Chapter 5

Taylor Swift's song, "Love Story" was my initial inspiration behind the romance between Randolf and Charlotte. It's one of my favorite songs.

Chapter 5

 

Miss Katia Evangeline Vaughn came into my care when she was little more than a child. She was the only daughter of one of my father’s brothers, left orphaned by peculiar circumstances and entrusted to me by means that were stranger still. There were a great many of our relatives living in Latibul at that time that might have taken her in, but it was left as the last will of the late Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn that if they should perish, custody of their daughter should be passed to me alone.

This perplexed me exceedingly when I received a letter from my father describing it to me. I was living in Moscow at the time, working in progressive medicine, when the word arrived informing me about the sorrowful situation of little Katia. I had never taken a mate, never had any children, and couldn’t fathom why they would have chosen me to be the guardian of their only daughter. But as soon as I was able to make a phone call to my father, he explained the situation in full.

Katia’s parents were, as some of choose to be, living on the outside of Latibul and were mostly disconnected from anything that went on with that central pack and with Mother. It was a choice they made, to live as freely as they could in America, and one they made entirely for the safety of their daughter. Katia’s mother was a direct relation to Mother. This made her daughter a possible candidate to be Mother’s successor and therefore put her life in jeopardy. Mother’s daughters and relations make it their personal vendetta to destroy any and all of their competition for their shot at becoming the supreme alpha, warring with each other secretly. Poisonings, assassinations, and all manner of foul plots resound in the shadows; little Katia would have been at great risk if she had gone to Latibul.

But even outside Latibul, the daughters of Mother keep their own packs of warriors and faithful followers and wage little wars against each other and anyone else who would contest their claim at Mother’s throne. If news of Katia’s existence were discovered, there would have been nowhere safe for her no matter where they went. Her parents had kept her entire existence a secret, sheltering her in a small town in northern Idaho and keeping very little contact with only a few members of their family who lived in Latibul still.

One of those contacts was my father. He advised them, when Katia was first born, that if something should happen to them that they needed to make arrangements for the continued safety of their daughter. She would have to be entrusted to someone who lived ominously from Mother’s eyes, someone that no one in Latibul cared about or checked up on. So naturally, my name was mentioned and Katia’s parents, unbeknownst to myself or anyone else but my father, named me the guardian of their child upon the event of their deaths, calling me her “uncle” and awarding me full and uncontestable custody should anything go wrong.

The next week, I took the first available flight to New York and moved myself and my medical practice there. Having never lived in America before, it was a bit of a transition in itself, but nothing compared to having a new addition to my once solitary lifestyle.

Katia arrived only a few days after I’d found a townhouse in Manhattan, looking wide-eyed, wary, and only about 14 years old in human years. She was a tiny redheaded child and hardly spoke a word to me for the first few months. I must fault myself for this; I was not the comforting uncle I could have been. But she acknowledged that our real familial relation was weak, at best, and despite being called her uncle in the legal documentation, in reality I was little more than a distant cousin she’d never met before. She had no profound reason to trust or relate to me and I had no knowledge of a way to bridge the gap between us.

However, she would attest diligently that I did a few things right during these times when her emotional vulnerability was at its greatest. I allowed her to go to a public human school, something her parents had never permitted. I also permitted her to pursue a social life with other human children that were close to her mental age and near her own maturity level. So, as she might say, she made friends with whom she could confide in as long as she remained within the parameters of secrecy demanded by our race. That was my one and only stipulation and she adhered to it.

Of course, it was not to last. She graduated from high school, looking much the same as she did when she’d started four years prior because of how slowly our kind age. Her friends moved away, went to college, and she once again went silent and drifted aimlessly from room to room in my house. Admittedly, I was somewhat numbed to her presence and unaware of her pain. I observed it, but found it hard to acknowledge beyond the realm of my own suffering and the demands of my career.

I did not truly see her at all until one night when, upon returning from my office at the local hospital, I overheard her sobbing desperately in her bedroom. She wept for her parents, for a life lived under the dark cloak of secrecy that smothered her heart and soul, and for her hatred of what she was. It struck me to the very core of my being; how similar we were. I vowed that night that I would fix it, that she was not beyond saving, and that I could show her how to live her life as a Lycan with pride and happiness.  That, while it might have been too late for me, she didn’t have to live making the same mistake I had made…wishing to be something other than what I was.

I found myself suddenly able to reach out to her in a deeply empathetic way and did my best to show her how, being what she was, she could accomplish things no human could ever hope to. She loved to dance, so I provided her with the best dance instructors I could find. It was easy to indulge and impress her when money was no object, something she’d been aware of as a common attribute to our race, but she’d never seen exactly how deep a Lycan’s pockets could be. Perhaps I went a little overboard, in retrospect, but I was eager to do anything I could for her.

Katia proved to be a pleasant, sweet-tempered, and unexpectedly wise young woman who flourished under the spotlight. She enjoyed being the best at what she did, using her enhanced strength, speed, precision, and stamina subtly to outshine all of the other dancers in her classes at Julliard. But when the time came for her to retire that, out of a need for racial discretion, I saw hints of that former grief come back to her face. I pulled her aside to ask her, “Katia, do you love to dance?”

She simply nodded, tearful and mourning the knowledge that her dancing years were coming to an end.

