He didn’t give me time to answer, but started toward the kitchen, definitely a man with a purpose.
“Oh…” He paused and called back to me, “I put the number to your dad’s hospital room over there by the phone in case you wanted to check on him.” And he disappeared into the kitchen.
I had to find my/his sweatshirt again (imagine that). Then I was pleased to hear Dad’s voice sounding stronger and less under the influence. Seems Mama Parker was due to arrive at any moment. Dad reported that the doc said he’d probably be going home tomorrow, which was a good thing because he was damn tired of hospital food and bedpans.
The kitchen floor was still cold as I hurried past. Clint was busy frying something that smelled exquisite (it is an unspoken rule that an Oklahoma breakfast has to include several fried foods to be “authentic”), but he called, “Did you get ahold of your dad?”
“Yeah—he’s fine. Going home tomorrow with Mama Parker.”
I heard him grunt a reply as I headed eagerly for my long hot shower. After I soaked under the steaming rivulets, towel dried and re-dressed in the clothes I’d worn the day before (which Clint must have slipped inside the door while I was luxuriating in the World of Hot Water), I took my time applying Rhiannon’s ultra-expensive and ultra-complimentary makeup. My mind whispered that I needed to look “together” for whatever today brought—an uncomfortable slice of the future I wasn’t willing to ponder at that moment.
My hair was drying into a mane of red ringlets when I entered the kitchen escorted by a cloud of hot-shower mist.
Clint welcomed me with a heart-melting smile and handed me a loaded plate.
“Good morning. I’m glad you’re hungry.”
“Good morning and good Lord! Did you think I was a lumberjack?” I could only stare at the mound of messy scrambled eggs (that’s eggs scrambled with green peppers, mushrooms, onions, bacon and cheese), home-fried potatoes (fried is the key word here), sausage patties (fried) and biscuits (ladled with real butter and honey).
“It’s good for an expectant mother to eat.” He still had that wonderful smile on his face.
“If I keep eating like this I can expect to be twice my size by the time I am a mother,” I grumbled, but that didn’t stop me from digging into the delicious, fatty mess.
When I came up for air, I noticed Clint was watching me intently.
“What?” I sputtered, taking a gulp of hot tea to clear my mouth.
“I wonder if you can ever know how happy you made me last night…” He paused and the intense look melted into a boyish grin. “And this morning.”
“I—” I started to respond by reminding him of the reality of our situation, that I was still going to return to Partholon and ClanFintan. But I couldn’t say the words. I didn’t know what would happen to him after I left. I didn’t even want to think about it. I just knew that for our time together I felt compelled to bring him happiness.
“I’m glad,” I whispered.
He reached across the space that separated us and took my hand. Raising it to his lips, he turned it so that he could kiss the spot where my pulse beat strongly against my skin. For a moment I saw the painful reflection of reality in his eyes, and then I pulled him to me and kissed his sensuous lips.
He knows. The words sank into my mind and I felt an unexpectedly protective surge. I wanted to scream, THEN HELP HIM! MAKE HIM NOT LOVE ME! But I knew it couldn’t be, and, in a growing part of my mind I recognized the fact that I didn’t want him to change. I wanted his love.
Perhaps in a way I was as selfish as Rhiannon.
“Your turn!” I chirped, forcing my thoughts away from the morose. Before he could resist I pushed him toward the bathroom. “I won’t put anything away. I’ll just wash and dry and leave it stacked in a mess. Don’t worry—” I gave him a final shove “—you can still pick up after me.” Chuckling, he disappeared through the door.
Under normal circumstances I don’t enjoy cleaning up dishes. Let’s face it, twenty-four-hour maid service is one thing that is very appealing about the life of being a Partholonian Goddess Incarnate. But this morning I relished the mundane, homey ritual. I liked scraping the plates and dipping them in the soapy water (Clint must be part of the anti-dishwasher sect, too. I can’t image that except for him and my parents they have much membership, though.). Ignoring my words to him, I neatly stacked the dried dishes, pots, pans and utensils. Then my nose led me to find the trash can that nested under the sink.
