Authors: Irene Radford

Thistle Down (42 page)

BOOK: Thistle Down

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“No sign of PJ. And that worries me. For all of her faults and nastiness, Phelma Jo has never done anything illegal . . . that I know of. She claims Haywood Wheatland altered the bid for the timber by a factor of ten, that she’s not at fault. I’ve got the county police patrolling the carnival and keeping an eye out for him, too. God, it hurt my pride to run to them for help.”

The local mechanic plugged a quarter into the jukebox and cranked up the volume to ear busting. The whining electric guitars and canned bass made Chase and a few others wince. Previously muted conversations dialed up to an obnoxious roar to top the music.

Chase asked for ice water. It tasted better than the beer and helped clear his head a little.

The high school principal stomped over to the jukebox and deliberately forced the volume back down to one notch above mute.

The mechanic half rose from his seat right beneath the wall speakers. His fists clenched and his brow lowered belligerently. A round of applause greeted the principal’s action. That made the mechanic think twice about protesting with his fists.

“Can you ease up the air-conditioning to Arctic?” Chase asked the bartender.

“Sorry, Sarge. We’re already running at max, and it’s threatening to die.” The bartender shook his head as he polished an already immaculate bar. “The mood in this town is scary tonight. We really need a break from the heat. Heard a rumor that the power company is going to brownouts. Too many air conditioners running at full power all the time.”

“The place is really jumping tonight,” Dick commented. He, too, looked askance at his beer rather than downing it. “Want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Chase asked. His spine stiffened defensively.

“About why my sister is sitting in the bay window cradling the music box and crying.”

A wild leap of hope flamed within Chase, then died as if drowned by the entire glass of ice water.

“I won’t let you hurt her. Not you or anyone else for that matter,” Dick continued.

“There is nothing to talk about,” Chase replied.

“Yes, there is.”

“Nope. Not going to happen.” Chase threw a five on the bar and pushed his stool back. “I got work to do. People to find. Tow trucks to call.”

“Not yet,” Dick restrained him with a firm grip on his forearm.

“Take your hand off me before I arrest you for assaulting a police officer.”

“Nope. You aren’t in uniform, so that doesn’t count. You are going to sit there and wait until my sister says her piece.”

“What?” Chase turned toward the entrance cautiously.

Dusty and Thistle filled the doorway. Gentle light haloed them both. The air suddenly seemed drier, easier to breathe.

Dusty took a deep breath and aimed her steps toward Chase. She kept her eyes focused on him. The rest of the room, the noise, the heat, all faded away.

“Dick, ask Thistle to dance,” she commanded, never dropping eye contact with Chase.

“Dusty, I . . .”

“Dick, thank you for protecting me all these years. I appreciate it. But the time is long past when I need to stand up for myself. Now take Thistle over there to the dance floor. Give this crowd something to watch, and do other than complain and get angry.” She pointed to the empty dance floor.

“Dusty, I . . .” Chase began.

She cut him off with a finger to his lips.

“Chase, I owe you many apologies. But first I have to thank you for telling me the truth when everyone else covered it up in the name of protecting me.”

“That isn’t true,” Dick blustered.

Thistle responded by grabbing his hand and dragging him away. “They need some privacy.”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you.” Chase dropped his gaze from her eyes to her shoulder and beyond. But his hands crept to her waist, his fingers gripping tightly as if afraid she’d turn and run.

“My days of running away may not have passed entirely, but I promise to do it less often,” Dusty said, taking half a step closer to him. The heat of his body and his twitching grin—as if he were afraid to let it dominate his face—banished some of her fears. “All I ask is for the opportunity to prove to you that I accept the responsibility of friendship and will be as faithful and trustworthy as you.”

“Oh, you are much more than just my friend,” he growled, dropping his head to capture her lips with his own. He kept his caress light, tentative. The tension in his fingers told her how much more he wanted.

She pressed herself against him until she felt as if their skin merged; teased his mouth with her tongue, and clung to him with desperate fingers. Finally, her need to breathe overcame the urgency in their kiss.

“Chase, I have loved you for a long time, from a distance. I was afraid.”

“Afraid of the inherent violence inside me?”

“No, never that. I’ve seen you pull your punches when breaking up a bar fight. I’ve watched you help to his feet a football opponent you had just tackled. I cheered you on when you rescued a kitten—who didn’t need rescuing—from a tree just to soothe the tears of a small child. I’ve felt the gentleness in you.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

“Myself. Afraid I could never measure up to Phelma Jo and all the other women you have dallied with.”

“Dallied only, while I waited for you to grow up.”

“Have I grown up?”

“Yes.” He kissed her again, pulling her tighter against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. His mouth pressed hard, intense, and demanding against her own.

She sighed and relaxed into him, cherishing the feeling of completeness.

“I think this is what the kids call Pixie love,” he whispered.

“Oh, no, not my Dusty!” Joe wailed from behind her.

