20. Fable

Chapter 20

Fable

A n hour later, I'm wandering around the yard near the big house, wondering what I can possibly do to keep myself entertained. Jethro trots beside me, happy to be wherever I am. I'd made sure to bring him a bit of sausage from breakfast, which he'd happily taken. Since then, he's been sticking to me like glue, and I don't mind his company. He's a sweet dog. I've always wanted a dog, but never thought we could give it the time it would need. Right now, I have nothing but time.

I pick up a stick and swing it around like it's a sword. Jethro barks and puts his front legs on the ground, his butt in the air, the epitome of, "play with me". I laugh and swing the stick gently at him as if we're sword fighting, and he jumps away with a bark.

"Alright, alright," I laugh, before handing him the stick. He grabs it at the end instead of the middle and starts swinging it around like I did, though more chaotically. I blink and grab another stick, holding it toward him. He barks around the stick, the sound muffled, before he swings it toward my stick, clacking it together. "Clever boy!" I gush, pretending to parry him. "I think you're not just Jethro. You must be Jethro, Prince of Barkness!"

He drops the stick and barks in agreement, so that's that. Jethro has his LARPing name. He sword fights better than some orcs after one kind of lesson, so he's earned that name.

As I'm kneeling down to gush about his skills, petting him, the sound of metal-on-metal rings out across the yard once, twice, three times, and continues. I look up curiously.

"What's that, Jethro? Should we investigate?" I ask.

He wags his tail, so I take that to mean yes. I follow the sounds of the metal out to the large garage. I can still see the big house from here, but I haven't ever come out to this building. I realize quickly why.

The large roller doors are up today so I can actually see inside. Trent is inside the large building, hammering a piece of metal on top of an anvil. I watch as he hits it repeatedly until he dips it in a bucket before going back over to a forge I never realized was in here. I blink in surprise as he sticks the metal in and turns to wipe his forehead against his arm. He never looks over where I stand. In fact, he turns his back to me and fusses with something on the table. Jethro leans against my thigh, watching with me. I never realized Trent was a blacksmith! I thought he was just the mechanic.

He grabs the metal stick out of the forge again and starts hammering once more. He lifts the hammer and pauses.

"You goin' to just stare at me?" he asks without looking over.

I wince and step around the door I'd been hiding behind. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just curious."

He picks up the metal he hammers a few times with tongs before dipping it into the bucket again and moving to the forge. He doesn't respond to my words.

"Is this a forge?" I ask. I know it is, but I'm trying to open a line of conversation. I step further into the room and Jethro comes with me.

"No, it's a pony show," he grumbles, still refusing to look at me.

I frown. Point taken. I'm not welcome here. I don't think he could be any clearer.

"Got it," I murmur. "I just. . . I think it's really cool you're a blacksmith. I've always thought metalworking is a disappearing art. If you ever want company while you're working in here, let me know." I try to keep my voice even though I'm disappointed that I can't watch him work. Still, I'm not someone who is going to curse another with my presence. He clearly wants to be alone, so I'll take the hint and let him be.

I turn to leave, preparing to head back out into the yard.

"It's hot," he says.

I turn back. "What?"

"It's hot. In here. You don't want to keep me company when it's so hot," he grunts.

"I don't mind the heat," I offer. "I'm from Florida. This is hardly heat."

Finally, he looks up at me, his eyes taking in my hot pink get up. I suddenly wish I'd worn something less flamboyant if only so he would take me a little more seriously. Whatever he sees, he must decide it's not too bad. He gestures to the chair further away from the forge.

"You can stay," he grunts.

I grin and quickly more over to the chair, taking a seat. Jethro sits at my side, watching Trent with his tongue lolling out. "What are you making?" I ask.

He glances at me and moves over to the forge before pulling out the metal again. From here, I can see he's working on shaping them into circles now that I'm closer. "Rings for the horse stalls," he says. "Gunnar asked for something hardier than we have now. The horses keep busting them."

"Oh! You must mean Houdini. Yeah, he busted out yesterday again Gunnar said. That's so cool that you can just make new rings," I muse. "You ever make any swords?"

