Naked in the Winter Wind Read online

  Naked

  in the

  Winter Wind

  The Fairies Saga

  (Includes: Amnesia,

  Abandoned, and

  Adoptions)

  Dani Haviland

  Naked in the Winter Wind

  First book in

  The Time Travel Series

  The Fairies Saga

  (Previously released in three parts:

  *Amnesia, **Abandoned, and ***Adoptions)

  By

  Dani Haviland

  Praise for Naked in the Winter Wind (Abandoned, part 2):

  “Touches of humor…lively romance…intricate plot…and lots of action.” Judge, Writer’s Digest Self-Published e-Book Awards

  Also enjoy: HA’PENNY JENNY, Book One and a Half (a novella)

  AYE, I AM A FAIRY, Book Two (summer 2014 release)

  DANCES NAKED, Book Three

  THE GREAT BIG FAIRY, Book Four

  FAIRIES DOWN UNDER, Book Five (winter 2014)

  MAIN MENU

  Start Reading

  Table of Contents

  Afterword

  Copyright

  Cast of Characters

  >>>>>>>SOMETHING SPECIAL<<<<<<<<<br />
  Just so you won’t get confused about who’s who, I put a cast of characters on the last page of this book. I figured it was the easiest place to find. And if while reading, you find that someone is narrating the story—that it’s in the first person—that’s just Evie taking over. Sometimes that old lady in a young person’s body just won’t shush!

  Table of Contents

  Not in my plans

  Master Simon

  Map taker and a ride

  Leonardo the First

  So, here I was

  Woof

  Ian found

  Cave life

  First aid

  Ass over teakettle

  Bashed and battered

  Fall recovery

  Caving

  Amnesia and Love

  A primitive marriage

  Consummation

  Living on Love

  The cougar that came to supper

  Kidnapped

  Re-encounter

  Journey to New Bern

  Jody’s encounters

  I woke myself screaming

  New accommodations

  Fathers revealed

  Double amnesia?

  Depression and Gimpy return

  Wallace’s recovery

  José: the new man in the neighborhood

  José’s Ranch

  A partnership evolves

  But I want to go

  Pyle’s Massacre

  Healing

  Crocs, cabin fever, and a cell phone

  Twins

  Wallace and me

  Rumor had it

  The Rumor

  Time of confinement

  Delivery

  Naming

  Life was nice and boring

  The Fifth Fourth

  Wedding Day Blues

  Clyde returns

  Rescue at the mill

  Voice sweet as chocolate brownies

  Back home again with bananas

  PREVIEW OF BOOK TWO: AYE, I AM A FAIRY

  Preface

  Blasted alarm clock

  *1 Not in my plans

  October 30, 2012

  Greensboro, North Carolina

  It wasn’t a bad place to be—it was actually quite beautiful and inspiring—but being in North Carolina had not been in my plans. I loved Alaska and didn’t like leaving home when we still had over eight hours of daylight. Every Alaskan knew the time to take a trip ‘Outside’ was between late November and mid-February, when the short, dim days, ice-sealed windows, and cars and trucks all slush-painted the same color of road-grime gray were sure to affect even a sourdough Alaskan with the winter blues.

  But this was the week my daughter had scheduled her vacation. I hadn’t seen Leah in years—and we didn’t talk much—but we had business to take care of. She and I needed to review her late father’s estate before the end of the year. It wasn’t complicated or contested, but I didn’t want to do it over the telephone.

  Leroy and I married when I found out I was pregnant. We stayed married for nearly twenty years for Leah’s sake. It was the wrong thing to do, and he and I both realized it too late. Soon afterwards, I moved to Alaska for a fresh start. Leah stayed in Arizona to finish her nursing degree.

  Leroy and I had been divorced for only two years when he found out he had cancer and, well, he and Leah got closer, and she and I became emotionally distant. If I had done something wrong, I never found out what it was.