“You are good at it because you love it.” I reminded her gently, “There are millions of things to love in this world, Katia, and you’ve only explored one. You are Lycan and because of that, the only thing stopping you from finding out what else you love is how long it takes you to find something new. So, shall we explore something new, this time?”

She smiled at me with renewed hope, admitting that she wanted to try painting next. I promised her that, so long as she kept the laughter at a minimum, I would indulge her efforts to try to teach me to dance on some evenings, if she ever felt that she missed it. I also promised her that, in a few decades, when time and human minds had forgotten us, she could always dance again.

Katia and I were forever bonded and even when I gave her my blessing to leave and live her own life, she refused under the explanation that someone had to take care of me. We kept no secrets from each other, including those surrounding Julia Knightley and myself, and were as siblings from then on. Though she calls me uncle, I might call her my little sister before I call her my niece.

 

~>*<~

 

            Charly stood before her car, staring at it with wide-eyed mystification that might have been mistaken for horror. She’d gotten up earlier than usual, taking more time in her morning routines by fixing her hair and carefully applying a little more makeup than usual, before she hurried down to where the beast was parked under the car port. Tucked under one of the windshield wipers was a long-stemmed single bloom of a white lily, a gold ribbon tied about its stem with a tiny, tightly folded piece of paper attached to it. She dared not reach to touch it, mortified initially that the beautiful creamy white flower had appeared so mysteriously on the hood of her car at some point during the night.

            Her thoughts went briefly to Dr. Randolf. To his unfathomable silver eyes and wistful smiles, and she shook her head. It wasn’t possible. She was certain that a man like him had enough self-respect not to pursue her further, especially after the way she had stopped him cold at the first sign of anything even mildly romantic.

            Sam Elrod made a much more pleasing villain and she plucked the lily from its resting place, opening the little folded paper tied to the stem to peer at what it said. There was no name to acknowledge the true culprit, only a simple scrawled message written in black ink with an elaborate penmanship. She had a hard time imagining that Sam could write that beautifully, but it was the message itself that made her fair brow furrow.

 

For the fairest lily of the valley.

 

            There were only two people that Charly could imagine would know that white lilies were her favorite flower, one being her mother and the other being Kim. Neither would have left a message like that and she frowned deeply, pulling the little card from the ribbon and sticking it into the back pocket of her jeans before she carried the flower back inside.

            Her mother and Sam were still finishing breakfast and sitting at the kitchen table, something she’d declined to share with them in the process of getting ready to go into town to talk to Kim. They both looked up as she entered the kitchen, lily in tow, and stood with a flustered hand planted upon her hip in the doorway.

            “What a pretty flower, Charly!” Her mother smiled, eyes shining with suspicion.

            Sam’s expression was blank, at first, and then confused as he stared at her bitter expression and the flower she carried. Not the reaction Charly had hoped for and she frowned at him hard, hoping that it might be a ruse. Perhaps he’d had a lady at the florist come up with something to write in the card if her mother had told him what her favorite flower was.

            “Did you put this on my car?” She asked him, pointing at Sam with the bobbing bloom of the lily as if it were a weapon.

            He was unmoved from his expressions of confusion, shaking his head slightly. If that had been his only response, she might have pursued him further on the subject, but her mother took up the conversation quickly.

            “Someone left it on your car?” She asked, appearing mystified and somewhat enthralled at the idea, “Oh my, how romantic! Was there a note to say who it was from?”

            “No.” Charly answered, eyes still locked upon her suspected transgressor as he looked at the flower, rather than at her.

            “It must be from a secret admirer!” Her mother clapped excitedly, “Oh Charly! And you have no idea who it could be from? What about that Dr. Randolf? He seemed pretty smitten with you last night!”

            “No.” She repeated, now with more certainty as she observed the sudden flare of vibrant disgust on Sam’s face. His visage changed from innocent surprise to vicious dislike, most likely grounded in some sort of jealousy. So she could only resolve that he hadn’t put it there after all. “I don’t know who put it there. I told Randolf not to have any expectations when it came to me; he wouldn’t have done it.” She looked back down to the lovely white blossom then, admiring it silently as it filled the air about her with a soft, delicate perfume. Nothing like this grew in the valley here and yet someone knew that it was her favorite and had brought it here to sneak it onto the hood of her car. It made her smile slightly, in spite of herself. Not even she could deny that it was a flattering and romantic gesture. “Is there a vase I can put it in?”

            Sam didn’t say a word, blue eyes turbulent and leering at the lily as if distracted by his own thoughts of destroying it. He seemed so preoccupied with those thoughts that he never said a word, his heated gaze following the flower as Mrs. Montgomery rummaged for an old bud vase in the cabinet under the sink.

Charly handled it with greater care now, waiting until her mother had filled the old glass vase with water to stand the bloom inside it. Her mother nodded with approval, seeming caught in her own private revelry over it as the two women stood there, admiring the delicate white flower. The entire town would know of its mysterious arrival by noon, Charly was sure, but it didn’t really bother her as much as it should have. In fact it made her cheeks pink a little and she cleared her throat, stepping back nervously and hedging back towards the door.

“I’m going to meet Kim. I’ll be back later.” She said, unable to disguise her own flustered embarrassment as she seized the doorknob.

