Don't forget to enter my contest for a chance to win a signed copy of On the Edge of the Woods.

New Book
    On Winding Hill Road

I wandered back across the old lawn, past the fountain, through a small wooden gate, and down another stone stairway, and the house disappeared from view. At the bottom of the steps I found a secluded stone patio ringed with immense trees. I stood in the center of the ring of trees, truly awed. Sugar pine, incense cedar, black oak and alder, an occasional slender fir - the trees surrounded me like the walls of a great shimmering cathedral. The pines were so tall I couldn't see the tops of them, and I had to tilt my head back all the way just to try.

The trees seemed to look down upon me speculatively. I had the uncanny impression they were deciding whether I was suitable for them, not the other way around.

The patio was hidden beneath a carpet of dead leaves and the blackberry bushes, which had taken over completely, sending their long runners across the stone. Down the slope from the patio ran a narrow creek, and beyond the creek, the land began to rise into the woods. 'There was nothing of civilization to be seen here, no roads, no power lines, no buildings. I felt giddy with the beauty of it. This place was different. It wasn't like anything else Iona had shown me, or like any place I had ever been before. A piece of real estate like this in the Bay Area would be worth a fortune. Even here in the mountains it would be worth a lot. I knew this place was out of my league.

But these woods were enchanted. Who knew what magic could be worked here? I lifted my face up to the sky once again, offering a spontaneous prayer of desire. I felt ecstatic, like a pagan priestess, drawing down the vast, agitated stillness of the woods.

There was a soft shimmer of sound on the wind, a bright flash of motion through the trees. I heard the snap of a twig, a rustle of leaves. I looked up and there he was, standing on the hill just past the stream, motionless and half-hidden behind a screen of young cedars. He was about my age, nearly thirty or a little older, hair and skin the color of dark bright autumn, burnished gold. He was staring at me with an expression of arrogance, Conan the Barbarian dressed like a lumberjack, in his faded jeans and work boots, blue and white plaid flannel shirt rolled up to show his strong hard forearms, his muscular thighs spread for balance. There was a potent stillness in his body, a physical stillness that was present even when he was in motion, which made me think of a Tai Chi master I had seen in Golden Gate Park. A look of perplexity and suspicion passed over his rugged, comely face, like a wild animal encountering an intruder, territorial, dignified. I wanted to turn away but I couldn't stop looking at him.

Don't look into the sun, you may be blinded -

An orange tripod stood on the hill past the stream and strips of orange plastic fluttered from the trunks of several of the trees on the slope. He finished tying one off and walked back to the transit. He peered through the lens in my direction. I had thought his hair was short, but when he turned his head I saw it was tied back off his face, falling just down to the base of his neck.

"Ah, there you are." The deep, masculine voice boomed out into the woods.

I turned to see Russ descending the stone steps to the patio, taking the steps two at a time with his big boyish stride.

I looked back to catch a glimpse of the stranger, and our eyes met again, a split-second of connection that had me shifting my stance, to catch my balance. But then he moved into the woods, slipping into the camouflage of the trees like a wolf.

I felt a proprietary jealousy mixed with a strange excitement. Who is he? And why is he surveying on my property?

And I realized I had made my decision. This is the one I want.

< Previous Page | Buy this Book

Home | Books | Biography | Guestbook | Contest | Contact