With the busted pipe in my hand, I slipped on my boots, and headed out the side door, doubting this small-town hardware store had the pipe I needed. I took long strides, rounding the side of the house, and instantly spotted something off in the distance.
Or rather someone.
She wasn’t trying to hide her whereabouts either because she was wearing a banana-yellow dress that could have been seen from Mars.That woman is sleeping in my field again!
It's not that I had anything against neighbors, or naps. I rather loved naps and sometimes felt neighborly. However, I came here to isolate myself. I didn’t want this woman—or anybody for that matter—becomingtooneighborly. I had a fence for a reason.This isn’t public picnic land!
“Hey lady,” I called out, pacing toward her. I didn’t want to frighten her, but I needed to warn her sternly. “I told you this is private land.”
She had something in her where she didn’t cower. She scampered to her feet and stared at me. Now that I was close, I could see her eyes were colored like the midnight sky. They had just enough spark in them, that I didn’t feel sorry for her.
“Didn’t you notice I was sleeping!” she hollered with audacity as if I was the one in the wrong. Her fists balled at her sides, and she retorted, “I was literally having the best dream, and you wrecked it with your big-bear voice.”
I'd been called many names before, but never had anyone insulted my voice. Before I checked my attitude, I called back, “Big Bird called. He wants his drip back.”
“Pardon me?” Her hand perched on her hip, and her mouth opened and closed a couple of times before finally saying, “Are you seriously calling me fat?”
“No!” I spurted back, as she was so delusional, she didn’t get the comparison. “I was calling youyellow.”
“Oh.” She regarded her dress and sealed her lips. Herbarefootfeet still didn’t budge. A sense of entitlement showed through her elevated posture when she stared back at me. “I’m going to have to ask you to run along, so I can get back to my nap.”
“Me run along?” I jerked my thumb toward my chest. “Youneed to run along.” I wiggled two fingers like legs in front of her face as if they were running. “This is my land, and if I have to call the sheriff and report you for trespassing, I will.”
“Your land?” She checked behind her shoulders as if she expected someone to support her. “Do you know who my father is?”
“I don’t care if your father is the king, because even he doesn’t own this land.” I bit my lip, doing my best to tame the grin I was brewing as I destroyed her lofty superiority.
“Wait.” She held a hand to her temple and blinked several times. “What did you say?”
“I said—” I made a sweeping gesture out toward the field, but she cut me off.
“—No, I heard what you said, but you’re wrong. My fatheristhe king, and this ishisland.” She stared at me as if she had laid the trump card.
I would imagine if my father were king, I’d have gotten used to throwing his name around, but not this time. I had almost died defending this country for the tyrant king, and used the measly little active duty pay I’d received to buy this scrap of land. Iearnedit. “Correction.” I held up an imposing finger. “Itwashis land. He sold it to me last week.”
Her head sprang back, and a bewildered look flashed on her face. Apparently, her dear old dad didn’t tell her what he was up to. Daddy’s little princess was about to learn some hard truths. “Now, what were you saying?” Leaning toward her, I tacked on, “Why don’t you run along and ask your daddy whose land this is.”
Her brows angled down sharply while her lips parted, but no words fell out. Instead, she spun on her heel, running toward the forest.
She was gone. Satisfied, I brushed my hands together and turned back to my Dodge Ram.
Problem solved.
four
Princess Erralee
Several times today I pushed that rude cowboy out of my mind, but as much as I tried, his cocky smile kept popping back into my head, taunting me. I was about at my wit’s end, trying to ignore him, when I decided to confront Father about the land. I paced forward into my father’s study, finding him alone, resting with his eyes closed in a high-back armchair in front of his fireplace. A taller than normal glass of dark scotch sat on the end table next to him. It was a bit jarring to see him drinking that much, especially since he was alone.
Not wanting to disturb him, I took one step back out, but he opened his eyes. The shadows under them were grayer than the last time I saw him. Even though I felt bad for the stress he was under, it didn’t stop my curiosity. “Father, who is that man living in the old Barnes house?”
“Last name’s Mathews,” his voice was vague, and dull, as if he was recalling the most boring part of life. He seemed to be disassociating a little more every day that the war went on. “Just got back from war. Lost an arm.”
I took another step toward him, hoping to catch some facial expressions, since I couldn’t tell from his words if he was speaking the whole truth. “Did you . . . sell that land to him?”
He retrieved his glass of scotch, running his thumb methodically along the rim. Around and around, I watched him rub his glass. “I did.”
“Why would you do that?” My eyes narrowed, taking this loss personally. Father understood that was my favorite place on earth. I loved it more than this castle, and that was hard to do because I loved my home immensely.
