Because of Baby. Donna Clayton
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for sure. So…Fern simply decided not to dwell on the hard truth. At least, not right now. Not when she was so focused on Paul.
She’d already admitted that Paul was as comely a creature as had ever had the fortune to live; however, when she’d walked the length of the aisle to where he sat and gazed down upon him, why, every inch of her skin had seemed to come alive with an awareness she’d never experienced before. And when he’d cast those mahogany eyes on her, she’d thought her knees would give way then and there.
What she might say to him had never entered her head until she was facing him. It was too late then to ponder in depth the follies of telling him the truth about herself. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was some crazy pixie—insane person, in his view—who had come to vex him. It had only taken a fraction of an instant to make her mind up that acting a stranger was for the best. Besides, she hadn’t formally made his acquaintance before that moment, now, had she?
Fern had had to practically bully her way into the seat beside him, which had been quite rude, she knew, even by pixie standards. But if she hadn’t sat down she’d have risked succumbing to the faintness that had been swimming in her head.
Her heart had nearly ripped in two with tenderness when she’d held Katy for the first time. Oh, the affection she’d felt for the bairn when they had laughed together in the nursery back in Ireland had been great. But something about holding the toddler in her arms filled her with overwhelming feelings that were both unimaginable and breathtaking.
But the most jarring commotion she’d had to endure had been the impact of learning that Maire had died. Grief had walloped her from all sides. Anguish had scalded her eye sockets and burned the back of her throat.
It wasn’t as if she had never felt sadness before. Bad things happened in Sidhe, certainly. But it was the fairy way to avoid misfortune and bad dealings. A pixie spent her days frolicking and flying and having fun.
The sorrow that swept through her now, though, couldn’t be avoided by merely winging away from the moment.
Although Paul’s touch had calmed her angst, it had churned up other—very peculiar—emotions. She’d flushed with an odd heat, and a strange feeling had knotted in her belly.
Fern had no idea what was happening to her in this new human body, all she knew was that she liked the warmth and smoothness of Paul’s skin against her own. When he’d withdrawn his hand from her arm, she’d suffered something similar to acute desolation.
Human emotions, she was quickly discovering, were awesome in their power.
“Let’s talk about something a little more pleasant,” Paul suggested.
His intent was to chase away the gloom that had settled around them, she suspected. Although her smile was quivery, she nodded in emphatic agreement.
“What can I tell you about myself? Hmm…”
The rumbling resonance that rose from his chest as he pondered allowed Fern to let go of her sorrow over Maire. By me heart. The silent oath echoed in her head, but the very sound of the man’s voice was enough to make her forget the rest of the whole wide world.
“Katy and I live just outside New York City in the house I was raised in. My father ran a horse farm.”
“I love horses. Where I come from they’re considered one of the noblest of beasts.”
“Well, the horses are gone now.” He absently ran his fingertips along the armrest. “Once Dad died, Mom couldn’t run the business by herself. Running the farm hadn’t ever interested me. I had no talent with horseflesh, anyway. Working and communicating with animals is a gift…a gift that I wasn’t blessed with. So the horses were sold to other breeders.”
Fern knew that work—or an occupation, as she’d heard it called—was very important to humans. She’d witnessed people in Ireland going out to toil in the fields or going off to factories or working in the shops. Labor seemed to be a defining aspect in their existence. Hadn’t that been one of Paul’s first questions to her? So she asked him about his job.
“I’m a writer,” he supplied. “A novelist.”
She knew of books, and was even known to fly through the small village library on a dare. Her friends would laugh in delight when she’d use her magic dust to knock a book to the floor and startle someone, or she’d flutter her wings ferociously in order to turn the pages of this book or that to the vexation of the librarian. The harmless pranks were all in fun, of course. A good pixie made it a habit to be helpful and kind, but even respectable pixies suffered with boredom every so often.
“So you’re a teller of tall tales?”
He grinned, and Fern’s insides twisted up.
He said, “Horror stories are my forte.”
“Ah—” she offered him a knowing nod “—you like to frighten small children.”
Paul laughed. “Actually, my work is geared to adults.”
Her eyes widened. “Your stuff must be good and gory, then.”
The sigh issuing from him conveyed a weariness that made her head cock to the side. He evidently sensed her curiosity.
“I haven’t written anything for quite some time.”
Ever since Maire’s passing. He didn’t have to say the words. Fern just somehow knew it as fact. Empathy rose like floodwaters. Had she not been holding the sleeping Katy in her arms, she’d have reached out to him. The urge to comfort him was intense. Again she realized that the magnitude of these human emotions pulsing through her was like nothing she’d ever endured.
“But that’s got to change,” he told her. “My publisher’s been after me. They want a book, and they want it soon.”
“They’ve got confidence in you, then.”
“What do you mean?” His question was asked in a feathery whisper.
“If this publisher—” she wasn’t certain what a publisher was, but she wasn’t so daft that she couldn’t figure out it had something to do with the book-making business “—thought you weren’t capable of the job, he’d have called someone else.”
Paul studied her face for a moment, and then Fern saw his deportment change right before her very eyes; his spine straightened, his shoulders leveled and his gaze brightened.
“Thank you, Fern. I guess I needed to have that pointed out.”
Again he sighed. But this time the sound of it was easier, less tense.
Pleasure caused her toes to curl inside her silk booties. The fact that she’d lifted his spirits filled her with a delight that was absolute. Total. Oh, she wouldn’t mind basking in this warmth for a good long time.
“Of course,” he murmured, “there are some problems that need to be worked out. Like Katy.”
It was almost as if his discussion turned inward, as if the chat had turned serious and he was the only one participating.
“I guess I could write while she’s sleeping. But I can’t always count on the muse to come when I call. There’s day care, of course. I’m sure I could find a reputable—”
His sentence stopped short. Then his gaze swung to her face. It was evident that he’d been struck with some amazing thought or other.
“Fern, you said you need to look for a job. You said you don’t have a place to stay. We could help each other, you and I.”
If she could continue to be of some service to him, that would make her very happy.
“After seeing you with Katy, this is probably a silly question,” he said. “But I have to ask. Do you have experience with children?”
“I love children! I spend most of me time entertaining the little tykes, I do.”
He