Page 5 of Shelter for the Mountain Man
She leaves me in a chair at the table, grabs a blanket and places it around my shoulders. Crossing the few feet to the kitchen area, she grabs a plate.
“Do you have coffee?” I ask
“Yes, but the book says no caffeine for a couple days. I can make you herbal tea.”
“The book?”
“Mom’s medical book. It’s an almanac of some kind. Cover fell off years ago. It’s got good survival information. She used it to raise me out here. It will be fine for you until I can get you to town.”
I smile. She sounds like Gramps. “You grow up in this cabin?”
“Was born here. Midwife was all Mom could afford. Been here ever since.”
“Your father?”
She turns from the counter bringing me a steaming mug and a couple of biscuits on a plate with a scoop of butter and jelly. “Ain’t one. He gave her a baby, this cabin, and a few acres so she’d leave him alone. He didn’t want to see her again or know about me.”
“Your mom still live here? I don’t want to put her out.”
“No. She got sick a year and a half ago and lives in town now above our shop. She has a boyfriend who watches over her and helps.”
“In Kennedy?” She nods. “What kind of shop? I wonder if I saw it while I was in town.”
“Mud & Twine. Down from Mugg’s Up and the dress boutique. She sells her pottery, and I have yarns and different products I knit or weave.”
I remember thinking the sweaters in the window were beautiful and my Gramps would have loved one.
“I’m sorry, you saved my life and I don’t even know your name. I’m Bishop Spade.”
“I’m Fawn.”
I wonder at the lack of a last name but don’t push.
The warm beverage is flowery yet sweet. She must have used honey. The biscuits are good sized, fluffy and moist on the inside with just the right crust on the outside. I scarf both down before I realize what I’ve done.
“This was delicious. Thank you.”
“There’s more, but the book says to see if that settles first.”
She’s obviously been studying up. “You live here by yourself?”
Tipping her chair onto the back legs, she gives me a thoughtful stare over her own mug. “Naw, there’s Ram who’s a little laid back and Billy who’s a bit more protective. Marble’salways close and watchful. But Brownie’s the one you need to win over. She’d rip your throat out if you get on her bad side.”
There’s a scratching at the door. She stands, letting in two dogs the size of bear cubs. The one with blended shades of blonde, brown, grey and black I remember. The other is chocolate and black.
“Marble?” I question, remembering the dog and her calling out for Marble.
“Yep, the one that looks like dark and milk chocolate is Brownie. Great Pyrenees,” She explains. “Marble and Brownie.”
“So, Brownie is the dangerous one?”
“They’re both dangerous. They can hold their own with cougars and wolves. Most of which stay away from my land because of them.”
“You had a goat on the ATV. So, Billy must be a goat. Ram your male sheep?”
“You know your farm animals. Trust me, all my animals are very protective of the food supplier. Watch out for the chickens, they’d peck you to death.”
I chuckle. “I grew up in Chicago, but Gramps lived in the country. Had neighbors who farmed and had animals. Mucking stalls was fun when I was a kid. I hated the chickens and how they pecked. Got over it as I got older.