Sam’s face was intensely unsettled, looking at her as if she were some kind of inhuman creature. After so many summers of pursuing her, he had never seen her swoon or blush over anything. All his efforts were in vain, year after year, but she was suddenly thrown askew over a simple flower? If he had any desire to ask her anything, she was gone by the time he realized it.

Outside, the bracing morning air was crisp and sent chills across her skin as it blew softly through her curled gold hair. Charly had taken more initiative to dress a little better today, wearing a nice pair of jeans and a dressy black sweater that made her feel more confident. It hugged her slender frame in a pleasing way, having elbow length sleeves of sheer black lace and a sweeping v-neck that made her look a little more civilized. Normally, something so delicate and revealing would have been starkly beyond her comfort zone but Kim had insisted that she purchase it and Charly had ended up becoming rather attached to it.

With the windows rolled down in the cab of her car, she watched Westcliffe slide past with eyes like wild mountain evergreens. The sky was clean and flawless, blue as a robin’s egg, and the air tasted sweetly of spring. The air was still cold, but the warmth of the sunshine brought the townsfolk out to stroll the sidewalks. Children played in yards, laughing and drawing on the driveways with chalk. Elderly couples watered their little gardens and the co-op was bustling with farmers buying and selling loads of sweet horse hay. Westcliffe and all its 400 citizens fit perfectly into the simple framework of country life.

The Perfect Touch Salon was situated just off Main Street and Charly recognized Kim’s car was parked just outside. The French windows that lined the front of the shop revealed the stylists working at their stations, chatting excitedly with their customers. Parking next to Kim’s silver Honda Accord, Charly approached the front of the salon and peered into one of the windows.

Not a moment after she had searched the interior of the shop and found Kim’s station abandoned and her friend nowhere in sight, the front door opened and Kim waved at her. Dressed in black pants and a black top, paired with a pale pink apron that came to her knees, Kim still looked far more assembled and feminine than Charly imagined herself capable of.

 

“Charly!” She called excitedly, “Come in, hurry! Gosh it’s so cold today, aren’t you freezing? You look so pretty today, though. What’s the occasion?”

Charly found herself smiling, almost in a daze, as she turned to hurry inside the shop before Kim shut the door. The ladies waiting in the line of chairs before the front windows waved and offered conversational greetings as she followed Kim through the salon to the back of the shop. Most of them were the elderly women of the town, regulars of the Perfect Touch and all quite established within the hierarchy of Westcliffe’s social circle, who knew Charly’s mother and grandmother and loved to expound on how much she looked like both. Charly could only be grateful that she had good reason to keep her own greetings to them brief and tactful as she passed through.

The break room in the back of the salon was narrow, cramped, and crowded with a table and chairs where the stylists could sit and eat. That is where Kim had already seated herself, looking up expectantly as Charly entered softly and shut the door behind her.

 “Come on, hurry!” She urged as she sat with her legs crossed and her pink-painted fingernails tapping on the tabletop excitedly “I haven’t been manageable at a single thing ever since you sent me that message last night. What happened? Do tell me or I’ll be forced to remain in this miserable state for the rest of the day.”
            Charly eased down into the chair across from her and was instantly uncertain. She found herself indifferent and unable to meet her friend’s interrogating stares. There seemed no good place to begin that might provide a good all-encompassing account of what had happened. And even so, her mind was now utterly vexed with the confusion about the flower that had appeared on her car. She could hardly remember what it was that she’d actually come to speak with Kim about in the first place. She took a quick breath and looked up to Kim’s concerned expression, as prepared as she would ever be.

“I hardly know where to begin.” She felt as though she had uncorked the intense pressure of anxiety that now flowed freely from her lips, “I went riding last night, like you suggested. That is when I met Dr. Randolf Fuerst. Henry threw me from the saddle and so Dr. Randolf escorted me back to my house. He told me that he was out on a walk, but now I realize how odd it was for him to be so far from Dervyshire on foot so late in the evening. I am only now realizing anything abnormal about what happened; I haven’t spoken of it to anyone else until now.”

Kim hung on every word, gasping at the idea that her dear friend had met the mysterious Dr. Fuerst only the night before under such strange circumstances. The idea that Charly had done anything even remotely romantic with a man was alien enough to her ears to captivate all of her attention.

            “But that, I now see, isn’t the strangest part.” Charly continued, her fair face showing the comings of confused calculation, “He asked me so many questions without much in the way of any introduction of himself and without having met me at all before then. He asked about my life, things that no one should ever ask a perfect stranger. I took no notice of it then because he made me so nervous. You were right, he is very handsome.”

            “Goodness, Charly!” Kim reached across the table to squeeze her hand, “Don’t reprimand yourself! I can certainly understand why you wouldn’t have noticed anything strange then; how could anyone think to put one foot in front of the other when looking him in the eye?”

            Charly despaired a little, despite her friend’s excited giggling, “I could hardly dare to do that, Kim. I did look at him some, but having never met him and feeling as if he were passing a magnifying glass over me was…overwhelming. I could do little more than answer his questions.”

            “Well, no one can blame you for that.” Kim assured her urgently, “But what did he ask?”