“Phew! Smells like something died in here—last week.” I held my breath and tied off the white Hefty bag, pulled it out of the waste can and strode quickly to the front door, where I shoved my feet into Clint’s huge boots. “I’ll just set you outside the porch and let Clint worry about where you’ll go from there,” I told the stinking plastic bag as I opened the front door.
The moment I stepped out onto the porch my body became very still. Something was wrong, very wrong. The texture of the air seemed to have changed. Yes, it was still snowing, now even harder than it had since the blizzard had begun, but it wasn’t the whiteness that was so disconcerting; it was the intensity in the air. Where before the covering of white had made the forest look well dressed and ready for a gala event, this morning the layer of snow had become a white shroud drawn across the face of death.
I dropped the bag and stumbled quickly to the tree line. Pressing my hands against the bark of the first tree I reached, a medium-size hackberry, I closed my eyes and concentrated.
“What has happened?” I whispered earnestly.
Evil comes, Beloved of the Goddess. The tree’s voice was distant and sounded strained.
“Is it here right now?” I looked wildly around, feeling the skin at the back of my neck crawl.
It has entered the forest. She is calling it.
“She!” I yelled. “You mean the one who perverts Epona’s will?”
This time the tree’s voice sounded stronger. Yes, Chosen One.
“Where is she now?”
Within the sacred grove.
“Thank you!” I patted the bark and tried to ignore the nervous churning in my stomach.
Be vigilant, Beloved of the Goddess.
“I’ll sure as hell try,” I mumbled as I scrambled, shivering, back to the cabin.
Clint stood in the doorway, fully dressed and still pink from the shower. “Is it time?” he asked woodenly.
“Yes.” I hustled past him, filling him in as I kicked off his boots and reached for my own. “I knew something was wrong as soon as I stepped outside. The tree confirmed it. Rhiannon’s in the clearing.”
“And Nuada’s on his way there to meet her,” he finished for me.
I nodded.
Suddenly he seized me by the shoulders and forced me to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to confront her. I’ll go. I’ll tell her what she wants to hear, that I never really wanted you. That I finally realize the only woman I want to be with is her. I’ll explain that you were so upset when you found out I chose her that you went through the divide back to Partholon. You can leave in the Hummer right now. Go to your dad’s. The trees will tell you when it’s safe to come back, and then you can re-enter Partholon.” He smiled sadly. “I doubt if you ever really needed me to return. You have enough power yourself.”
“What about Nuada?” I asked quietly.
“When I join with her she won’t need him anymore. I’ll convince her to send him back to hell or wherever.”
I shook my head slowly. “You know that won’t work, Clint. Rhiannon is beyond reason. She might be placated enough to leave me alone if you return to her, but she’ll never have enough power.” As I spoke, I reasoned through things that I’d been shoving into the back of my mind. “Rhiannon didn’t just wake up a couple of days ago and decide to pull Nuada over here.” My eyes narrowed as I considered this. “For several weeks before you called me back I had been overwhelmed with depressing thoughts. I even imagined I saw weird shadows just past the edges of my vision.” I g
ave a sarcastic snort. “When I realized I was pregnant I decided it was probably just hormones acting up and making me ultra-emotional, but I don’t think so anymore. I think Rhiannon has been calling more than just Nuada to her. She’s been messing with the evil of Pryderi. It took Rhiannon quite some time to awaken Nuada, and during that time he, and the dark power she was summoning him with, was being drawn to me instead of her, maybe because Partholon is closer than this world to wherever his death had banished him. My guess is that Pryderi’s evil helped to cause the Fomorian war, and now it’s helping to resurrect Nuada.”
“I don’t doubt what you’re saying. All I’m saying is that Rhianon could still send him back.”
“Maybe, but you know she wouldn’t. From my trip to witness the past I learned one thing for sure—Rhiannon is a control freak. She has to believe she is in control of every aspect of her life, and to her way of reasoning, Nuada’s power would just be one more tool she could use to maintain that control. It wouldn’t matter to her if that power came from evil.” I shook my head again. “No, we go together and we get rid of Nuada. Dealing with Rhiannon is secondary.”
