Page 7 of The Claiming of the Shrew
Fawkes knew that, because he had a habit of observing all the exits from a place and had been planning on using it before he ran into her. However, he allowed himself to be led. There was something both charming and a bit intimidating about being caught up in her whirlwind.
Now that he was aware of the crutches, he wondered how she was going to navigate the stairs, which were steep and concrete. The answer turned out to be with one hand on the railing, the crutch dangling from the forearm loop, and the other crutch on the stairs. And she wasfast. She went three steps at a time, in a sort of tilted-forward falling kind of way that Fawkes suspected was about one wrong step away from disaster at all times. Then again, so were most people on stairs.
At the bottom, Leah let them out into the night. Although it was late spring, they were high enough in the mountains that there was a cool undertone to the air that promised to be downright chilly by morning. There were lights on the walk along the side of the lodge, and beyond that, the smothering true darkness of a forest at night. Dew glistened on the grass under the lights.
“Are you camping out with the other theater people?” Fawkes asked.
“I don’t really think it’s any of your business, but yes I am.”
“I just—wanted to make sure you were warm enough.”
Leah gave him a look.
“I was not volunteering,” he said hastily, but a very badly timed surge of honesty compelled him to add, “Unless you want me to.”
Okay, this conversation wasn’t merely going to make her suspicious, it was going to result in Leah pushing him into a thorn bush and taking off at maximum crutch speed.
But instead, she looked amused—and somewhat charmed, though he tried not to read too much into it. “Did you have a plan for this night walk, or are you just wandering?”
He did have a plan, which he absolutely could not put into effect accompanied by Leah. “Wandering,” he said.
“Do you want to wander through our work area? I can show you what backstage looks like at night.”
There was nowhere on earth he would rather be. “Lead on,” he said.
Leah headed off at an angle through the grounds, passing in and out of inky black shadows. She must be some kind of nocturnal shifter, Fawkes thought, following her; she hardly seemed to notice the dark. Or maybe she simply was just that fearless.
She might turn into a bear, for all he knew.
They went into the woods, where fairy lights had been strung up between the trees, providing some relief from the islands of pitch darkness between the lights of the tents and campsites. Fawkes couldn’t help admiring Leah’s grace and silence in the dark, especially on crutches. The woman was a natural-born sneaker.
Which, he reminded himself, was potentially relevant to his entire purpose for being here.
“Have you been up here with the theater company the whole time?” he asked. “I don’t remember seeing you around before.”
“No, I just got here. I’m the effects coordinator, as well as Peter Pan’s understudy, and they didn’t really need me for the initial setup and rehearsals.”
“Peter Pan, is that the play?”
Leah turned to look at him, the fairy lights playing across her face as she moved. “You didn’t know that? Whyareyou here, anyway?”
“Working weekend,” he choked out.
“What do you do?” Leah asked promptly.
“Gig work. Very boring. I mostly stay inside with my computer.” He didn’t even have a computer with him, so hopefully she wouldn’t check. Change the subject, change the subject ... “What do you do? No wait, you told me. Special effects.”
“Not as a career,” Leah said. “Though I’d love to. But it’s tough to make a living at it, especially in theater. I do gig work. In fact, that’s the main reason I’m up here so much later than everyone else. It’s true that I’m not vital to the production, but I also had to wrap up a stint at a call center.”
“Of course you’re vital to it,” Fawkes said defensively. “You can’t have Peter Pan without special effects. Otherwise you’d just have Peter Pan—walking on the ground, I guess? Or sailing on a rope into a tree.”
Leah giggled. “That’s Tarzan. Oooh.” Her face became rapt. “Tarzan as a production in the woods would be amazing. OrThe Lion King. I wonder if they’ve given any thought to doing this again next year.”
She was incredible when she was fascinated with something. Fawkes found himself riveted, watching the play of mobile, ever-changing expressions on her face.
Well, obviously you’re fascinated, you nitwit, she’s your mate.
Probably.