            “He asked if I was married and why I hadn’t gone to college. I cannot remember what else, but I’m sure it was things like that.” She recounted, taking comfort and confidence from Kim’s reassuring words, “I tried to ask him questions as well, but it was all such a blur and I cannot recall a single one that I asked him.”

            Kim was obviously a little disappointed at that, “Well, can you remember anything else that he asked you?”

            “One thing, in particular.” Charly’s tone softened, “After he had imposed himself to come inside and spoken with my mother until she’d embarrassed me thoroughly, he asked me if he could have my phone number. I was so shocked, I could hardly think to answer him at first but he did allow me a moment to check myself before I did. So I told him no.”

            “You did what?!” Kim was speechless, unable to close her mouth as she gaped in slack-jawed horror at Charly’s reply. “Why in the world would you do that? A perfect, handsome, conveniently placed, wealthy man asks you for your phone number and you tell him no? Are you just determined to snub any chance at love?”

            She couldn’t resist a small apologetic smile, “I’m not so confident as you, Kim. I could never be myself in a relationship like that. Not with so many eyes and ambiguous expectations upon me. The caliber of woman Dr. Randolf is looking for will never be named Charlotte Montgomery. Still, it was very flattering. I was very kind to him and I apologized for having to refuse. He seemed…content with the idea of being friends and nothing more.”

            Kim was utterly speechless as she stared at Charly as if she had done something truly terrible. “I don’t understand you, Charly. Not in this regard, anyway. You’ve refused Sam Elrod for years on the grounds of wanting something more. But when the epitome of more knocks on your door, you run like rabid dogs are at your heels. I have a hard time believing that you didn’t want to say yes to him. I simply cannot comprehend that you turned him down for any other reason than because you were scared to put yourself into a situation where you would be emotionally vulnerable to someone else.”

            Charly tried not to look offended, though she certainly felt it as Kim seemed to back her into a metaphorical corner between the truth and discomfort.

“I don’t even know him, Kim. How could I be so reckless as to hope that I might somehow be able to captivate a man like that? I would only be biding my time until his eyes turned to another, more worthy woman with beauty and wealth I couldn’t never hope to counter.”

             Kim pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, “How can anyone know anything about the future? Life is lived when you take chances and move forward, even knowing you might get hurt or fail in the process. It’s the same reason you’ve never gone anywhere, Charly, but you can’t be afraid forever. If you don’t take a few risks, then life is going to keep passing you by until there’s nothing left but that sad old farm, a husband you don’t really know or care about, and miserable dusty dreams of seeing a world you know nothing about. Is that what you want, Charly?”

            There was nothing she might have said that could have answered such a prospect, but there was no refuting what Kim had said. Out of the entire town’s population, only one person knew her well enough to make such serious assertions about her and Kim was that person. But hearing it so effectively phrased left Charly feeling numb and smothered, shifting in her chair and staring dejectedly down at the tabletop. “What am I to do, then?”

            With a heavy sigh, Kim sat back in her chair and appeared to be deep in thought. “Well, we cannot assume that he will ask you for your number again or make any other sort of attempt to get your attention. But that isn’t what this is about, Charly. I only want you to be happy and it’s exhausting to watch you be miserable. If you like Dr. Fuerst then I’ll try to help you win him back over. But think about it for a little while, okay? Get to know him better, if you can, and see if it is even worth the risk you might be willing to take. Then we can decide what to do.” She offered a tentative smile, canting her head to the side in a playful manner. “You know, the Calloway’s are having their luau in 2 weeks. We’ll have to go look for some dresses before they are all picked over.”

            Charly made a weak attempt at a returning smile, “Yeah, we will. Maybe I can go with whoever left the lily on the hood of my car this morning, providing that it isn’t some sort of serial killer or stalker.”

            Kim looked puzzled, “A lily?”

            “Someone left a white lily on the hood of my car this morning with a note. It didn’t say whom it was from but it must have been from a secret admirer. I asked Sam if it was his doing, but he didn’t know anything about it. He even looked really upset when my mom suggested that it might be from another secret admirer, so it couldn’t possibly be from him.” Charly reached into her pocket, tugging out the little folded square of paper and sliding it across the table towards Kim.

            She took it readily, unfolding it and skimming the meager note with raised brows. “Wow. Isn’t a lily your favorite flower?”

            Charly nodded slowly and Kim’s eyes widened a bit.

            “Whoever it was really did his homework, then.” Kim pronounced, “Or made a really good guess. But that seems a little specific for just random luck. So who do you think it could be? Maybe someone from school?”

            “Any guess that you might have would be as good as anything I’ve got.” Charly replied and took the note back from her, replacing it into her back pocket as she stood. “But if he went to that much trouble, maybe he will come out of hiding soon.”

            “I agree, I don’t think Sam is capable of something this romantic.” Kim stood as well, following Charly back out into the salon as they walked towards the front door together. “Call me if anything else happens, okay? In the meantime, I’ll see what I can find out. Whoever it was must have been out pretty late and no one here can get away with being out after 1 AM without someone noticing. Surely someone will have seen something.”

            Charly couldn’t refute that and hugged Kim goodbye, promising to call if anything new should happen or if she needed to talk about it any further. If Charly could have persuaded her friend to forfeit the rest of her workday to consoling and cheering her up, she certainly would have. But Kim was dedicated to her job and Charly wasn’t willing to ask her to surrender a day of work just on her account.

