The Prophet of Paradise

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

ASTRID STEVENSON GRIPPED the back of Shelton McKendrick’s head, twining her fingers through Shelton’s thick hair, a mass of tangled curls, savoring her partner’s youthful passion and skillful technique. She was cruising blissfully toward climax when Shelton’s phone rang.

“Don’t answer it,” Astrid ordered, trying to prevent Shelton from reaching the phone on the bedside table.

Shelton looked up with a teasing grin. Large hazel eyes twinkled above Astrid’s trim abdomen. “That’s my father. Maybe I’d better see what he wants.”

“Like hell. He can leave a message.” She pressed the back of Shelton’s head, urging her lover to continue.

Shelton gave a couple of licks that sent Astrid’s back arching and prompted a deep moan. “Maybe I should put it on speaker so he can enjoy this too.”

“Well, aren’t you the pervert. Looks like my lucky day.”

Shelton got back to business in earnest and soon afterward the two of them sat together reclining on the pile of pillows propped against the bed’s headboard.

A three thousand mile separation—Astrid on the East Coast, Shelton on the West—made for a difficult relationship. It took some maneuvering for Astrid to arrange her schedule to be in San Jose and for Shelton to keep a clear calendar for those days. But the efforts paid off.

Astrid, petite and vivacious, wore her jet-black hair short, emphasizing her sharp features. At forty-three no one would question her if she claimed to be several years younger.

Shelton Louise McKendrick, tall and broad shouldered, could pass for anywhere from twenty-five to forty-five. For one generation after another the McKendrick genes produced large men with features that, while not handsome in the classic sense, were not unpleasant and tended to improve with age. Those genes did not discriminate based on gender and the McKendrick women were only barely distinguishable from their male relatives. From an early age Shelton eschewed make-up, most jewelry, and high heels. She went for understated attire in muted colors and flats that kept her height barely south of six feet. Her one ever-present adornment was a small medallion on a gold chain around her neck, the medal of Saint Hubert. Astrid assumed it was some church-related trinket from Shelton’s childhood. She had not yet asked what it really meant and Shelton had not offered to tell her.

“Do you really have to fly back today?” Shelton asked. “It’s a holiday weekend after all.”

“I wish I could stay longer, but there’s no holiday for me. I’ll be in the office all weekend catching up on everything that’s fallen behind while I’ve been out here. The new Costa Rica project is taking shape, but still needs work. Then I’m off to Dallas next week. I really should have grabbed the redeye home last night, but…” She snuggled closer to Shelton. “…I figured I’d allow myself a little mini holiday.”

“I’ve got a full schedule of appointments next week too. I have to drive almost to Vancouver for some of them.”

“You know,” Astrid said, “the offer still stands for you to come work with me. You could move back to DC, take over all the affiliate relations. I could spend more time on other parts of our mission if I had someone I can trust running that function.”

“It’s tempting. But I really do enjoy my job. I feel like being a rep for veterinary pharmaceuticals is my way of helping animals.”

“You could help them even more if you accepted my offer. I mean, People Against Cruelty to Animals is nationwide. And soon to be international once we get the Costa Rica branch up and running.”

“Or,” Shelton suggested, “you could move the headquarters out here. This area’s pretty friendly toward PACA’s mission.”

“I know. But I have to be close to Washington. And…I don’t know…a West Coast address, especially in the San Francisco area, might make some people think we’re a wacky, leftist organization.”

“Which you kind of are.” Shelton reached over for her phone as Astrid gave her a playful poke in the ribs. “Guess I’d better see what my father was calling about.”

“Sheltie Lou,” Ryman’s recorded voice began, “ah, look sweetheart, I’m afraid I got some bad news. Me and Bar are at the hospital and…well…you see…I know this is gonna be hard…but…”

With her head right next to Shelton’s, Astrid could hear the conversation without need of speaker mode.

Bar’s voice was audible in the background. “Tell her, dammit. Or gimme the phone and I will.”

“Um…here’s Bar.”

