Welcome to another edition of Tuesday Tales, and more White Moon, Yellow Leaves, a M/F contemporary romance.
This week we`ll pick up as Dana discovers her son passing the time with Jonah the morning after she arrived at Mud Puppy Lake.
Our word this week is 'Summer'. As always, all comments are greatly appreciated. Make sure to check out all the Tuesday Tales authors great contributions.
White Moon, Yellow Leaves
I cracked the door, just enough to hear the conversation but not enough to let Jonah see how terrible I looked. From my angle I could just make out Rhett, bundled up in a black coat and Steelers knit cap facing the wood splitter. I could see nothing of Jonah but his back and the smooth strokes of a well-hued axe as it sailed through the air.
“Are you a real Indian?” My son asked. My forehead met the doorframe soundly. Oh. My. God. The child had no filter at all. A crack of wood preceded Jonah`s reply.
“Are you a real white boy?”
“Yep.” Rhett said, the quip sailing over his black and yellow hat. “Are you? A real Indian?”
“You mean as opposed to a fake Indian?” the man asked, placing a halved chunk of maple back to his chopping block. His hair was tightly braided this morning. I had a very naughty image of that blanket of onyx satin falling over my face as Jonah lowered his naked body over mine. Once more I introduced my forehead to the doorframe, this time to drive the wanton thought away.
“Uh-huh,” my son replied, his voice jarring me from the fantasy roughly. “My mom and I was watching a movie once, and she said they were fake Indians playing the Indians.”
“Ah,” Jonah said, cleaving the half into quarters. I opened the door a bit wider to get some cold air to move into the front of my robe. I was suddenly feeling quite warm. “Yes, I`m a real Indian,” Jonah responded with patience.
“Did you ever scalp anyone?”
I burst out the door, my state of dishabille forgotten.
“Good morning!” I nearly screamed. I was so freaking chipper song birds would soon be lighting on my shoulders to sing me a cheery tune. Both males turned their heads to look at me. Rhett smiled. Jonah reached inside my nightgown and caressed my bare breasts with his eyes. A red leaf flittered down in front of me. I was worried my nightclothes may spontaneously combust. This young man, key word 'young', was doing seriously bad things to my state of mind.
“Hey mom!” Rhett jumped down from his stump, his mind moving from the Great Seneca Inquisition to the capture of a speeding dachshund. Then we were alone.
“Morning Miss Dana,” Jonah said, his fingers allowing the axe to slide to the ground smoothly.
“You can just call me Dana.” I found a lovely mushroom on the side of a pine tree to stare at. “I—He didn`t mean anything by that,” I stammered.
“It`s okay, he`s a kid. It’s the adults that ask those kinds of questions that need a good ass kicking.” Jonah smiled and stepped closer. I caught him approaching in my peripheral. My eyes, traitorous things that they are, left that fascinating fungus and latched onto his mouth. “You okay? You look kind of flustered.”
“Nope, I`m good.” I grinned feeling the cold seeping from the ground through my slippers. “Right as rain as they say,” I tacked for no sensible reason that I could see.
“Okay,” the man shrugged and turned to get back to work. His coat was woolen red and blue tartan and stretched tightly across his upper back. My fingers grew itchy just thinking of touching the wool and muscle beneath it. “If you don`t have anything planned this morning I told Rhett I`d walk the grouse path with him. Thought you might like to come along.”
I stared at that powerful back blankly then nodded. When he didn`t get a verbal reply his head turned to find me over his left shoulder. I was still nodding like a dullard.
“Charades work better if the other person is facing you.” He chuckled. I blushed then broke out in a summer sweat despite it being November. “Go get dressed and meet us at the lake. Can`t imagine I`d be able to keep my mind on the flora and fauna with you looking like you do.”
I ran a hand over my hair. “Wouldn`t want to scare the woodpeckers.” I was hoping to sound amusingly self-deprecating. To my ears I sounded pitiable. He lowered the axe yet kept his sight on the round of oak awaiting the chop to come.
“It wasn`t the effect on the birds I was worried about.”
A thousand and one very erudite replies lingered on my tongue. Instead of using one of those I went with the following:
“Yeah, okay, good. Well yeah, coffee.”
Nothing like brilliant repartee to impress, is there?
Copyright 2012 ©by V.L. Locey
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