            Returning home was no better an option, however, and so she resolved to walk Main Street once or twice, making herself as visibly distracted and unapproachable as she could so that she could better sort things out in her own mind without having to entertain anyone else. So she walked carefully and slowly, her hands in her back pockets and her eyes a bit glazed as she stared at the passing reflections in the windows of the storefronts.

Main Street was bustling with more activity than usual and it drew her towards the Co-Op where farmers parked their pickups of varying size, color, and age in scattered formations in the gravel parking lot. Her fathers and Sam's were not among the gathering and so she felt rather secure to approach the small crowd of townsfolk, namely men, dressed in overalls, flannel, and dirt-caked work boots. The group of ten or so was gathered about the bed of a faded blue pickup, looking down into it with their hats over their mouths and noses and their eyes narrowed and skeptical.

            Tim Floyd, a local boy who was only a year or two older than Charly, took notice to her approach and stepped forward to intercept her before she could peer into the bed of the truck too. He was a potbellied young man with a round, sun-aged face and deep set eyes, but he had a friendly smile and a farmer’s warm gruffness to him.

            “You best keep on, Miss Charly.” He said, intending to dissuade her. “Your daddy wouldn’t want you poking around this.”

            She looked up at him, smiling and perfectly aware of her father’s stringent rules in regards to her relation to farming. “What’s everyone looking at, Tim?”

            He slid his ball cap of his head, combing the thin, balding strands of black hair that were still enduring on his head. “Two heifers have gotten killed this week, one was Joe Bragg’s a few days ago and now Jim Petry’s lost one too. Whatever got to them mangled them up pretty good, not much left but bones and hair. We’re thinking a mountain lion, but maybe wolves too. You best keep yourself home after dark, Miss Charly, we don’t want nobody getting hurt.”

            “A mountain lion?” A startling pang of cold realization struck her as she remembered vividly Henry’s reaction that had caused him to throw her only the night before. He had smelled something that had frightened the stagnant old horse into an unexplained panic. Perhaps it was that same creature that had killed the cows.

            “Yep, as best as we can tell. There weren’t any tracks and no one heard a thing, but a few of the guys are thinking about going on a hunt or setting some traps up. So pass it on to your friends to keep clear of the fields at night.” Tim turned back towards the crowd and the blue pickup that held what must have been the remains of the last cow that was killed.

She was glad to have not seen it, but curious at what kind of damage had been done. It was a morbid sense of wonder that she denied of herself and returned back to the sidewalks of Main Street with no further attempts to see what gruesome sight awaited in the bed of the pickup.

The presence of mountain lions in the valley really wasn’t so strange, but they rarely came so close to the farms. They were timid of the noises and lights of the town which were usually enough to deter them from hunting the livestock, but there had been a few occasions in the past where mountain lions had dared to snatch a few calves and young heifers as quick and easy prey. That is why she did not worry for Henry; no mountain lion would be foolish enough to believe he could manage a horse that size all on his own.

On her own account, however, she could only shutter and be thankful that Randolf had appeared to escorted her back home before she had become the first human victim of a mountain lion attack in Westcliffe for at least 50 years.  In spite of how awkward it had been, she was grateful to have had company on that long trek.

Her thoughts drifted carefully then to Randolf and what had been said in their brief exchange. He had been oddly curious and forward with his questioning, but she really had no stone to throw when it came to being odd. His questions, while slightly invasive, were not unwarranted and not insulting to her. The conversation with him had come together rather naturally and she found herself able to smile about it, glad to have taken the chance to ask him a few of her own nagging wonderings while she had his attention captive. It was unlikely, she believed, that the opportunity would ever arise again and if it did he would not be so ready and willing to indulge her wonderings as he had before. But to his credit, he had handled her rejection very well and didn’t seem disgusted by the idea of remaining friends with her, on some level. What that level would be had yet to be discovered and she reeled at the prospect of awkward conversations that could ensue. But she also shuddered at the prospect of watching him pursue another woman in Westcliffe now, knowing that her own chance had been missed and his initial attentions had been immediately rebuked entirely out of instinct and childish insecurity.

She could not remember a time when she had ever truly regretted something she had done or said to someone, but she did feel a sinking throb of regret at having refused his gentle attention to her without so much as a meditative thought. She did like him, even for as little contact with him she had experienced, and she felt grossly miserable for losing her chance at learning more about him. Kim’s fiery assertions about her being afraid to take any sort of risk that might result in her being emotionally wounded were entirely correct; hers was a whole and untouched heart that she honestly had no idea what to do with.

Charly pondered all these things, walking idly back down Main Street and making leisurely headway towards her car. The reflections of the jagged, brilliant snow-capped mountains danced across the windowpanes of the shops and her own image wavered on the warped, aged glass.

A small jewelry shop offered a view into their showcases through the front window, causing her to pause and cant her head at the glittering gold chains and crystals all laid out carefully on cream colored velvet. A dark oval cut sapphire set into a pendant of white gold caught her eye and Charly stopped, staring at it through the window and admiring it with quiet eyes. She was fond of the pretty blue stones and had never owned something so delicate and fine as that, but she was content enough to stare at it wishfully.

