Home > romance, writing > A Fascinating Woman (2)

A Fascinating Woman (2)

With the sunrise came the blacksmith. She had assured Truman Garrison that she would return in the morning and she did. The same impeccable, green pickup truck rolled up the long driveway onto The Small ‘t’ Ranch. This time there was a trailer hooked to the back of the truck. The trailer was painted an exact match to the truck. Damia Zaa parked her rig on a level place beside the gravel driveway. Garrison was not on the scene but Damia didn’t let it delay her. She simply went to the stable and took the first horse out of its box stall. With a quick tie of the horse’s bridle to a cleat on the side of the blacksmith trailer, the animal was secured. She fired up her propane forge and chose a narrow bar of steel from an organized selection in the neat, clean trailer.

Damia Zaa began to heat and hammer the bar of steel on a heavy anvil. Inside the house, Truman Garrison was awakened by the steady, musical clang of hammer on steel and steel on iron. He looked out his front window and saw Damia at work. He stood and watched as the young woman skilfully shaped and fitted horse shoes while they glowed almost white hot in the flame from the propane fired forge. She plunged each glowing semicircle into a bucket of water and cooled it to place it against the horse’s hoof to check for shape and size. She was making the fourth shoe for the first horse when Truman Garrison appeared at the front door. He greeted her and stood watching for a minute. The sun had risen and was shining warmly on Damia’s work area. Truman observed the beads of sweat standing out on her forehead and running down her cheeks. When she swung her heavy hammer, droplets on her chest glistened and shook loose to run down into her white cleavage.

Truman Garrison shook himself out of the fantasy that was creeping into his mind’s eye. He’d never before seen or even heard of a woman who was so large, so beautiful, so accomplished and so… separate. He felt she was separate from wherever she was and whoever was near her. Truman retreated into the house where he brewed fresh coffee and prepared a tray with two mugs of coffee, a small cream cup and matching sugar bowl with bagels, small spoons and napkins. He was strangely nervous as he took the tray out to Damia in hopes she would pause to share a moment of conversation. She seemed to be very reticent to talk, so he was prepared for rejection.

“Can I persuade you to take a coffee break?” he said. She had just finished shoeing the first horse.

“I suppose you might,” she said. “First I want to put this mare back in her stall.”

“I’ll bring the coffee out by the stable too,” Truman said. “We can sit at the picnic table in the orchard.”

She went ahead, leading the buckskin mare back to the stable. Truman followed with the tray, enjoying her sensual shape and the way she strode with her long, beautifully shaped legs. Her hold on the lead that was clipped to the horse’s halter was light and confident, like she knew the horse would, without hesitation, do just as she wanted it to. While she returned the horse to its spacious box stall, Truman set out the coffee and bagels on the picnic bench in the shade of an apple tree. Garrison was hoping to draw some conversation out of Damia Zaa.

She glided out of the stable with her long-legged stride and went directly to the picnic table. Truman was startled when Damia chose to sit next to him at the picnic table. It was for only a moment because the table began to lift a bit on the far side. Damia rose immediately and went ‘round to the other side of the table and sat opposite Truman. She reached for a mug of black coffee and drank it without adding cream or sugar. Truman was pleased to notice that because he took it that way himself.

“Do you live around here?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” she said, looking out across the field of ripening hay. Truman didn’t expect that answer and was thinking about what to say next.

“I know who you are,” Damia said and turned to face him.

“Who am I?” Truman said. He wanted to know which Truman Garrison she knew. He was known in some circles as the author of many mystery-thriller novels. Other environments knew him as producer of several films based on his novels. Some knew him as director of a few of his films. Some thought of him as just an actor, because that’s where his likeness appeared most often. In other circles he was known as a professor of literature at Tufts University. A few knew him as a fierce competitor in motor racing and sailboat racing.

“I know you’re the man who wrote, ‘Beyond Almost’”. He was again taken aback. It was his most obscure work, and the only one in which he felt he actually created a work of art. It was an almost unknown work, except for a rare few people who appreciated what that book represented. Damia became an even more puzzling conundrum.

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