CHAPTER 21

Isla

Not sure why I’m so nervous. It’s not like I didn’t just spend Thanksgiving with Stacie and her daughter. I think it’s the idea of blending the families, as it were. It makes everything so much more...official?

I also can’t deny that Stacie, in all her perfection—her immaculate home, her successful career, her flawless appearance—intimidated the shit out of me.

It’s ridiculous, but I want everything to be perfect. Which is why I may have gone a little overboard on the cleaning, the decorating, and the Christmas baking. According to Uncle Al, it’s not all I went overboard on; he’s the one I dragged into Cortez to pick up a few necessities and ended up loaded down like a pack mule.

We’d agreed no gifts; we’d focus on having some quality family time, but I couldn’t have an eight-year-old wake up Christmas morning without at least a few gifts under the tree. As for the rest of the stuff, that was just for their comfort: some nice bedding for the spare room, a few knick-knacks, and fresh towels for their bathroom. Those don’t count as gifts.

“You know the dog was supposed to be the big surprise for Mak, right?” Ben pointed out last night, when he caught me wrapping gifts in the bedroom.

“Yes, but it’s not like she can take Atsa home with her. He’ll stay here and she can come visit anytime she wants, but she needs something to take home,” I plead my case, which didn’t go very far with Ben, who just raised an eyebrow.

This morning, I’m even nervous about the dog. What if Mak doesn’t like Atsa? Or he reacts weird to them? I mean; he’s been fine with Uncle Al, and even Jen, who came for a visit this week, but what if he doesn’t like kids?

“You worry too much,” Ben whispers in my ear as he stalks up behind me.

“She has that from her mother,” Uncle Al volunteers, having clearly overheard. I turn my head to where he is deftly unwrapping Hershey’s Kisses and pressing them into the balls of dough I’m rolling. At least that’s what he’s supposed to be doing, but I’ve already caught him popping a few in his mouth.

“Better not be eating all those,” I threaten, but he just winks at Ben.

“My sister always said: Worry often gives a small thing...”

“...a big shadow,” I finish for him. A smile forms on my lips because I can clearly hear her say the words. I never understood the meaning until long after she’d passed away. I glance at my uncle again and find him gently smiling back.

It’s funny how the loss of a loved one, although once gut-wrenchingly painful, can become a lingering ache that at times feels almost comforting. Even though they’re gone, you learn to feel blessed you had them in your life in the first place.

So when Ben flexes his arms around me, and mumbles, “I’m sorry.” I turn so we are nose to nose before I answer.

“I’m not sorry at all,” I tell him. “She left me loved.”

Ben opens his mouth to say something, but the low growl coming from the dog by the front door, has him snap it shut. We’re all frozen in suspended animation, listening for what Atsa might be reacting to.

When the familiar sound of tires crunching on the snow becomes clearer, I jump into action. Or perhaps I should say, into panic.

“They’re here,” I yell at no one in particular, since everyone already knows, as I move mixing bowls into the sink, grab a rag and start wiping the counter. Again.

Which is why—when Ben calls from the hallway, “Pixie, get your ass over here and come say hello!”—I’m wearing my apron, covered in flour, and am holding a dishrag in my hand when he pulls the door open.

It doesn’t even take a second before Mak squeals at seeing a nosey Atsa, who pushed his way past Ben’s long legs. There’s no time to caution, or even take in a breath, as she dives for the dog, landing on her knees on the floor, her lanky arms wrapping tightly around Atsa’s neck.

“Mak!” Stacie scolds her daughter, who is blissed out with her face buried in the dog’s fur. Luckily, Atsa sinks down on his butt and with arrogant resignation, lets himself be cuddled.

“Ben!” is Stacie’s next admonition, punching her grinning brother in the shoulder.

“Chill, sis,” he rumbles, pulling her into a hug. “The dog stays here, but he’s Mak’s all the same.”

I can’t hear what she mutters into his shirt, but whatever it is makes him chuckle. The moment she pushes out of her brother’s arms and turns to me, I realize the state I’m in, but it’s too late. Apparently unconcerned with the flour covering me, or the dirty dishrag still clasped in my hand, she wraps me in a bone-crushing hug.

“It’s so beautiful here. The house is amazing! What is it I smell? Are you baking? I’m so jealous. I can’t bake for shit. Cookies? Please tell me they’re chocolate chip,” she chatters, as she tucks her arm in mine and drags me into the house. “Ben, grab our bags from the car, will ya? Mak, get up off the floor and leave that dog alone. Why don’t you give your uncle a hand?”

Just like that, she has everything and everyone organized. I haven’t even formulated words yet.

