Beastly Desires

Chapter Three

"I have a job to travel to tomorrow."

Colette whipped her head around to her father. She stopped her scrubbing at the pot that had had their stew in it. She was elbow deep in the wash bin, cleaning up the remnants of their dinner. "What job? Travel where? In your condition, father-father you shouldn't-"

"Colette." He held up his hand and Colette clamped her mouth shut. Worry knitted her eyebrows together and she sighed, defeated.

"At least tell me is it  worth it? This job?"

Her father smiled softly. "I am needed in Beaumont."

"That's two days away!" Colette could not keep herself checked.

She worried for her father traveling on his own. There was never a tell-tell sign of when his cripple would flare up. If he'd reach a fever. If it would die down in a night or two. It ate at her, the not knowing.

"Colette, darling. It is not the farthest I have traveled before. This job is big and I cannot afford to have the client come here for me to work on it. I must travel. I will stop and rest along the way. You have nothing to worry about my love."

Colette's frown deepened. The thought of him being on his own and if he were to break down along the way. If their little donkey kicked it's last breathe, what would he do, who would be there to help?

"Then it won't be a bother if I came along then?" She nodded to herself, returning to the dishes.

"Colette," her father chided. "You need to finish your job. That painting is not going to fix itself. The merchant will be back in three days."

Colette closed her eyes, willing the exasperation leaking out to settle. That merchant was the least of her worries. He had not a lick of sense when it came to art. He was hired by his lord to secure this commission. Colette could give him the current painting and call it a dog and that merchant wouldn't bat an eye. But what Artist would not follow through with a commission, if not for being severely underpaid, then for their pride?

Colette's father filled his satchel with tools, a pair of clean trousers and a small sack of coin. He swiped an apple and a couple of rolls from the basket on the counter beside the wash bin and tied them up into a handkerchief.

"Did you feed Dolly this mornin?"

Dolly was their eighteen year old donkey. She was sweet and fat. Large enough to haul their little wagon and determined enough- of course by treats to get to whatever destination awaited. Her trot was slow, her head hung close to the ground but she was reliable, at least until she kicked over. Which could be any day by now they thought for the last three years. Her parents received her as a pregnancy gift, a gift that would lend an extra hand around the garden out back with father while mother attended to her as a babe.

Colette nodded. "Don't forget the bag of turnips. She won't walk a mile without one."

Her father chuckled and placed a kiss upon her cheek. "I'll be back in a couple of days. Please, don't worry about me. This wooden leg has yet to fail me."
He tapped his wooden leg against the wall and limped towards the door, leaving with a wave goodbye. Colette was left alone, her fingers having turned wrinkly in the now cold water.

...

The sun dipped below the horizon, the clouds sagging against its warm embrace. Beautiful hues of orange and lavender spilled across the sky in a swirling puddle. Colette stared in awe at how the heavens melted and night came slithering in. She lounged in an old rocking chair out back in their little garden. Misty, their hen was nestled in her lap and she smoothed her hand across its feathered back. Her feathers were soft and sleek beneath her skin. She had come outside from re-working the painting she began last night. She found refuge in their garden every evening, letting sleep lull her as she watched the sun set and stars appear above.

Being inside made her worry more for her father, seeing all his tools and gadgets splayed across the table. His words crept into her thoughts. I will not be around for the rest of your life. Please. Do not use me as an excuse for forgoing your happiness.

Is that what he thought? That she was unhappy? Colette lifted Misty from her lap and placed her on the ground, bringing her knees up to her chest, she hugged herself tightly. She was content to find happiness in the everyday routine. In painting, tending to their garden, helping her father with his work, eating, sleeping, waking up to do it all over again.

She sighed heavily. She thought she was happy. What could be so different about the happiness a man could bring her compared to the happiness she made for herself?

Colette let her mind wander to Gregorie. At first, her insides twisted at the thought of his face, but she shoved the dislike and tried to focus on what was beautiful about his face and not what spewed from it. His eyes were brown, simple. Perhaps in the right light, maybe swirls of honey circled around the dark irises. His hair was rather lovely, she'd admit reluctantly. A main of wild fire flowed from the crown of his head and tumbled down his shoulders in the most perfect ringlets. The sun hid in those coils. She could imagine her fingers running through them, sifting through the soft, molten lava.

His face was long, his chin handsomely cleft and his lips... his lips. Colette closed her eyes and imagined her own lips against his. What would he taste like? Would his kiss be as haughty as his temper, would they slash at her own the way his words slashed at her pride today?

Colette blinked away the thought, touching her fingers to her lips. Love can make you look past the unpleasant things her father had said earlier today. Could she learn to love Gregorie? Would that make her father happy?