Because of Baby. Donna Clayton

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СКАЧАТЬ awfully long day. I’ll come back later for my bag.”

      He went up the porch steps and only fumbled a little with his keys before pushing open the door. Fern followed him up the stairway, and when she entered Katy’s room, her smile widened.

      The walls and ceiling were painted pale blue. Puffy clouds were gathered here and there. A weeping willow tree was sketched in one corner, its leafy branches bending to brush the flowers and mushrooms and tufts of brilliant green grass painted around the bottom of the wall. And magical fairies were everywhere she looked.

      One pixie was perched on a cloud. A few more were winging through the sky. Several frolicked among the morning glory vines that twisted and reached upward. Every single one of them expressed an unmistakable joy.

      There were elves, too, and gnomes wearing funny hats and expressive faces. One looked centuries old with too many wrinkles to count, yet even he was grinning with happiness.

      Bliss exuberated from the fanciful mural.

      Although it wasn’t the pixie way to worry, Fern had often wondered if Maire had grown up and forgotten the days when they had played and giggled together. When children were babes, it was easy enough for them to see—to believe—that fairies did exist. But the passing of years never failed to dim the memory.

      So-called maturity had people accepting nothing but cold, hard fact as reality. When the real truth of the matter was that life contained much that could not be seen with the eye or heard with the ear. However, discernment of the magic in the world required a delighted heart. And clearly, Maire had never completely let go of the blessing that was her childlike enchantment. Fern could feel both the love and the pure and festive energy that had been left behind by Katy’s mother.

      Paul didn’t seem to notice Fern’s fascination with the room’s decor. He was busy tucking his daughter into her crib.

      A flash of gleaming copper caught her eye and had her crossing the carpet toward the crib for a closer look. There among the willow branches was a pixie that was the very image of herself right down to the fiery curls and the blue dress and boots.

      “By me heart,” she breathed. “I can’t believe it.”

      “What’s wrong?”

      She whirled to see Paul studying her.

      “You look upset,” he said.

      “No,” she assured him. “Not upset. Not at all.” She gazed around her. “The room is just lovely, Paul.”

      He smiled, and Fern’s insides warmed deliciously.

      “Maire had a fondness for all sorts of imps and gnomes and pixies.” Affection softened his smile. “There was an innocence about her, Fern. And it showed in her art.”

      “She was a professional artist?”

      He nodded. “She tried her hand at everything. Sculpting. Drawing. But painting was in her blood.” His mouth quirked. “Just like sprites and elves were.”

      Fern’s gaze swept the room. “She was gifted.”

      “She often worked as an illustrator for children’s books. And she had a picture book of her work published. It was called Pixie Pleasures.”

      A chuckle bubbled up from Fern’s throat. “Wonderful! I’d love to see it.”

      He went to the shelves, pulled out a book and handed it to her.

      Fern lifted the cover. The bright, shiny pages were meant to make the reader smile, and she did just that. “It’s beautiful.” She turned one page, then another. “Just beautiful.”

      “Maire was a talented woman.”

      Closing the book, Fern smoothed her hand over the jacket. It was as if she were touching a piece of Maire, and that gave her a cozy feeling.

      She looked up at Paul and found him studying her.

      “There was something…magic about my wife. Something…enchanted.”

      He seemed to hover on the brink of hesitation, as if he wasn’t sure he should verbalize the thoughts crowding his mind.

      Finally he said, “I get that same feeling from you. That same…vibrancy.”

      Heat suffused Fern’s cheeks, and she wanted to lower her eyes from his, but she was determined not to. Something was happening. Something she didn’t dare miss.

      The room grew still…and warm…and uncomfortably close. The air seemed to thicken all around her until she thought she may not be able to draw a breath. Her heart fluttered. Her pulse raced. A vague feeling…a wanting…an unexplainable yearning…swirled inside her like smoky tendrils. The only feeling she could compare it to was when she was terribly, terribly famished. Yet this had nothing to do with hunger for food.

      This was the strangest and most powerful experience she’d had yet since transforming into a human. The significance of the emotion was almost frightening, but for the life of her, she didn’t have any idea what it was all about.

      Whatever it was, however, Paul was sensing it, too.

      His gaze had gone all smudgy with shadows. His jaw tensed. And it seemed as if he barely breathed. Fern guessed he sensed the thickness of the air just as she had.

      He inched toward her, and she hoped with all her might that he’d touch her again as he had on the airplane. To feel his skin against her, the heat of him on her, just might quench this peculiar wanting that pulsed from her very soul.

      However, rather than reaching out for her, his hand lowered to grasp the picture book. He slid it from her hands.

      “I’m sorry, Fern. I’m terribly sorry.”

      Remorse encrusted his words, and before she could ask why he was looking so guilt-ridden, he turned from her. He shoved the book back into the slot on the shelf and then bolted for the door.

      He stopped at the threshold and twisted to face her. “You can take the room next door. The bathroom is at the end of the hall. Go and freshen up. I’ll get my bag out of the car and then rustle us up something to eat.”

      He was gone, and she was left with a distinctive resonance…an almost haunting ache that, although it was fading with each second that ticked by, she feared would never completely vanish.

      Then panic set in as she worried she might never experience it again.

      The following morning Fern awoke in the guest room curled up in the center of her luxurious down pillow. She stretched her arms and unfurled her wings. The first flight of the day was always the best, in her opinion, for it was then that she was reminded how wonderful and carefree life was. That was what a proper pixie lived for—happy-go-lucky days.

      After several joyous and perfectly executed spins, she landed on the windowsill and looked out at the day. The sun shone bright, and the crystalline sky was clear but for a few fluffy clouds. Adventure was in the air. She could feel it.

      The time she’d spent with Paul last night had been both exhilarating and difficult. He’d fixed them cheese omelettes СКАЧАТЬ