Only 05 - Autumn Lover

ghostly web of trails knitting together the two ranches.
    Hunter watched as Elyssa slowly worked her way down a row of herbs, caressing a leaf here, a tiny flower there. Her fingers were like pale, delicate flames moving among the plants.
    The stillness of the autumn night was so complete that Hunter could hear the glide of Elyssa’s silk skirts over leaves and stems, the liquid sighs of the creek, and the musical whisper of a waltz breathed into the moonlight.
    Pausing, Elyssa bent over one of the rosemary bushes that grew at the end of every row of herbs. Speaking words Hunter couldn’t make out, she traced the bush’s tallest branches with her fingertips.
    When Elyssa moved away and walked down another row, her steps brought her within a few feet of the motionless Hunter. Her whimsical words slowly became understandable to him.
    “Ah, Viscount Oregano,” Elyssa murmured. “How well you look tonight in your green waistcoat.”
    Bending low, she cupped a stem of oregano in herhand. When she released the stem, it swayed gently, as though dancing.
    “Were it not for your gently rooted condition,” she whispered, “I would gather you up in my arms and waltz away the night. Think of the scandal…”
    Smiling, Elyssa moved on to another group of plants.
    “Duchess Peppermint, I did not expect you to be here tonight,” Elyssa murmured. “I am honored.”
    She curtsied deeply, rose, and cocked her head as though listening to someone speak. Then she smiled sadly and gently stroked the edges of the peppermint leaves. Plucking one, she tucked it into her mouth and chewed lazily.
    “Such a tasty fringe you have on your dress,” Elyssa said. “I must have the name of your seamstress. The same as Countess Spearmint’s? Ah, I should have guessed.”
    Elyssa bent down to brush her cheek against the waist-high peppermint plant. Then she straightened and moved on once more.
    From time to time she stopped and inhaled complex herbal fragrances as though they were costly French perfumes. Then she continued on, touching, tasting, immersing herself in the scented welcome of her garden.
    She didn’t notice Hunter in the dense moon shadow of the apple tree. Slowly she waltzed by him. Humming to herself, her eyes closed, she went down the garden row by touch alone, calling each plant by a common name and a fanciful title.
    Snippets of conversation came back to Hunter, wounding him in ways he didn’t understand.
    Then he did understand, and wished he hadn’t.
    Little Em was like that. There were no playmates for her at home, so she named every rock and tree and bird .
    And she sang to them .
    Grief for his dead child raked Hunter with hookedclaws, bringing pain like black blood welling in the moonlight. Motionless, Hunter let the pain drench him as he had so many times before.
    Slowly, heartbeat by heartbeat, agony drained away into the darkness of night.
    At the end of the row, Elyssa turned and began walking back toward Hunter. Eyes still closed, she came up the outer row of the garden, keeping herself oriented by touching herbs on one side and the trunks of fruit trees on the other.
    “Baronet Parsley, you grow more robust every day. Your seeds will overflow my hands this fall, and your children will overflow my garden next year.”
    The fluid murmuring of the creek was Elyssa’s only answer. She needed none other.
    “Ah, Princess Rosemary. What an unparalleled honor. Your presence graces my humble garden.”
    Elyssa stopped by the plant whose branches lifted like a hundred-armed candelabra toward the moon. The pale undersides of the narrow leaves glowed with ghostly radiance. It was as though tiny, spectral tongues of fire licked over the plant.
    “What a magnificent dress,” Elyssa murmured. “There is none to equal it. And your fragrance would make roses weep with envy.”
    Skillfully Elyssa picked a sprig of rosemary and rolled it between her palms, inhaling deeply of its scent. When she bent her head over her hands, her hair burned and shimmered as though silver flames were concealed within.
    Hunter burned, too, consumed by the wildfire that had ignited when he rode up to the Ladder S and found Elyssa standing on the porch, bathed in lantern light.
    He had never felt a hunger so deep, even when Belinda had teased and tormented him into marriage.
    I should have turned around and ridden out , Hunterthought. Just like I should turn around and go back to the house .
    But he hadn’t.
    And he didn’t.
    Elyssa