And then I have to return to Partholon where I belong.
I didn’t say the words aloud, but I saw the knowledge reflected unspoken in Clint’s eyes. Without hesitation I stepped into his arms and drew his lips down to mine, kissing him deeply, trying to tell him with my mouth the words I wouldn’t allow myself to speak. How sorry I was. How much I wished it was different—and how much I wouldn’t change one moment of last night.
CHAPTER 4
“Dress in layers,” Clint said, handing me his favorite sweatshirt. He watched with a possessive smile as I pulled it on over the shirt I already wore.
“Got an extra pair of socks?” I asked.
He nodded and retrieved another pair for both of us. We dressed methodically in silence. I glanced under my lashes at him. Is this how he looked when he used to put on his flight suit and head out to enter the cockpit of his fighter jet? Had he fought in Desert Storm? His face looked stern but serene, like nothing could bother him. Like he was used to going into battle. There were so many things about him I didn’t know—so many things I’d like to discover.
“I want you to wear one of my coats.” He pulled two thick, down ski-type jackets from the coat closet. “You’ll need to have plenty of room to move.”
He handed me one of the coats, then reached back into the dark recesses of a high shelf in the closet. He grabbed something black and heavy, pulling it out with a metallic thump. I heard a click as he shoved a clip into the gun’s handle.
He felt my eyes on him and turned slowly to face me.
“Promise me you won’t do it,” I said stonily.
He hesitated, searching my eyes.
“I couldn’t bear it if you killed her.” Just thinking about it made my heart feel like it might beat out of my chest.
“I swear to you that I will draw none of her blood.” His voice took on a singsong quality, as if he has intoning a spell. The air around us shimmered, and for a moment I felt a presence like the beating of hummingbird wings.
“Thank you, Clint,” I said solemnly.
“Dress yourself and let’s get going.” The gun fit in a black nylon holster, which was attached to a belt. Clint slung it around his hips with a brisk movement that said this was not the first time he had carried a gun.
I zipped my coat and pulled on my gloves and hat. “Ready,” I said. My voice sounded too loud.
“Remember, I’ll always love you, Shannon my girl. Wherever you are.”
His kiss was hard. Then he opened the door and we stepped into the deadly quiet of the morning.
The deep snow was like walking through water. The fat, cotton-like flakes had morphed into the steady stinging beads that were snow mixed with ice. There was no wind and the icy crystals quickly covered our hats and shoulders with a slick film. I was relieved when we entered the heart of the forest. There the enormous limbs of the intermeshing trees, though naked in their winter hibernation, served as a canopy to shield us from the worst of the storm.
And I was gratified when the ethereal echo of the welcoming whispers began.
We greet you, Beloved of the Goddess!
Hail, Epona!
Welcome, Chosen One!
The path widened and I was able to walk next to Clint. I wrapped my arm through his.
“Are the trees talking to you again?” He smiled down at me.
“Can you hear them, too?”
“No.” He held a branch back so it didn’t smack me in the face. I let my fingers trail over it, loving the surge of warmth that melted through my gloves. “The forest doesn’t speak to me like it does to you.”
We had a long walk ahead of us and curiosity was gnawing at me. “Clint, you told me that you had always liked the forest and camping and stuff like that.” Yuck, I thought. “But you didn’t tell me exactly how you came to be so in tune with the forest. How did you discover you could draw energy from the trees if they don’t talk to you?”
Clint took a deep breath. He suddenly seemed stiff and withdrawn. I untangled my arm from his so I could squeeze his hand and tug imploringly at him. “Please tell me. I need to understand.”
He took another deep breath and finally squeezed my hand back. “Well, Shannon my girl, it’s not something I like to talk about, but maybe you should know.”
I raised my eyebrows at him, afraid if I said too much he’d have second thoughts about talking.