  I had arrived late last night, full of hope that her attitude toward me had changed in the last year or two. Her smile at the gate was promising, the ride from the airport was cordial, but the unusually brisk, chilly weather outside followed us into Leah’s stark, white-walled, one bedroom apartment. I wasn’t sure if her icy attitude was intentional, so decided not to respond to it. It wasn’t anything I had done lately anyway: she was still angry about the divorce. That was her problem, not mine. I got over it—so did her father—but her sour lemon sorbet attitude toward me still hadn’t thawed nor sweetened.

  I was an incurable optimist, though. Life would change for her in due time. At some point, she’d realize grudges and hard feelings were stumbling stones, not building blocks. Good attitudes and forgiveness could overcome all of life’s obstacles, even death and taxes.

  Leah had grown up in the desert—sweltering Scottsdale, Arizona—but moved to North Carolina after her father’s death. I had hoped she would join me in Alaska—and there we could repair our mother/daughter bond—but she had her own dreams. Alaska was too new for her, not enough history. She wanted to live where the land had a tale to tell.

  She had her nursing degree and could have worked anywhere. It wasn’t as if she had relatives near Greensboro—we were pretty much our only family. She hadn’t any friends there either, but that wasn’t a problem. Leah’s persona didn’t threaten other women, and men didn’t feel as if they had to suck in their guts when she was around. Give her a week and she’d have enough friends to play both sides of a softball game.

  In her opinion, North Carolina, the first of the thirteen colonies to join the United States, was ideal. She went on and on about how great the state was, telling me about the major battles fought there during the Revolutionary War, how pivotal it was to America gaining her freedom from Britain, and then later, the great achievements it made in civil rights. Her history narratives were endless.

  She could preach her patriotism all she wanted, but I knew the real reason she chose North Carolina: it was the home of Jody and Sarah Pomeroy, the fictional heroes of the Lost saga, the historical romance novels she was so passionate about.

  Last year Leah gave me a paperback copy of ‘Lost’ for Christmas. She put a little note on the handmade gift tag that said the book was about the most perfect man in the world. Of course, that got my attention, but it took a stubborn case of drug-resistant pneumonia, and the sick days that came with it, for me to investigate her claim. Two days, 800 pages, and a box and a half of tissues later, I discovered the epic was just the first in a long series.

  The bacterial pneumonia army refused to relinquish its hold on my lungs, so off to the doctor—again—for a new salvo of antibiotics. I picked up the prescription for the latest super drug, the next three books in the saga, and eight cans of chicken soup, all at the same time. Those big box stores were so convenient at times.

  Well, the new wonder drug didn’t work—evidently, this strain just had to run its course—but I didn’t care. My recliner and electric blanket created the ideal winter retreat
for devouring the complete series of time travel novels.

  Lisa Sinclaire’s words took me away to the Uprising in Scotland and then later, to the American Revolution in North Carolina. I shared the passions and challenges Jody and Sarah Pomeroy, and their friends and family, faced through the years, culminating with their fight for self-rule in a new America.

  Leah was right about the main character. Jody Pomeroy was the ideal male. Smart, strong, and compassionate, but unfortunately, only a fictional character of the 18th century.

  So, here I am in gray and boring 2012. Leah has the next seven days off, and I don’t have to return to frigid Fairbanks for another five. Her enthusiasm about exploring the actual battlegrounds of the Revolutionary War, treading over the same stones once covered in patriot blood and sweat, and bringing me into the ‘real’ world of the Pomeroys, was contagious. Now I was looking forward to melding with history, too.

  Ӂ

  Before I came out here, I was hopeful but insecure about how we’d get along. I wasn’t sure if Leah really wanted to spend her vacation time with me or not, but now it was a moot point. She gave me the news when I came to pick her up after work: no road trip. She had to fill in for another nurse at the hospital. I couldn’t tell if she was happy about the opportunity to escape from my presence or not. Her explanation was simple and civil, no smirks or sighs to let me know how she really felt.