“I already know I like you,” Uncle Al says, when we walk into the kitchen, where he’s waiting. “Anyone who manages to leave my niece stumped for words deserves my respect, at the very least.” He holds out his hand at Stacie.

“You’re Uncle Al,” Stacie says, grinning as she pumps his hand a few times.

“And you are Ben’s sister.”

“Anastasia, but everyone calls me Stacie.”

“Beautiful name for a lovely lady.” I swear Uncle Al is swooning, but Stacie laughs it off.

“Heard lots about you already,” she informs him.

“All good, I hope?”

“Nothing but the best,” she confirms, making my uncle blush.

“Well, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” Al says, and I brace myself for what might come out of his mouth. “But what I was told about you doesn’t even come close to doing you justice.” Then old coot winks at her, and I think I may have just groaned out loud.

My God, they’re flirting. I don’t know whether to giggle or hurl. It’s equally funny and disturbing. I’ve never really seen my uncle so thrown off by anyone, but he clearly doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going now.

“Yay! Cookies.”

Clearly Stacie is unaffected as she dives for the cookie tray.

As introductions go, these weren’t anything like I could’ve imagined...but the result is a comfortable, familiar atmosphere by the time Ben walks in, followed by Mak and Atsa. Clearly the dog has already claimed the girl, as much as the girl has claimed him; he follows her everywhere. Traitor.

“Everything okay?” Ben asks a while later, when I slip his shepherd’s pie in the oven. I’d wanted to make some nice mushroom and asparagus risotto with stuffed veal, but was met with protest from both men.

Uncle Al wanted chili, but I shivered at the thought of him lifting an ass cheek off his seat. His signal that those beans were making a return in gas form. I was well-trained to spot the signature move and make myself scarce before detonation. To my horror, Ben had discovered my uncle’s propensity, just a few days ago. Instead of being equally horrified, he thought it was hilarious, adding music of his own. I vowed then never to make chili again. Or anything else with beans for that matter. Grown men, for Christ’s sake.

Ben came up with the shepherd’s pie, reminding me that although risotto and veal sounded pretty good, the simple potatoes and beef with a side of applesauce, might be something Mak would enjoy.

“Everything’s fine,” I assure him, pulling myself up on the counter so I was face-to-face. Of course, Ben would see it as an invitation to worm himself between my legs and with his hands on my ass, pull me closer to the edge, and his hips, or thereabouts.

Stacie and Mak were in their rooms. Something Stacie had initially protested against, claiming she could just as easily share with Mak, but my uncle assured her that he much preferred sleeping in his bed in the trailer. Ben showed them their rooms, and I had to smile at the girly squeals from Mak, who probably found the few things I left on her bed for her.

I keep looking around for Atsa, who is usually underfoot when I’m doing anything with food in the kitchen, but he’s nowhere to be found. Although I’m pretty sure he’s making himself comfortable in Mak’s room, on Mak’s bed.

Traitor.

Ben

“Are you ready to get a tree?”

Mak is smiling big as she nods at Al, who is helping her in her snowsuit.

“You need to hold on tight to Isla, okay?”

“Why aren’t you coming?” my niece asks the old man.

“Who’s going to make sure there is hot chocolate and a nice fire ready for when you come back frozen like icicles? Besides, Uncle Al is too old for shenanigans in the snow, I’ll leave that up to you young ‘uns.” Al ruffles her hair before tugging her hood up.

“Uncle Ben is old, too.” Mak shrugs innocently, and my sister, who is struggling to get her feet shoved into boots, snorts. I’m close enough to cuff the back of her head.

“Hey!” Stacie cries out, lifting her hand to her head. “I didn’t say anything.”

“But you were thinking about it.”

“You guys, ready?” Isla comes in from outside, where she just picked up an armload of firewood.

“Yeah, daylight’s wasting here, and there’s a show starting in ten minutes I’d really like to see, so scram, you lot,” Al says, taking Isla’s load and carrying it inside.

The plan was for Mak to ride with me and Stacie to climb on the back of Isla’s ATV, leveling it out weight-wise. A solid plan, or so I thought, until the girls got hold of it and my input was completely ignored as they rearranged it.

There isn’t a whole lot of snow yet, so we should still be able to get around on the four-wheelers, for the most part. If it gets too deep at some point, we can always walk a ways.

With Stacie hanging on for dear life, I lead us up a narrow trail I flattened, the best I could, earlier in the week. The whine of Isla’s engine sounds right behind us and the dog is trotting along beside her.

“This is so fun!” Stacie yells in my ear. “Can you teach me to ride one of these?”

“Nothing to it,” I tell her, turning my head sideways so she can hear me. “Just need to learn to work a throttle.”