I've always been interested in forged swords and knives. I've always drooled over the pretty swords at the ren fairs, but I've never pulled the trigger and bought one, if only because I worried I'd get drunk and use it to do something silly, like butter toast or something. Jinx and I used to joke about the mundane things we could do with a sword and how there are no laws against carrying a sword. I think there may be one now though. Someone had to ruin it for everyone.

He hesitates at my question. "Not swords, no. But knives."

He pulls off his glove and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out something small and tosses it to me. I barely catch it before it can clatter to the ground. I look down at the item in my hands and realize it's a pocketknife. I flip it open and stare with wide eyes at the design. The metal is a beautiful Damascus pattern of folded steel that I know takes real skill to make. "Wow," I say as he pulls the rings from the forge. "This is gorgeous."

He glances at me. "It's nothing crazy."

"Don't downplay your skills, Trent," I chastise him gently. "I've seen some awesome blades at renaissance fairs, and I know what it takes to make the Damascus pattern. This is easily one of the best pocketknives I've seen."

He flushes despite the heat in the garage and looks away quickly. "Yeah. Well. . . it's just a pocketknife."

"I bet you'd make a great sword," I say, watching him carefully as he starts pressing at the metal with tools. "I don't want to bother you too much, but if you don't mind, are you willing to walk me through what you're doing?"

He looks over at me again, his dark eyes taking in my bright pink outfit. He's wearing jeans and a white tank top today, both marked with soot. His hair is longer, down to his shoulders, but he keeps it pulled up. A few tendrils escape his messy bun to frame his face. He's sweat slicked which only adds to his allure. He's massive, at least a foot taller than me, if not more. Of the men on this ranch, he's certainly the largest. Something about him makes me want to wrap him up like he's a big teddy bear, which is silly, because he's literally a giant, and I'm not even short. He just makes everyone else around him seem short.

He clears his throat. "Yeah, I can do that."

And so, I get a very direct and very bare-boned lesson in blacksmithing. I absorb every detail as he talks, completely interested in everything he has to say. It's clear he doesn't spend much time with other people. There's no small talk, no pleasantries. Mostly, he puts out as little words as possible to get his point across. The shop is as hot as he warned, but when I start to sweat, I just pull my hair up off my neck and clip it up, eager to watch him work and listen to him talk. At the end of it all, he holds up a handful of iron rings for me to inspect.

I take them. "These are amazing. You did such a good job," I gush, inspecting them.

"They're just rings," he says.

"Very well-made rings," I point out and look up at his burly height with a smile. "Thank you, Trent," I say honestly. I thought today would be boring. Instead, I'd thoroughly enjoyed myself sitting out here with him.

"For what?" he asks, confused.

"For sharing a piece of yourself with me," I answer. "Anytime you'd like company, I'm down to sit out here with you."

Something tugs on my pant leg, and I look down, expecting to see Jethro. Instead, I nearly shit myself when I see the fat raccoon. I screech and jump away, not really sure what I should do. Wild animals are unpredictable.

Trent scowls at the creature. "You wait until now to reveal yourself, Sly?" he growls as he scoops him up. The fat raccoon chitters in answer. "Sorry about that. This is just Sly Cooper. He's a shop raccoon."

"Shop. . . raccoon?" I repeat. "What's that mean?"

"He was abandoned as a baby. We tried to release him, but he wouldn't leave, so now he's my shop raccoon," he explains with a shrug.

"Is he. . . can I pet him?" I ask hesitantly.

"Yeah. He won't hurt you. He's like a cat."

I blink and reach over to pet him in Trent's arms. He's a chunky thing and when I touch him, he chitters and pats at my hands, as if he's looking for food. I giggle and pet him more comfortably. "Well, it's very nice to meet you, Sly. Maybe don't scare me so bad next time." I glance up at Trent. "Make sure to remind your dad to invite me back." I straighten with a smile and wave at Trent. "See you at dinner."

And then I leave him to his peace.

" Damaged, that one ," Jinx comments from beside me. " But you always did like the onions ."

I grin. "All those layers to peel back. Just something about it."

" Yeah, and they make you cry ," she says rolling her eyes. " No crying, Everhart. I forbid it ."

I swallow when I'm reminded again that she isn't here, that I'm not talking to her. "No promises," I rasp. "No promises."