Movement beside her caught her attention as a dark shape standing next to her own reflection in the store’s window made her glance up. There, beside her own figure, was the reflection of Dr. Randolf with his broad shoulders slouched under a dark blazer and his hands deep in the pockets of a pair of grayish blue jeans. He wasn’t looking at her and he didn’t speak a word, but rather stared as she did at the pendant with his handsome brow furrowed and his silver eyes thoughtful.

Now aware of his presence, Charly could feel him there and it made her heartbeat stir and her jaw tense a bit as she waited for him to speak or explain himself. He had an odd way of appearing without introduction or greeting, but the feeling of his presence was warm and pleasing enough to satisfy her.

“You didn’t strike me as a diamonds and gold sort of woman.” He said at last, turning towards her slightly.

She took that as the only greeting she might get and so turned to answer him, attempting a smile that wasn’t unnerved, “I’m not, usually. But I’m also not without feminine taste and tendencies.”

Charly found she was able to smile more freely than she had anticipated as he looked down at her, dressed oddly casually for what seemed like a very businesslike and professional style he had about him.

His expression was mild and his tone was friendly and inviting; she could find not a single trace of resentment or a wounded ego. “So you do make exceptions, then, if you should find something that suits you?”

“Yes,” She felt herself blush slightly, “but others would say that I’m very hard to convince. I would agree with them and say that even I have a hard time convincing myself of anything. By the time I might succeed, it is often too late.”

Randolf made a low, grunting sort of noise that sounded as if he were either in agreement or thinking it over for himself. “Maybe that’s for the best, Miss Charlotte, jewelry is expensive and it is a big investment to choose something from the impulse of the moment.”

“Or the impulse of desire.” She added, able to grin a bit coyly, “It’s nice to see you again, Randolf. What brings you to town today?”

He shifted, shrugging his broad shoulders and looking down to her with a mild, unguarded smile, “I came with the intention of inquiring after a gardener at the local florist. I need someone to help mend the gardens, but the note on the florist’s shop implied that she was out to lunch so I had resigned myself to sightseeing until she returned.”

“Mrs. Davis takes her lunches early,” Charly nodded in acknowledgement. “She likes to meet some of her friends from her weekly bridge game over at the Silver Stone Café, so she might be a while.”

Randolf didn’t appear dissatisfied but rather looked down at her squarely and asked, “Would you care to have lunch with me, then? It’s early, I know, but if you haven’t eaten yet then maybe you won’t mind entertaining me until she returns?”

Charly’s face flushed and she was speechless at his offer. It was almost as if she’d never refused him at all the night before and for a moment she was completely at a loss as to why he’d even want to bother with her again. She could do little more than blink and stumble over her words.

A surge of nauseating hope was accompanied with a harrowing pang of regret and anguish as he suddenly amended his offer. “Of course, I mean this invitation only as a friend,” He added quickly upon judging her reaction, “you do have lunch with friends, don’t you?”

She could only close her mouth, smile weakly, and nod.

“Good. Where should we go?” He asked, offering his arm to escort her down the sidewalk. It was a very elegant and gentlemanly gesture, not something she was used to at all. Young men just didn’t do things like that any more. Initially she was reluctant and perplexed but conceded at last to take his arm in her small, fair hand and walk beside him.

“There’s a diner just down from the supermarket,” She spoke in a soft, breathless tone, “I…I like their grilled cheese. It’s not far to walk there.”

Randolf seemed satisfied with that suggestion and nodded, saying nothing more during the duration of their walk down through Main Street towards the supermarket. The silence felt as awkward and tense as she had feared and Charly could think of no good reason to breach it. But in the silence, she looked across the streets and met the gazes of wide-eyed curious bystanders there as well as in the driver’s seat of passing cars. People were beginning to take notice to Dr. Randolf’s presence…as well as what appeared to be his acute interest in Miss Charly Montgomery.

Again, Charly blushed deeply and looked down, hoping that she might veil her face from the onlookers. It was vain, though, and she knew it to be so. There were only two strangers in Westcliffe, Randolf and his niece, and Charly knew she could not afford any measure of mystery or hope to have her own identity mistaken. Even if her mother had been somehow delayed or swayed from her usual gossip ritual about Randolf having come to their house already, now the rest of Westcliffe’s population would be developing their own suspicions.

Frieda’s diner was a cheerful, albeit cheesy, salute to the 50’s that certainly hadn’t been built with those intentions originally. The décor had been stylish when it was first built, but time had passed since then and made it unintentionally vintage. The seats were a brilliant shade of metallic red and the floors were black and white tiles set in a checkered pattern. This paired with various accents of chrome metal and jovial tunes that came from a jukebox in the corner kept the essence of the 50’s alive and well and Charly found she rather liked it.

Randolf selected a booth decidedly near a window and waited until Charly had settled herself in the seat across from him to finally sit down as well. His demeanor appeared calm and placid, pleasant and mild as he placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands with his large fingers knitted together and resting on the tabletop.

“Do you like it in Westcliffe so far?” Charly asked desperately, grasping at anything that might crack the silence in the air.

Randolf smiled slightly, gazing at her with an entrancing visage of darkly handsome beauty. She found it utterly unnerving and intimidating and was hardly able to keep herself still in her seat or to meet his intensely brilliant silver eyes.

“It has a certain sweetness to it.” He answered, “I do like it.”

