Page 2 of Enchanted
She’d disappointed him, and her mother. The guilt of that weighed like a stone on her heart. She hadn’t been able to explain, not clearly enough, not well enough, why she hadn’t been capable of continuing on the path they’d so carefully cleared for her. Every step she’d taken on it had been a strain, as if every step had taken her farther and farther away from where she needed to be.
What she needed to be.
So in the end she’d run. Oh, not in actuality. She was much too reasonable to have run away like a thief in the night. She’d made specific plans, followed concrete steps, but under it all she’d been fleeing from home, from career, from family. From the love that was smothering her as surely as if its hands had been clamped over her nose and mouth.
Here, she’d promised herself, she’d be able to breathe, to think, to decide. And maybe, just maybe, to understand what it was that kept her from being what everyone seemed to want her to be.
If in the end she discovered she was wrong and everyone else was right, she was prepared to deal with it. But she would take these three months for herself.
She opened her eyes again, let herself look. And as she did, her muscles slowly relaxed. It was so beautiful, she realized. The grand majesty of trees shooting up into the sky and whistling in the wind, the two-story cabin tucked into a private glen, the silver flash of sun off the busy little stream that snaked to the west.
The cabin itself gleamed dark gold in the sunlight. Its wood was smooth, its windows sparkled. The little covered porch looked perfect for sitting on lazy mornings or quiet evenings. From where she sat, she thought she could see the brave spears of spring bulbs testing the air.
They’d find it chilly yet, she mused. Belinda had warned her to buy flannel, and to expect spring to come late to this little corner of the world.
Well, she knew how to build a fire, she told herself, glancing at the stone chimney. One of her favorite spots in her parents’ house had been in the big sprawling living room, beside the hearth, with a fire crackling against the damp chill of the city.
She’d build one as soon as she was settled, she promised herself. To welcome herself to her new home.
Steadier, she opened the door, stepped out. Her heavy boots snapped a thick twig with a sound like a bullet. She pressed a hand to her heart, laughing a little. New boots for the city girl, she thought. Jingling the keys just to make noise, she walked to the cabin, up the two steps to the porch. She slipped the key she’d labeledfront doorinto the lock and, taking a slow breath, pushed the door open.
And fell in love.
“Oh, would you look at this!” A smile lit her face as she stepped inside, circled. “Belinda, God bless you.”
The walls were the color of warmly toasted bread, framed in dark wood, accented with the magical paintings her friend was renowned for. The hearth was stone, scrubbed clean and laid with kindling and logs in welcome. Colorful rugs were scattered over the polished wood floor. The furnishings had simple, clean lines, with deep cushions that picked up those wonderful tones of emerald, sapphire and ruby.
To complete the fairy-tale aspect, there were statues of dragons, wizards, bowls filled with stones or dried flowers, and sparkling geodes. Charmed, Rowan dashed up the stairs and hugged herself as she toured the two large rooms there.
One, full of light from a ring of windows, was obviously her friend’s studio when she used the cabin. Canvases, paints and brushes were neatly stored, an easel stood empty, a smock hung, paint-splattered, on a brass hook.
Even here there were pretty touches—fat white candles in silver holders, glass stars, a globe of smoky crystal.
The bedroom thrilled her with its huge canopy bed draped in white linen, the little fireplace to warm the room, the carved rosewood armoire.
It felt … peaceful, Rowan realized. Settled, content, welcoming. Yes, she could breathe here. She couldthink here. For some inexplicable reason, she felt she could belong here.
Anxious now to begin settling in, she hurried downstairs, out the door she’d left open to her SUV. She’d grabbed the first box from the cargo area, when the skin on the back of her neck prickled. Suddenly her heart thundered in her chest, and her palms sprang with dampness.
She turned quickly, managed only one strangled gasp.
The wolf was pure black, with eyes like gold coins. And it stood at the edge of the trees, still as a statue carved from onyx. Watching her. She could do no more than stare while her pulse beat like fury. Why wasn’t she screaming? she asked herself. Why wasn’t she running?
Why was she more surprised than afraid?
Had she dreamed of him? Couldn’t she just catch the edge of some misty dream where he’d run through the mist toward her? Is that why he seemed so familiar, almost … expected?
But that was ridiculous. She’d never seen a wolf outside of a zoo in her life. Surely she’d never seen one who stared so patiently at her. Into her.
“Hello.” She heard herself speak with a kind of dull shock, and followed it with a nervous laugh. Then she blinked, and he was gone.
For a moment, she swayed, like a woman coming out of a trance. When she shook herself clear, she stared at the edge of the trees, searching for some movement, some shadow, some sign.
But there was only silence.
“Imagining things again,” she muttered, shifting the box, turning away. “If there was anything there, it was a dog. Just a dog.”
Wolves were nocturnal, weren’t they? They didn’t approach people in broad daylight, just stand and stare, then vanish.