“After my accident I was in the hospital for about six months. Then rehab seemed to go on forever. Friends who had at first come to visit regularly quit coming by, or when they did they acted jittery, like they felt guilty for not wanting to be there.” He barked a self-effacing laugh. “Hell, I didn’t blame them. Who wants to hang out with an invalid in the hospital? After a while I was alone.”
“What about your family, your mom and dad, brothers and sisters?”
“They live in Florida.”
“No girlfriend?” I tried not to grind my teeth.
“I had one, but it became unmistakably clear that Ginger had only been interested in dating a fighter pilot, not a broken-down ex-flyboy.”
I looked at him and almost laughed out loud. He was strong and handsome, the antithesis of a broken-down anything. But, then again, what can you expect from a woman named Ginger? Please.
“No ex-wife who came sniffing back around?” I sounded like a prying bitch, even to me.
“Sure, she brought my son by the hospital for a little while.” He smiled sadly. “I thought she was being kind, but pretty soon it was obvious that she liked the publicity and the attention. When my fifteen minutes of fame ran out, so did she.”
“You still loved her?” I hated that I felt so damn jealous.
“No, we married way too young and as we grew up we grew apart. The divorce was mutual and amiable.” He shrugged. “But I could have used a real friend when I was in the hospital, and it would have been nice if there had been at least that much left between us.”
The resignation in his voice made my heart hurt, and something he’d said surfaced through all the unspoken questions that were whirling around in my mind, impatiently waiting for me to ask him. He had a son.
“What about your son?” It made me feel odd to think about Clint having a child. Part of me wanted to be glad he had someone, and another part of me felt very jealous. Again.
He blew a long breath through his mouth. “Not much to say about Eddy. We don’t get along. I’ve never understood it, but it always seemed the harder I tried to find something in common with him, or to figure out ways to get close to him, the more he withdrew from me. I used to blame his mom, but that’s not fair. The boy and I just don’t speak the same language.”
I didn’t know what to say. I found it hard to believe any boy wouldn’t be thrilled that his father was a fighter pilot, and wouldn’t rush to emulate him.
He moved his shoulders restlessl
y. “It used to eat at me, and after the divorce I tried to force him to spend time with me. He had just turned thirteen when I had the accident. I was in bad shape for so long I didn’t see him for months, damn close to a year. When I finally left the hospital he acted like being around me scared him. I couldn’t figure out why. I still can’t figure it out. So I stepped away.”
Clint paused and seemed to collect himself. When he started speaking again instead of his voice being tinged with guilt, he sounded like he’d come to peace with himself. “He’s eighteen now. A young man. Last I heard he joined a rock band. His mom called me not long ago. She’s worried about him, seems he’s into drugs. I tried to talk to him and he shut me out. Again. Basically, he knows where I am, and he knows my door is always open to him if he’s willing to get help. Maybe one day the part of me that’s inside him will wake up. I’d like that, and I think that no matter how tough he pretends to be, he would, too.”
“One thing I learned from ten years of teaching is that sometimes even good people have messed-up kids,” I said quietly.
Clint squeezed my hand again and continued, “So, about two years ago I found myself alone. I couldn’t fly fighters anymore. The friends I’d known for most of my life were uncomfortable around me. I didn’t know what to do with myself.” He paused to help me over a drift that was blocking our way. “I was on a fishing trip, staying at a lodge not far from here. Fish weren’t biting, of course, so I pulled the boat to the shore and decided to hike up the side of a cliff and do some deep thinking.”
Clint’s voice died and we walked on in silence.
“And that’s when you found out you had an affinity with the trees?” I prompted.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “But only after I tried to kill myself.”
“What!” I stopped walking.
He wouldn’t look at me, but tugged at my hand so I had to keep walking to keep up with him.
“The deep thinking I did led me to the conclusion that I had no damn reason whatsoever to live. So I pulled out my rifle and leaned against the trunk of a huge oak, trying to find some way to blow my head off.” His voice roughened as he remembered. “And the tree spoke to me. I haven’t heard one that clearly since. I thought I was going nuts at first, but with its voice came such a—” he hesitated, searching for the right words “—a feeling of acceptance that I had to believe.”