and fell face down in squishy mud. Dalton rushed through the reeds and extended his hand to help her stand. But the gesture infuriated his employer. “Let me help you,” he said.

“No,” Chesney snapped.

“For a minute there, I thought you might actually walk on water,” Dalton said with a grin. Here,” He extended his hand again. “Come on, let me help you.”

“No thanks,” Chesney struggled to stand. But the too-big waders weighed her down. Because Chesney hadn’t anticipated the pond being so deep, each boot was flooded with water. So she sat up and yanked the boots off her bare feet. A tiny frog jumped from the left boot to her arm and she screamed. Dalton laughed out loud, which only made her hate him. In a rage, Chesney threw the waders into the weeds and stomped barefoot up the hill. Mud squished between her toes. It dripped off her hair and chin in a slimy mess. “I really hate you,” she mumbled under her breath. “I wish I never met you, Dalton Moore. “

“You are so hotheaded,” Dalton yelled as he ran to catch up. “No one can single-handedly drag a doe from a pond, Chesney.”

Determined not to play into his charm, she did not turn around. “Leave me alone, Mr. Moore,” Chesney yelled. “Just leave me alone.”

“I've never seen a woman in my life who was so bull headed,” Dalton said. “What is it that you're trying to prove?”

Thankful to reach the back porch, Chesney rushed into the kitchen and swiped at her dripping hair with a dish towel. She was freezing from the cold rain and she was shaking from anger and humiliation.

“Chesney, wait,” Dalton stepped in the door behind her. “Will you just calm down?”

Without answering, she bolted up the stairs to the shower, locked the door and turned the water on, full blast. Only then did she let the tears come. “What am I trying to prove?” she whispered to herself as the hot shower warmed her chilled skin. She sat down on the shower floor, allowing the hot water to soothe her. Dalton's question blasted in her head. “What am I trying to prove? I'm trying to prove that I don't need you, Dalton Moore. I'm trying to prove that I'm not falling for you. So just go home to Rose. And leave me alone.”

After the very long shower, Chesney dried off and stood in front of the foggy mirror, combing her hair and thinking.

I might hate the handyman. But I still want to know how Dalton knew my grandmother. Right now, I hate his guts too much to ask about how he knew Grace. So I can’t fire him yet. I still need answers about how he knew Grace.

Wearing a fuzzy blue towel, she left the bathroom and went directly to her bedroom. Calmed by the rain beating against the windows, Chesney stretched out for a long moment on her bed. She was exhausted. Why did Dalton Moore affect her this way? One moment, she was sneakily admiring his physique and marveling at his beautiful face. The next minute, she was so mad at him that she could chew nails. And what about that terrible jealousy she felt when he mentioned his girlfriend, Rose?  “I don't have a right to feel jealous of Rose,” she said aloud. “I don't even know this man. And I don't want a man.” She didn’t want it to happen, but suddenly her mind flip-flopped. “I would love to kiss him,” She whispered dreamily into the pillow. “And so, I know I have finally lost my mind.”

A few moments later, she dug through the top drawer, finally settling on a pale pink crop top and a pair of jeans. She patiently French braided her hair. “Do you look like you were traumatized just awhile ago by water snakes?” She asked the reflection in the mirror. “No, you do not. You recovered well. You are fine.”

When she went back down the stairs, expecting to enjoy an empty house, she found Dalton quietly waiting in the kitchen. He was still wearing wet clothing.

“Hot tea,” he said as he placed the cup on the counter. “Would you like lemon?”

Muttering a barely audible thanks, she walked past him from the kitchen, and sank into the cozy comfort of the new couch in the parlor. As soon as Chesney sat down with the tea cup in hand, the puppy happily jumped on the couch to rest her cute little head on Chesney’s knee.

At least the dog loves me
.

“I didn't mean to upset you,” Dalton said as he slowly walked into the parlor. “And you should be very proud of yourself. You made a heroic effort to get to the doe.” He smiled faintly as he crouched down, eye level to where Chesney sat on the sofa. “It's alright to ask for help, you know. The doe probably hit the fence and got disoriented then fell into the water. No one would ever think you were weak or whatever you feared they might think, if you asked for help.”

“Thanks,” She avoided his eyes but managed a smile. “Now I can look forward to finding other dead deer in the pond?”

“Hopefully not,” Dalton grinned. He touched her knee ever so timidly. “Are you feeling better?” When she nodded, he walked over to the window. Chesney watched him turn. She was mesmerized by that beautiful face and those wonderful broad shoulders. Dalton’s kind, tender manner made her feel like jelly inside. She leaned forward, pretending to rearrange fresh cut flowers in a vase.

“Tell me why you've got that huge chip on your shoulder,” Dalton said.

She felt like crying but mustered the courage to glance in his direction. “It's not really a chip on my shoulder,” she said slowly.

“True,” Dalton nodded. “It's more like a boulder.” He smiled. She didn't. And the room fell silent.  “Your fiancé is a lot like a human bulldozer,” Dalton said.

“He's not my fiancé anymore,” She corrected. “And you‘re right, Jack tried constantly to bully me into doing whatever he wanted.”

“He seemed like a jerk,” Dalton said.

“You're an observant guy, Dalton. As a matter of fact, Jack is definitely an ass.” To avoid those very intense eyes, Chesney continued to pretend that she was deeply engrossed in rearranging the flowers.

I hate myself for it. But I want you to walk over here and ravage me, Dalton Moore.

“You adopted that chip on your shoulder to protect yourself,” Dalton said. “And you're still trying to keep those protective walls in place. But you really aren't the woman you pretend to be.”