“And your niece, does she like it as well?”

Again he offered a small crack of a smile, “She does, though she’s anxious to meet others her own age and spend time away from Dervyshire Park.”

“She ought to come to the Calloway’s luau,” Charly offered tentatively, “You too, of course. It’s something of a town tradition. The Calloway’s open up their large hay barn every spring, clean it out and hold a big party all night. Everyone in the town is invited, of course, and most everybody wears Hawaiian shirts and dresses. They serve drinks in cocoanut shells and there’s always a local string band that comes to play for everyone to dance.”

Randolf arched one of his dark brows and seemed a little perplexed, “A luau in Colorado?” He laughed a little and looked very amused, “I believe she would like that. I will let her know. When is it?”

“I’m not sure.” Charly admitted, “In two weeks but I haven’t heard which day yet. I’m sure the Calloway’s will extend a personal invitation to you, though, to satisfy common curiosity about your identity.”

He had to agree with that. The other patrons of Frieda’s diner where they sat turned curious probing eyes to the pair, failing in their attempts to remain conspicuous. Their waitress was little better in veiling her stunned admiration of the disturbingly handsome man that Charly sat with and stammered through taking their order before she hastened away.

The attention didn’t seem to affect Randolf in any way, as if he functioned entirely on a different plane of thought and interest than everyone else. To believe that he had invited her to join him there, in his private air of existence, was nearly unfathomable for her.

“What brings you to town today?” He asked, jarring her from her private calculations.

“A friend.” She answered simply, “Kimberly James is a very dear companion of mine. She works at a salon here in town. I believe you are acquainted with her father; isn’t he doing some of the carpentry work on your house?”

He nodded in acknowledgment, “Yes, I think I might have seen her on the day I went into his shop.”

Charly couldn’t resist a sudden wry grin as she found herself able to look at him freely from across the table. “I’m quite sure you did,” She observed, “You tend to leave an impression. One that she conveyed to me very effectively.”

His expressions flowed over his flawless dark skin, elegant and somewhat guarded but pleasing nonetheless. “A good impression, I hope.” He retorted, “People tend to exaggerate, however, so I can only imagine what was said.”

“Oh she was very insistent, though not entirely accurate in her appraisal of you, Randolf.” She let her tone allude to the suggestive topic of Kim’s description of him, but treated it as casually as if she intended to divulge no more of what had been said.

He was immediately vexed and seemed somewhat worried, scratching at the back of his neck in bashful hesitance, “What accuracies did she fail in, if I can ask that?”

Charly smiled assuredly and crossed her arms on the table, pausing in her answer while the waitress returned and set their drinks before them, leaving them with promises that their food would be out soon. In that brief span, Randolf began to look a little anxious and Charly could only applaud herself at such craftiness.

“She did not mention how inexplicably interested you are in the most uninteresting people in this town.” Charly jested with him lightly, “Or that you were so easily befriended.”

“Not so easily.” He corrected her quickly, “But I have a very good inclination about you, Miss Charlotte, and I don’t believe I am wrong to seek a friendly relation with you. But I have no way to defend myself against your first assertion about me, other than to point out that the decision about whether or not you are interesting is not something you are able to decide for yourself. If I should find you interesting, it is my own opinion free from anything you might consider about yourself.”

Charly couldn’t be very proud of that and she blushed vibrantly as she reached to swirl her straw in her glass of lemonade. “I cannot begin to profess to know what you think about me, Randolf.” She said quietly, looking pointedly away and down at the tabletop, “Though I feel I’m not owed much of a good opinion based on my previous behavior. I can only resign myself to hope that further conversations with me might absolve me of any appearance of arrogance or ignorance.”

She could sense his smile as though it exuded some sort of unfelt warmth. He took his own glass of water in hand to sip at it and listen with a very bemused quirk to his brow. Now it was his turn to applaud himself and she felt the sting of it until he finally spoke again.

“I have no ill opinion of you, Miss Charlotte, so don’t concern yourself with that. What I have gained is a very great respect for you and will admit that I am surprised at having met a young woman able to render me speechless. That is an effect that I’m not accustomed to and can hardly forget.”

Charly was able to smile softly again with a bit of renewed hope, “I’ll be satisfied with that, then.”

Their meal was delivered and they ate, bantering at light conversation and making small jabs as if testing each other's humor and opinion. Charly was able to feel at peace, the more they talked, and found herself laughing at his favorite hilarious tales from working in the ER. The warmth in his smile was contagious to her and infected her with growing severity. He asked about her mother and father, seeming to enjoy her recounting of some of the adventures she had shared with Kim when they were younger. The more they talked the easier it came, and she felt as though she had had these kinds of conversations with him over and over again all her life and had only forgotten them. But the feeling was comfortably familiar and Charly fell quite into certainty that she liked Randolf very much. Hope persuaded her to the suspicion that he might still have romantic nuances in his lengthy stares and subtle gestures. But hope was a tormenting, confusing thing and her sense of reason was conflicted and served as a bitter reminder; this was a friendly lunch, nothing more.

“Could I put you to the trouble of driving me as far as your house?” Randolf asked, finished with his meal of nothing but a steak cooked extra rare. “I can manage the rest of the way.”

“You didn’t drive here?” Charly was baffled; it must have been an incredible hike to walk all the way into town from Dervyshire Park.