  Earlier today, Leah’s counterpart on shift rotation fell and twisted her ankle while chasing her little Pomeranian. Apparently, the big Labrador retriever next door had smelled Foo Foo’s eau de heat and jumped the fence to romance her. Nurse Donna didn’t want the two of them mixing it up—that was understandable—but she tripped in her rescue effort and sprained her ankle. It was a good thing her husband was home to rescue her and the Pom. There won’t be any Laboranians—or would that be Pomerievers?—this season.

  Donna’s twisted ankle would keep her busy in her Lazy Boy recliner, rotating ice and heat packs for a few days. Nurse Gata, the ornery floor supervisor, agreed to take one of the days, but dumped the rest of the schedule on Leah.

  We used her one day off to go to the bank and do some ‘initial at the Xs and sign and date on the last pages.’ Leroy never bothered to take my name off his retirement and life insurance policies after our divorce. Legally the money was mine, but morally, I felt it was hers.

  With the help of the chubby, curly-haired bank clerk wearing the ‘Disco Rocks’ tie clip, I changed all the accounts over from ‘Leroy or Dani’ to ‘Leah.’ I think the bank officer wrote down her phone number, too. Another man falls to Leah’s unintentional charms.

  I brought my financial information with me so I could change over my meager portfolio contents and bank accounts to ‘Dani or Leah with right of survivorship.’ I also made sure she had the latest version of my ‘just in case file’: ‘just in case’ something happens to me, here are the emergency contacts, bank account numbers, life insurance policies, blah, blah, blah. I’ve never subscribed to the ‘if I don’t have it written down, nothing can happen to me’ theory. Probate courts were swamped because of that common delusion. Hey, I know I’m not immortal, and when I die, I’d like my friends and family to miss me, not curse me for being so disorganized.

  All this estate planning was making me feel vulnerable. My mortality was something I didn’t think about, much less dwell on. Its eventuality was depressing. Except for the pneumonia a while back, I was in good health for an old broad of sixty. True, I was about fifty pounds overweight and my blood pressure was a tad high, but I probably had twenty good years left. Of course, a logging truck might run a red light and rob me of my last few years. It happened to my grandmother and, even though I always double-checked intersections before entering, it could happen to me, too. There’s no telling what tomorrow will bring, no matter how healthy or prepared a person is.

  Ӂ

  There were five uncommitted and potentially fabulous days to go before my return flight to Fairbanks. I had psyched myself up for this road trip and still wanted to go explore the local history, maybe catch a second autumn parade of leaves, before returning to Alaska, subzero weather, and those short, dismal, and lonesome days of winter.

  Leah had planned this trip for us months ago. She plotted our itinerary, downloaded narratives on the battles, procured local information flyers, and compiled the works in a binder. This morning she handed me the blue plastic notebook containing her amateur thesis and the keys to her little purple Prius.

  “I can take the bus for a couple of days. Go ahead and take the trip for both of us.” She handed me a purple felt-tipped pen. “Make notes in the margins for me at each stop. I’ll take the trip later and look at your remarks. It’s not the same as going together, but it’s the best I can do.”

  I gave her a big hug, this time not feeling like I was invading her space.

  “Thanks, that’s a great idea. You add your notes to mine, we can both take a bunch of pictures, and then I’ll put together two memory books. It’s easy enough to do on the computer and will keep me busy this winter. I hope you can take your trip soon. You’ve been working lots of hours.”

  I saw ‘the look,’ the ‘don’t tell me how to run my life’ look, when I mentioned her work. I let it slide and changed the subject. “If I’m not up when you leave, would you wake me? I’m still on Alaska Time, but I want to head out early. I might stay at one of those Revolutionary War era bed and breakfasts tomorrow night to get the full experience, but I might be home, too. I’ll have my cell phone with me, so I’ll let you know if I decide to stay over.”

