A Million Different Ways (Horn Duet 1)

“I’ll let it go…for now. I want to show you something. Come.”

Taking my hand, he dragged me beyond the wall, towards the boxwood hedge while I argued, “No, I can’t…really, I shouldn’t.”

“Yes, you can. It won’t take long.”

I shook my head, dug my heels in. “Where are you taking me? Mrs. Arnaud will be looking for me.”

“Relax, I told her you were helping me with something,” he explained while he held up a plastic bag.

“What’s that?”

“Chicken.”

We walked until we came upon a little house with bars on the windows. “What is all this?”

“It’s called a mews. It’s housing for my falcons.” His eyes lit up on that last word, a lopsided smile growing on his heart-stopping face.

Be still my beating heart. His smiles were so rare they felt like sunshine after a nuclear winter. I would’ve done anything for one of those smiles. “Next to it is the weathering yard. That’s where they exercise.”

From a storage bin, he pulled out a long suede glove and slipped it on before he opened the mews door. The bird stepped onto his arm and perched there. It was large––and admittedly scary. It had a plush coat of white feathers speckled with brown on its breast, and a long red tail that fanned out at the bottom. Its eyes were penetrating, watching me as if it could read my mind and discover all of my secrets.

“Isn’t she beautiful?”

My head whipped around. “It’s a she??!”

Grinning at my bewilderment, he explained, “Falcons are female. The male is called a tiercel…and much smaller.” I stared in wonder at the impressive animal: her sharp talons, the proud breast, the sharp look in her eyes. “Well, what do you think?” he asked, watching me closely. I didn’t miss the moment of uncertainty in his gaze. He looked like a little boy offering to share his favorite toy.

I think you’re killing me you beautiful, sweet man. He might as well have taken a sledgehammer to my heart because the wall I was trying to erect crumbled at once.

“The females are bigger than the males? I like the sound of that. Is there a reason why?”

He paused, a sly grin shaping his sensual lips. “There’s an evolutionary theory that the females over time chose smaller, less aggressive males to provide for her and the young. So she could…dominate him more easily.”

“Hmm, makes perfect sense to me. Clever creature,” I replied, with a grin of my own.

His eyes turned sulky. “That only works with red tails, darlin’. In the real world the larger, more aggressive male always wins.”

With all this heat between us I’m surprised I didn’t go up in flames. “How did you get into this? Your father?” His expression hardened instantly. His jaw twitched as he placed the bird on her tall, wooden perch. All the lightness and fun erased with a casual question. “Did I say something wrong?…Sebastian?” He stared at the bird with an absent look on his face. “Tell me,” I whispered. I had to fight the urge to hold him and kiss that look away.

“After my parents split, I spent summers here with him––he thought living with my mother was making me soft.” A bark of joyless laughter surged out of him. “On my way back from feeding his birds one day, I found a fledgling, a young bird that had been thrown out of its nest.” Turning to face me, his bleak gaze held mine briefly. “I took it back to the house and showed it to my father. He told me to put it back where I found it, that Mother Nature would take care of the rest... I just couldn’t do it,” he admitted, his head shaking. “I hid the bird in my room. Marianne helped me build a nest.” His face swung away, his eyes searching for something in the distance.

“A couple of weeks later my father found me upstairs, feeding the bird. He grabbed it out of the box and snapped its neck before I knew what hit me.” A horrified gasp rushed up my throat. “Said I had to learn that life was cruel and some things aren’t meant to take up space in this world,” a weary sigh filled the pause, “so the answer is no. I didn’t learn this from him.”

My hands were shaking. Gripping them closed, I hid them behind my back. I couldn’t imagine any parent doing that to a young, impressionable child. It was obvious the pain from that phantom wound was indelibly burned onto his soul. And intuitively, I knew he wouldn’t find comfort in pity or sympathy––he was too proud a man.

“If the Buddhist are right, then the only justice is that he comes back as an unsuspecting field mouse in his next life.” The clouds in his eyes parted and his gaze turned warm. A brief smile touched his lips. “Does she have a name?” He smirked awkwardly. My head cocked to the side as I studied him. “Spit it out. What is it?”