“Cool.” I can feel her shift as she looks behind us, where both my niece and Isla are smiling wide. The next moment, she’s back at my ear. “Can you teach me to shoot a gun?”

“Fuck no,” is my knee-jerk response. It’s already a challenge to try to teach Isla to hit a target. My sister, who is not particularly coordinated, on her best days—in anything but her outfit that is—would be a nightmare.

“I’ll just ask Isla,” she says, and I don’t even need to look to know she’s got a big shit-eating grin on her face. She’s a fucking lawyer; she knows exactly how to manipulate. She went to law school for three goddamn years after her bachelor’s, that’s all they learn there. She knows damn well I wouldn’t even consider letting Isla be the one to teach her. It would be like the blind leading the blind.

So I just shut my mouth and resign myself to the fact that I’ll probably be taking Stacie for target practice before the end of the year. Fuck me.

-

“That one is nice,” I point out a nice little tree, when we stop in a section with quite a few nicely-shaped pine trees.

“Too small,” Isla shuts me down.

“Yeah, good shape, but you need much bigger for that ginormously high ceiling.” My sister, of course, readily agrees.

“I think it’s cute,” Mak says, standing beside me, the sweet little girl face, currently reddened by the cold. Cute. Damn kid is as almost as good as her mother, pushing my buttons.

“You’re right,” I agree, knowing I’ve been overpowered, yet again. “Let’s keep looking. Cute won’t cut it.”

If I had any doubts about Mak’s premature, but already finely honed feminine wiles, the sneaky grin she throws the other two swiftly eliminates them.

The next tree, this one selected by the half pint, is massive, and I carefully explain we’ll likely be wrecking the home of quite a few of the local wildlife, if we were to cut that one down. That doesn’t sit well with Mak, so we’re looking again. At this point, it’s more me hanging back by the ATVs, keeping an eye on the rest of the group.

All of a sudden I notice the dog frozen and alert, his nose sniffing the air. I quickly track Isla’s dark head with earmuffs, and off to her right is my sister, her blonde hair poking out of the blue knit hat she’s wearing. But I can’t find Mak’s red hood.

The moment I start moving in the direction, where I thought I last saw her, Atsa takes off running, his head low and stretched out in front of him. My feet immediately pick up speed, and by the time I hear my name called, I’m full out running in the direction where Atsa disappeared in the brush.

“Ben! What’s going on?” I vaguely register Isla’s call, but I’m too focused on where I’m going, while instinctively reaching for my gun.

I’m noisy as I crash through the underbrush, but I can still hear loud growls and snarls to my left. I immediately shift toward the sound of animals fighting, firing a shot in the air in hopes of breaking it up.

I clear the trees, just as I see the mountain lion pin Atsa on his back, and without thinking about it, I aim and shoot again. This time to hit. The majestic animal slumps down on top of the dog, a good-sized hole in its side. I aim again when I see its body move, but it’s just the dog crawling out from under the weight of the big cat.

“Atsa!” Isla exclaims as she bursts out of the trees, my sister right behind her.

“Mommy?”

The blood freezes in my veins when I see Mak’s red hood poke up from the brush on the other side of the small clearing, right in my fucking line of fire.

-

“Hit me up with another,” I tell Al, who is generously spiking the hot chocolate with dark rum.

He was coming through the woods when we were on our way back down, having heard the shots. I had him drive the ATV home and I walked the rest of the way. I needed the time to get my jitters under control. Clearly, I was only partially successful.

Luckily, other than a few spots where the cat pierced the skin with teeth or claws, the only injury Atsa bore was a small tear on his ear. Isla wanted to take him down to Dolores to find a vet, so he could get stitched up. The dog didn’t look to be in pain, and there was barely any bleeding, once we had the mountain lion’s blood washed off him and were able to get a good look at any injuries. It didn’t look that bad and would heal on its own, with a bit of care.

Mak had wandered off a little when she spotted the big cat in the distance. She’d panicked and started moving to where she thought we were but ended up in the wrong direction. The animal had wasted no time closing in on the much smaller Mak. If not for Atsa, Mak may not be cuddled on the couch next to her still shaky mother. Christ, I can’t even think about that.

Isla got mad when I suggested perhaps Atsa deserved a battle scar or two, but my little niece intervened by saying, “That way I can’t ever forget he saved me.”

That resulted in a sobbing Isla in my arms. Arms that were still shaking.

Al insisted on coming back up with me, to drag the cat’s carcass a little further away from the house. We also ended up cutting a tree, the only way to lift everyone’s spirits.

That, and the rum in hot chocolate.