“Oh, for Christ sakes,” Bar said in disgust. “Sheltie Lou, your grandpa’s had a massive heart attack, keeled over in the service bay a couple of hours ago. We ain’t got the official word yet, but I don’t reckon it looks very good. Will be a damn miracle if he pulls through. I expect you’ll want to get back here, get out to the farm, be with your grandma. She’s always been sweet on you. Not so much on your old man. Cain’t say as I blame her.”

“Gimme the damn phone back,” Ryman said. “Look, sweetheart, sorry to have to break the news to you this way. I know you been traveling a lot lately, can’t hardly keep up with you these days. But gimme a call when you get this, let me know where you are and how soon you can get here.”

Shelton clicked off the phone. She took two deep breaths and said softly, “My grandfather’s had a heart attack. Looks bad.”

“I’m so sorry.” Astrid squeezed Shelton’s bare arm. “I should have let you answer the phone. That was selfish of me.”

“You didn’t know. It’s okay.”

“Are you close to your grandfather?”

“Yeah, pretty close.”

“There’s a family farm?”

“Yes, out in Crutchfield County. That’s where I grew up.”

“You never mentioned you were a farm girl.”

“I’m not anymore. City girl now.” She looked down at Astrid nestled beside her, one graceful arm tightly wrapped across Shelton’s substantial torso. “With city girl tastes.” She tried to raise a smile but it did not succeed. Instead, the reality of her grandfather’s situation began to set in and tears flowed. “Fergus…he was my hero…always loved me as I am…big and ugly…I liked greasy machines instead of dolls…overalls more than dresses…he never judged. I thought he’d live forever.”

Astrid rose up and cradled Shelton’s head against her naked body. “Shelton, you’re not ugly. And dolls and dresses are just stereotypes. You’re your own woman and you should be proud of it.” Her mouth turned up into a mischievous grin and she tousled Shelton’s hair. “’Course, you are kinda big. But I like that about you.”

Shelton showed a glimmer of a smile through her tears.

“This farm, are there animals on it?” Astrid asked.

“A few.”

“Such as?”

“Well, horses mostly. And a couple of dogs.”

“No food stock then…”

“Look, that’s just where I grew up. I’m away from all that now. Three thousand miles away. Although I guess I’m going to be making a trip back there. I hope I can get there before…before…” Shelton started to tear up again.

“I’m sorry about your grandfather,” Astrid said. “You let me know if there’s anything I can do, if you want me to be with you at the hosp…”

“No!”

Astrid released Shelton, surprised by the response. “Is there a problem with your family? They do know about your sexuality, don’t they?”

“Yeah, they know. They’re okay with it. Well, most of them anyway. It’s just that, well, I mean you’re busy and everything. I don’t want to impose, that’s all.”

“Sure, of course. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” Astrid swung out of bed, reached for her robe and wrapped it snuggly around her. “Guess we’d better get going,” she said, all business now. “I’ve got a long flight ahead of me.” She started toward the bathroom but then stopped, turned around, and c****d her head provocatively. The playful smile returned. “There is one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Sheltie Lou?”

Shelton groaned.

“Maybe you’re still more of a farm girl than you thought.”

When Shelton finished dressing, she lifted her Saint Hubert’s medal from the bureau. She held the small gold medallion in her hand and looked at the image on the front: a man in bishop’s robes flanked by a hound on one side and a deer with a glowing cross between its antlers on the other side. She then turned it to the inscription on the back. It showed a date from twenty-seven years before, when she was five years old, the first time she rode with the hunt on Thanksgiving Day, Blessing of the Hounds. She and her father stayed in the back, Ryman held the lead-line to her pony, and gave her a running commentary on what was happening.

What little girl wouldn’t have gladly traded places with her that day? Her own pony, being safely led by her father in his scarlet coat, her grandfather larger than life at the head of the field, the brisk autumn air in her lungs, hounds baying and horses galloping. It all seemed so perfectly natural to her then. It was what everyone she knew did. Except for her mother and grandmother who stood off to the side at the blessing, casting disapproving looks. She thought then that life everywhere was like her life in Crutchfield County. It took awhile for her to find out otherwise.

She slipped the chain around her neck and followed Astrid out the door.