He shrugged his broad shoulders, making a noted gesture to intercept the bill and pay for it before she could remark or object, “I’m fond of walking and wanted to see some of the town and countryside.”

“That’s quite a walk. But yes, of course you can ride with me. Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you all the way back to Dervyshire?” She offered.

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary. The way isn’t so far and the weather here is must more pleasing than New York. The air doesn’t smell nearly as foul.” He grinned, standing at last to wait while she gathered herself up as well.

She followed him back out onto the sidewalk, sidestepping quickly as he held the door open for her, “I didn’t take you for an outdoorsman.”

Randolf seemed to find that very privately hilarious and chuckled animatedly, “I enjoy the smell of rubbing alcohol and antibacterial spray as much as the next physician, but I prefer to be outside as much as I can.”

While she didn’t fully understand the humor in what she’d asked, Charly still felt a little embarrassed for her assumption, “I like to walk too.”

“You should come visit Dervyshire, then, at your next convenience. The gardens are a little overgrown but there are a variety of walking trails through them, some I’ve yet to explore myself. I’d enjoy your company, if you’d indulge me in a few walks, and I’m certain Katia would be ecstatic to meet someone new.”

Charly felt a little off balance and sucked in a sharp breath. Her initial response commanded her to politely refuse, actively avoiding the sense of inadequacy she was sure to feel by visiting a place like Dervyshire. But Kim’s words still echoed in her ears and so she took a steadying breath and nodded, “Of course.” Her tone rang with uncertainty that was furthered as he reached to gently guide her arm through his again. She could scarcely hear her own thoughts through the frantic pattering of her heart. “Could I bring a friend with me? I don’t mean to impose, but Kimberly James would like to see the house, I’m sure, and would be very obliged to meet you and your niece formally.”

He was smiling with obvious satisfaction as he walked with her, escorting her with her hand against his arm. She could feel the press of a strong, pronounced bicep beneath the fabric of his blazer and it made her face flush with bashfulness. “Yes, if that’s what you want. She is welcome, as you are, to call upon us whenever you like.”

Charly could hardly think past the moment and their physical contact well enough to offer much else in the way of conversation as they proceeded to her car. She took the driver’s seat; her fair cheeks were still rosy with emotion as he held the car door open for her and shut it behind her. He sat in the passenger’s side and seemed relaxed, calm, and perfectly pleased with the break from conversation as they rode in silence.

Not a word passed between them until they pulled into the gravel driveway in front of her house and Charly saw Henry’s enormous bulk grazing in one of the small corrals near the house. She was relieved to see the great stupid beast had been found, but her emotion was suddenly thwarted by Sam’s appearance in the barn doorway.

“Oh no.” Charly couldn’t keep herself from voicing her dread as she parked her car under the carport and watched Sam approach, taking his work gloves off and cramming them into the pockets of his stained work overalls.

Oddly, Randolf’s face expressed a more severe expression of blatant resentment and utter shock than Charly would have thought reasonable. He appeared to be entirely stunned and disgusted as he sat disturbingly still in the seat next to her.

“A friend of yours?” He asked sharply.

Charly was quick to correct him, her tone nearly as hostile though it savored more of desperation, “Absolutely not. He comes every summer to help my father around the farm.”

Randolf’s only reply was a grunt and he got out of the car without another comment, walking around to open the door for her to get out as well. All the while, he managed to keep a well-trained silver eye on Sam’s approach and turned to face him when he finally stopped short of the car.

There was no masking a similar look of surprise and immediate dislike on Sam’s face, though it didn’t seem as though he had any idea who Randolf was other than an imposter that could have been better looking. Charly was exceedingly unhappy with the situation and refused to look either man in the eye as they sized each other up silently. The air was alive with the electricity of their hostility and it made her hair stand on end.

            Sam was the first to offer his hand, albeit with no measure of friendliness in the gesture, and introduced himself, “Sam Elrod.”

            “Dr. Randolf Fuerst.” Came the dry, reluctant reply before he turned to Charly, something resigned and deeply changed in his withdrawn expression of cold indifference, “I look forward to seeing you again. Please, enjoy the day.”

            Randolf was gone, walking away across the fields with his hands deep in his pockets, before Charly could mouth a response. But at his sudden departure she felt the tension ease slightly and slid a bitter glare at Sam out of the corner of her wide green eyes.

            Sam had nothing more to say either, or else he couldn’t voice properly what he felt, for he simply stood and watched with a stony expression as though he were still resolving what had taken place in his own thoughts.

Charly gave him no more chance than that to speak and left him there in by the carport to seek the private refuge of her room.

Author's Note

Content not edited.

Reviews

[WhiteWolf]

Ah, the dueling lovers. It is a situation that never tires upon our ears and always stirs emotions within our own hears as we begin to see ourselves within one or more of the characters. I look forward to seeing this situation unfold.

[Nicole]

haha! yay! I'm so relieved that people are actually reading it and enjoying it. I'll try to finish up my editing on the next few chapters and get them up soon!

[Jenna Tarrington]

I'm chomping at the bit. You are leaving me hanging here, girl. LOL

[Nicole]

:3 I'm glad you like it!!

[Jenna Tarrington]

Loving the story so far. Can't wait to see more!