Chapter Four

The soft murmur of voices stirred Jacie from sleep. Opening her eyes, she studied her surroundings. She remembered being awake earlier and talking to the Good Samaritan. Something about her having rabies. Why was she lying on hay? She reached her hand out tentatively and her muscles protested.

The pain cleared her mind.

The Good Samaritan stood across the barn from her talking quietly on the telephone. He was watching her and, when she made eye contact with him, he mouthed the word, ‘sorry’ and tilted the phone slightly. She thought maybe the phone’s ringing had awakened her. He finished the call, came over and crouched beside her. He lifted some pills and a glass of water from a shelf near her head. “This might make you feel better.”

She shook her head and swatted at his hand. “Get those away from me! I’m fine.”

“At least drink the water.” He smiled.

She couldn’t stop herself from looking for that dimple. Odd she’d remember that when so much else was a blur.

He helped her sit up.

She groaned slightly.

He said, “I’m sorry the phone rang. There’s always something going on around here. The park wants to get their buffalo today. They called and said they’d be over.” He raised the glass to her lips.

She obediently drank the water down, surprised at herself for following orders. It was something she didn’t do well.

“I can call them and put off returning Buffy for a day if you want to head back to Long Pine. Otherwise, we won’t be able to go for about an hour. Forty-five minutes if things go well.”

He was trying to get rid of her again. Politely but obviously. She didn’t know what was so bad about her company.

“Help me up. I’m not hurt. Not seriously. It’s just aching muscles. Moving around will help me loosen up.”

He helped her to her feet. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest. He still had those pills, which were clearly marked ibuprofen in his hand and she reached for them and swallowed.

“We can wait until after the buffalo is gone. I don’t mind.”

He nodded, keeping his arm securely around her waist. “I think a long hot shower would make you feel better. You want to take one while I make us some breakfast? My housekeeper, Alice, is at church and she doesn’t come in on Sundays usually or she’d make us something really good. Or, it’s a little late for breakfast, but I can scramble an egg without setting off the smoke alarm. Most of the time.”

“A scrambled egg sounds good.”

He nodded and led her toward the house, treating her like she was as fragile and valuable as a hundred-year-old Tiffany lampshade. They went back into his bedroom. He pointed at a door. “There are plenty of towels in the bathroom and your clothes are in there. Turn the water on as hot as you can stand and stay under for fifteen minutes at least. I’ve put some, oh, its sort of lotion, on the bathroom counter. You have tiny cuts all over you where your clothing didn’t protect you. I think the, uh, lotion, will help. It won’t do any harm at least. I won’t start the eggs until you come out, so take all the time you want.”

He left her without a single tiny reference to helping her undress or joining her. She’d gotten so used to deflecting these kinds of sleazy comments she was hardly insulted by them anymore.

She didn’t have to wonder about the...uh, lotion. It was a little jar of something called Bag Balm, with a picture of a cow’s udder on it. She noticed with some relief that it was an unopened jar. It didn’t smell like a cow, at least to the extent she knew what a cow smelled like. She read the label and had to admit it sounded like just the thing.

The bathroom was tiny but clean. There was a shower stall but no tub. There was aging linoleum on the floor and chips in the porcelain sink. She stepped in the shower and let the water pulse down on her aching muscles until they started to relax. She stepped out of the shower and dried gingerly and smoothed the thick lotion over every inch of her body. Feeling far closer to human than she had for twenty-four hours, she dressed quickly in her own laundered and folded clothes. She ran a comb through her hair, slicking it back against her head. Then she followed the smell of frying bacon to the kitchen.

The Good Samaritan looked up from where he lifted a slice of bacon out of a hot skillet. “Are you feeling better?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.” She was shocked to hear those words come out of her mouth.

He’d begun to turn back to his cooking, but her comment made him do a double take. She could feel heat climb up her neck and across her cheeks. With a gasp she walked back into the hallway she’d come down, and looked in a mirror.

She was still staring in awe at the red on her face when he appeared behind her. She glanced at him. He looked worried. But she couldn’t keep her eyes off her florid cheeks.

He rested one hand gently on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m blushing.” She shook her head in amazement. “I haven’t blushed in a long time. I’m actually enjoying the sight.”

“What did you do last time that was so embarrassing?”

She couldn’t stop herself from returning his smile. “I peed my pants in public.”

He tipped his head sideways with a grin. “That’d do it.” He rubbed her shoulder as if he was trying to make up for her long ago trauma.

“At the National Gymnastics finals.”

“Poor girl.” His rubbing became a massage.

He had strong hands, his touch was so wonderful it raised goose bumps on her arms.

“In front of ten thousand people.”

He widened his eyes and arched his eyebrows at her. “Yikes.” He kept kneading her shoulders. She could tell he was being careful to only touch her where there were no cuts.

“I was on television,” she added darkly.

His hands quit moving. “Just hearing about it is giving me post traumatic stress syndrome. You’re lucky to be alive.”

“So true.”

Brett shook his head, his hands still resting on her shoulders. “C’mon, all that tension, those dismounts, the impact and everything could make anyone, even an adult...”

“I was four at the time.”

His hands dropped away from her shoulder. “You were in the National Gymnastics finals when you were four?”

“And three, I got through three, okay. That’s why it was so humiliating at four. I was an old hand.”

“How’d you do?”

“Well, I was soaked. My leotard was completely...”

“No, I mean, how’d you do in the finals.”

“Oh, I won.”

“Wow. Even with the wet leotard? You must have been spectacular.”