  Ӂ

  I wasn’t the least bit sleepy. It was ten o’clock at night, but felt like six to me. I grabbed my backpack and started loading it with the bounty from my afternoon shopping trip at the sportsman’s paradise store. I had zero desire to sleep in the open, but bought one of those itty-bitty solar blankets to use as a tarp or poncho just in case the remnants of Hurricane Sandy decided to precipitate instead of blow. A hand-powered lantern, a small pot, and an eight-pack of those freeze-dried emergency meals rounded out my purchased goods. I still had the rest of the big bag of Leah’s favorite homemade trail mix I had made, so in it went, too. A change of clothes, a couple bottles of water, a first aid kit, and my reading glasses filled out my daypack. This feisty old lady was now ready to walk and roll.

  Ӂ

  Leah cracked open the door and poked her head into my…er, her room. She had insisted on giving me her bedroom and had taken the couch.

  “It’s 5:30. Are you sure you want to get up this early? I left the car keys on the kitchen table. There’s half a pot of coffee if you want some. Have fun!” she said.

  “Okay, I can do this. Body, you are in North Carolina and have to obey its time law,” I said, babbling to myself. I looked up and saw Leah’s head pulling away from the open doorway. “Oh, thanks, Leah; don’t wait up for me.”

  I was tempted to roll over and go back to sleep. “Nope, sleep on the plane ride home. Up, up you sloth-y body, you.” I almost used the phrase ‘You can sleep when you’re dead,’ but was afraid that I’d be hexing, cursing, or jinxing myself if I did. “Okay, you strong, beautiful, and vigorous body, let’s go check out our great American history!”

  I bounced out of bed and groaned as my feet hit the floor. My body hadn’t listened to my command. My size nines were always tender from the ankles down after I’d been off them for an hour or more. It seemed that my foot bones fell out of place when air hit the bottoms of them. It invariably took me ten to fifteen tender-footed realignment steps to get my achy knees, hips, and ankles unlocked first thing every morning. Those were always the most painful steps of the day, but I was tough. At least I could still walk, even if I had to do warm-up exercises first.

  After a bowl of oatmeal and all my vitamins, minerals, and achy-joint medications, I was ready for a quick shower, then my road trip.

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized I shouldn’t be in such a hurry to
complete the tour. One day, two days, or four: what difference did it make? None to Leah; she’d be working the whole time. She was used to eating dinner at home or going out with friends. I’m sure she wouldn’t miss me if I stayed out late, or even overnight. If I came back too soon, I’d be bored or frustrated because I didn’t have anything to do or anybody not to do it with.

  I stretched my arms up high over my head, and out to either side. “There,” I announced as I broke the imaginary time chains that bound my wrists. “Gone!”

  I grabbed my backpack, the folder, and the keys, then skipped around the apartment. “Yee-hah!” I had just removed my self-imposed time restraints and it felt so good. “As long as I’m back in time for Leah to take me to the airport on Sunday, I’m good. Road trip for one, coming up!”

  I opened the blue binder and there it was. The first leg of my tour was only a few miles away. New Garden Road led right to Guilford Courthouse National Military Park, the site of the battle that turned the tide of the Revolutionary War. In a few minutes, I’d be walking the same grounds as those heroes did over 230 years ago.

  Ӂ

  The mechanical noise of the modern heavy equipment in the background, altering the earth—probably constructing another shopping mall—was sacrilegious, but what could be done? Certainly we couldn’t restrict progress, insist that every aspect of the historical grounds conform to the Revolutionary War spirit.

  Not even the park rangers were in period dress. Unlike nearby Old Salem or Bethabara where volunteers clothed in era reproductions greeted visitors and showed off tools, furniture, and structures from the 18th century, here one had to look at the sterile displays or watch the video presentations to get into the spirit.

  I don’t think I could sit through those movies again, though—too emotional—but I was tempted to buy the DVDs for Leah. Nah; it wouldn’t have the same effect. She wouldn’t have the soldiers’ ghosts sitting next to her while she watched.

  After checking out the gifts, books, and videos in the museum, I was ready for the tour of the grounds. There weren’t any historical structures here—the original courthouse was long gone—but the monuments listed on the flyer looked impressive.