Reluctantly, Dusty pulled herself away from the best kiss she’d ever imagined. Better than Haywood’s Pixie dazzle kiss. Much better than Joe’s safe and undemanding kiss. She had to cling to Chase a bit to regain her balance.

When she turned to face her boss, her spine and chin firmed with determination. “Joe, go home to your daughters. Call Monica and settle visitation or joint custody with her. Then complete your application for the teaching job at the community college.”

“But . . . but, Dusty, we’re friends. I thought . . .”

“That’s all we are, Joe. Just friends. And I thank you for the years of friendship we’ve shared. I don’t love you as you need to be loved. Now go home. We have full schedules all day and evening tomorrow.”

“The Masque Ball. Is that all you can think about?” he asked sullenly.

Relief washed through her. She knew for certain now that she’d made the right choice. Joe needed her, but he didn’t love her. He’d hurt for a while, more from wounded pride than a broken heart. In the end, their friendship would remain, even if . . . no
when
he moved on to the teaching position at the community college.

“Right now I’m thinking about a whole lot more than the Masque Ball.” She turned back to face Chase, rose on tiptoe, and returned his kiss.

A quiet shift in the air pressure told her that Joe had left.

“Um, Dusty, as much as I’d like to walk you home and spend the rest of my life with you, I’ve . . . uh, got work to do,” Chase murmured, barely lifting his mouth from hers.

“Huh?”

“Our favorite mechanic has taken exception to the principal’s choice of music. I’ve got to break up this fight before it spreads.” He broke away from her and dove into the fray that had spread to a dozen people.

Thistle giggled.

“Well, aren’t you going to spread some Pixie magic and stop this?” Dick asked.

“Don’t need to. Chase will handle it, and then Dusty will nurse his hurts.”

“And what will we do?” Dick strained against her grasp of his hands.

“Dance. Pixies love to dance almost as much as we love to fly.”

Dusty wondered why Thistle sounded so sad when her own heart soared and danced with the fullness of true Pixie love.

Thirty-six

T
HISTLE GATHERED HER ARMY at the museum grounds three hours before the Masque Ball. If Chicory and his brothers and their girlfriends could be called an army.

“Those clouds are sticking to the mountains like dog drool on wings,” Thistle pouted. “Or Faery rules on a Pixie.” She glared at the towering white clouds with black underbellies that shrouded the big mountain from view.

“Mabel calls it magnetics and talks about shifting air pressure,” Chicory joined her scowl. He and his band had grown to human size but kept their wings and flower garb to blend in with the costumed party guests. Of course they couldn’t actually fly. All of their magic went into maintaining their size rather than working their wings.

“Can we tickle them over this way?” Thistle asked, missing her wings and her magic more than ever. “If we could just get a little shower this afternoon to cool things down a bit, then they can let loose with everything they’ve got after moonset.”

“I don’t think those clouds are gonna bust loose even if every Pixie in the region joined in.”

“Hmmm. I wonder.”

“Don’t even think it, Thistle. Rosie objected mightily to us helping you at all,” Aster chimed in.

“She doesn’t believe in tribes joining up for anything other than a marriage treaty,” Delph added.

“And she’s sorely missing her betrothed. Hay hasn’t been around in days and days,” Chicory said.

“You guys haven’t seen him or Phelma Jo at all?” Thistle looked away from the problem of the clouds toward her allies, and hopefully friends.

“Not a sign. And we’ve been all over town,” Daisy said. “Ditch weed flowers can go where royalty can’t. And we’ve been everywhere a Pixie can get into.”

“We even peered into The Ten Acre Wood, just in case,” Aster said.

“We can’t get in there, even from above.” Chicory shook his head. “I landed on the top branch of the tallest Douglas fir that sticks above the energy wall, but I couldn’t get through the wall, only look for signs of life down below. Lots and lots of activity, but it’s all down low, and it’s either angry fast, or sullen slow. Nothing bright and happy in Alder’s kingdom.”

“Hay can’t get in there either,” Daisy reminded them.

“Okay. I have an idea,” Thistle said. “I’m sending Dick into The Ten Acre Wood to take a look around.”

“He’s human. He should be able to get through the wall,” Chicory agreed.

“While he’s doing that, I want you six to get back to normal size and go see what you can do with those clouds. Take with you every Pixie from every tribe you can find. We really need some relief in this town, or the Ball is going to break into fistfights just like the bar did last night.”

“That will be fun.” Delph grinned hugely.

“For you, maybe. Not for Dusty.”

“Oh, yeah. Dusty. Mabel reminded us this morning that this is Dusty’s day and we shouldn’t do anything to upset her.”

“Did you hear that Dusty and Chase stayed up after the bar fight until almost dawn, talking and kissing?” Daisy asked. “They are truly in love.” Her eyes looked at Chicory with adoration.

“Good. Now go see what you can do about those clouds. Take with you every Pixie willing to go, no matter which tribe.”

“What are you going to do?” Chicory asked.

“Make sure everyone has fun at this Ball. Especially Dusty. Which may mean messing with her cell phone so her mother can’t call her
again
.”