Page 3 of 5 Golden Flings

The darkly iridescent eyes flashed.

“Okay, so you have balls. Congratulations.”

She was obviously too tired for clear thinking, because she was having a one-sided conversation with a dragon. Softly she said, “I wish I had your courage, your self-confidence. I bet you don’t second-guess your decisions. You go after what you want, and what you wanted was the world. What I want isn’t that ambitious, but it’smyworld.”

You can’t win if you don’t play the game.

The words boomed through her, because though the sound was soft they seemed to come from outside her, not a thought but something that came from . . . the dragon? Now, this was a major flight of fancy but the words were still sinking into every cell, every strand of DNA, and she knew damn good and well she hadn’t spoken them.

Nota flight of fancy.

Something magic.

Something magic imbued in the dragon she held in her hands.

Something magic that the dragon was giving to her, a gift of spirit, a granting of her wish . . . from the Wishing Well Ornament Company.

Her instinct had told her from the moment she saw the dragon that it was different, that it belonged to her on a level that went beyond an exchange of money. Her instincthadn’ttold her the dragon would make her hallucinate, make her think it was talking to her.

You can’t win if you don’t play the game.

Except her life wasn’t a game, it was responsibility that was based on love, not duty. The underlying theory was the same, though: if she didn’t dare, she’d never know if the outcome would be better. She needed to reach for more and not merely protect what she already had. She needed to take a risk.

The dragon had grown warm in her hands.

Yes, damn it, she’d fly across the country to make personal contact with someone who made his own type of magic that might or might not resonate with her customers. She had to evaluate him, his products, do some cost of doing business calculations, and make a decision based on knowledge. And while she was there, she’d do something else that was alien to her: she’d take a driving tour of the Southwest, see the desert, no itinerary, stop when she wanted to. She’d carve the time out of her holiday schedule because her heart needed that private adventure, the time for herself. Even as a child she’d often thought how much fun that would be, to just drive and see the country and please herself. As an adult she’d stuffed that wish away, focused on stability and responsibility. Those two things were important and she had done what was needed to establish them.

Now she needed more. Now it was her time to fly.

“You watch over things here,” she told the dragon. “I’m going to take two weeks and see what happens. You’d better be right because I really don’t have two open weeks and I’m blowing a hole in my schedule. If things don’t work out, I’m going to paint you yellow and put you in a yard sale.”

Could a dragon ornament look smug?

CHAPTER 3

Running Springs,California, was in San Bernardino County; Nova had flown into the LA Ontario airport and picked up her rental SUV, then used her phone’s navigation app to find the converted warehouse where Anders Patwin both designed and created. She’d spoken to his daughter Eva who worked with him and evidently handled all the business side ofAnders,the name under which everything was sold, and set up an appointment for after lunch.

She’d gotten the estimated travel time from the airport to Patwin’s address, calculated how long it would take her to collect the rental, and everything else she could anticipate. She couldn’t control whether or not there were flight delays but coming in the day before hadn’t been an option; all she could do was pray for an uneventful trip. That particular prayer had been answered. The flights had been on time, her luggage was carryon, and the car rental process acceptable. She even had time to grab a protein drink for her own lunch.

San Bernardino was the largest county in the country, bigger than the combined size of several smaller states. The scenery of the multi-colored mountains and increasingly desert landscapewas so breathtaking Nova had to make herself pay attention to her driving. She loved the lush greenery of the South, the mountains around Huntsville where she lived, but she felt comfortable here, too. She liked the colors of the desert, the purple mountains, the spareness. This time of year there was also the creativity of non-traditional Christmas decorations to enjoy, like the skinny man dressed in a Santa suit, dancing around a cactus. The Santa was alive but the cactus appeared to be plastic, and was adorned with Christmas lights. The spirit of the holiday must have been strong in Santa . . . or some other type of spirit was. Either way, she enjoyed the dance. He had talent.

Patwin didn’t actually live in Running Springs, but just outside the city limits. Nova understood the strategy, which eliminated one set of regulations that had to be followed. When her phone announced that she’d arrived at her destination, she stopped and looked around. The cinder block house was some distance from the neighbors, and behind it was more what she’d call a large garage than a warehouse. It wouldn’t attract undue attention, especially if they picked up shipments of supplies rather than having them delivered. Delivery trucks rolling in every day would be obvious. She didn’t know enough about zoning and business taxes in California to make assumptions.

The house was pleasant looking, painted a soft greige, with spare but colorful landscaping. The driveway was concrete, curving around the side of the house to the garage/warehouse. A white Dodge Ram was parked to the side, off the driveway, and a small blue Prius was beside it. A third car, a gray Nissan, was beside the Prius. Nova parked beside the Nissan and got out. The temperature was cool, around fifty degrees, with a breeze. The light-weight jacket she wore wasn’t quite warm enough, but she didn’t expect she’d be standing outside while she talked to Anders Patwin.

She knocked on the side door, heard a muted “Minute!” In less time than that the door opened. “Are you Nova Shelley?” The man standing there was medium height, spare and hard like a nail, with sharply angular features and long dark hair going gray at the temples. The hair was pulled back and secured with a thick red rubber band. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved green jersey. The red rubber band and green shirt may have been his nod to the holidays.

“I am.”

“C’mon in, then.” He stepped aside so she could enter, closed the door, then offered his hand. “Anders Patwin.”

“Nova Shelley.” She repeated her name as she shook his hand, making her own grip firm because she hated a limp-fish handshake.

He nodded. “Would you like something to drink? Green tea? Something herbal?”

“Thank you, no, I have a bottle of water.” She indicated the rich brown leather tote she carried. She’d learned long ago that having her own drink saved her from accepting a drink she might not like.

“Let’s go into the office and discuss things.” He raised his voice and said, “Eva! This is Nova Shelley.”

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