She laughed. “I only competed against other four-year-olds. But for what it’s worth, I was spectacular.”

“I hope you cherish that moment.”

“I had wet panties! I was standing in a little pool! The cameras were rolling. Of course I don’t cherish it!”

“You should. You did something so humiliating that everything else in your life was tame by comparison. You earned that high embarrassment threshold at a young age. Most of us have to struggle through high school in agony. Reaching new heights in disgrace daily. It’s probably why you never blush.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Never have I considered an upside to that moment.” Then she laughed. “Now that I think of it, you’re right. I didn’t embarrass easily after that.”

“Until today, when you forgot my name,” he said quietly. “Interesting.”

He turned back to the kitchen and said over his shoulder, “It’s Brett Garrison, by the way.”

What did he mean ‘interesting’? She followed him.

“I only know Jacie.” He drained most of the grease out of his pan and poured beaten eggs into the hot skillet. They hissed and cracked as Brett adjusted the height of the gas jets.

“Oh,” Jacie was momentarily baffled, then she laughed. “We really didn’t meet under very normal circumstances did we? It’s Moreau. Jacie Moreau.

“Actually it’s Jennette.” Jacie applied a French accent with considerable flare. “Jennette Calais Moreau. J.C. No one but my family calls me Jennette and, since I avoid my family like the plague, I almost succeed in forgetting altogether.” Narrowing her eyes, she added, “I don’t want to hear the name from you.”

Brett shrugged affably as he added ingredients to the eggs. “Well, hello Jacie Moreau.”

He pulled a folding chair out from a card table, which seemed to be the only furniture in his kitchen, and fed her a meal far too delicious to be called by the humble name scrambled eggs. They were perfectly cooked and full of vegetables. From the peelings on the kitchen counter, with what had to be dirt clinging to some onions roots, she knew the veggies had come straight from a garden. The bacon was perfectly crisp. He pulled a pitcher of orange juice out of his refrigerator and took two stemmed glasses out of the freezer compartment of a refrigerator so old it was from before they learned to defrost themselves. He filled the delicate crystal with juice as frost appeared all over the glass. He had coffee mugs with cartoon barnyard animals on them. She got a perky looking dairy cow with a pink parasol. He had an overweight rooster wearing boxing gloves.

He filled a plate with toast made from coarse, whole grained bread that looked home made, and put several flavors of jelly in front of her. The jelly jars had hand printed labels on them that said, ‘Fresh From the Kitchen of Brett Garrison’. It struck her as the happiest looking breakfast she’d ever seen. It was also the most delicious. Of course, she hadn’t eaten since breakfast the morning before so she was starving.

She ate like a teamster, relishing the textures and flavors. She remembered all her struggles with her size and starvation before she’d finally found peace as a five foot ten woman whose curves refused to be dieted away. She leaned her forearms on the table and savored the coffee, cradling her mug in both hands. She marveled at the contrast between the humble house and the elegant crystal, the ancient appliances and the natural ingredients in the meal. Something about it was a perfect balance, like he’d known what was really important and given that great care, while ignoring things that didn’t matter.
She sighed in utter contentment. “That was wonderful.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. The park manager ought to be here for Buffy and her calf any minute. I got two more calls while you were in the shower. Someone’s coming for the horse. Plus several of the dogs are checking out. I told you I don’t do regular office hours on Sunday, but I should have known better than to expect a free day. At least no one has called with a sick animal. I made all of the folks who called promise to come right over. We can head back soon.”

At that moment a Siamese cat landed on the edge of the table. Jacie jumped back, almost tipping over her chair.

The cat started licking Jacie’s empty plate.

“Get that thing off the table! Gross!”

Brett laughed carelessly and, lifting under its stomach, he lowered the cat to the floor. “Get down, Siam. Mind your manners.”

“You let that filthy animal climb on your table?” Jacie got up and went to the sink to wash her hands with plenty of soap.

“Siam is cleaner than either of us, Jacie. You won’t catch anything from him.”

“Speak for yourself, I just had a shower. I bet I have cat hair all over me.” She looked down at her outfit and started brushing at it vigorously.

“Are you allergic to cats?” Siam leaped up onto Brett’s lap and Brett smoothed his fur.

“No, I just hate them. They’re filthy. He’s like having a huge rat running loose in the house, only the rat would have the good sense to hide from you, and you wouldn’t deliberately touch it. How can you stand to have one in your house?”

“Siam is my best friend. He doesn’t shed anymore than people do. Most of the filthy hair you just brushed off of yourself is probably mine or yours.”

Jacie quit brushing hairs off. She hadn’t really seen any hairs anyway, she could just feel them clinging to her. She resisted the urge to wash her hands again. “That’s different, human hair is supposed to be in a house. Cats belong outside.”

“Siam rarely jumps on the table, but I haven’t fed him this morning and he’s letting me know he’s hungry.” Brett leaned down and set the cat on the floor. He began winding himself around Brett’s ankles. “I’m sorry, boy. It’s been a hectic morning.”

Brett got up and took a can of cat food out of his cupboard. Siam began howling in a very un-catlike way. Brett used the same can opener he used on people food to open the cat food and Jacie shuddered in disgust. Brett walked out of the room with Siam winding between his feet trying to trip him.

As he came back into the kitchen, Brett said, “I’m sure you’re impatient to get back. Sorry about the delay.”

A flash of irritation at his constant efforts to be rid of her made her say, “Aren’t you the least bit curious about why I got blown up yesterday?”