Another excerpt from The Smiling Stallion Inn
Copyright © 2014 by Courtney Bowen
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Basha waited, thinking that it was taking a while for someone to open the front door. He rubbed his sweaty palms against his pants and then wiped off his face and forehead, smoothing back his hair in the process. He wanted to see Jawen, but he couldn’t stand around out here all day. He hummed and sang a little tune, whistling as he started to sniff himself, hoping that he smelled nice and clean. And then the front door opened.
Even knowing
who would be there, Jawen’s heart leapt at the sight of him. He looked
ridiculous standing there with his pathetic bouquet and holding his arm up to
smell himself, obviously very nervous. He reminded her of the little boy she
had made fun of long before she had ever gotten to know him, long before she
had ever fallen in love with him. He could not be any more different than what
her father had planned for her.
Yet when she
looked at him, she did not think much about respectability, or money. He
reminded her of a god, one that stayed young and indomitable forever. And that
scared her. He just had to use that hidden force of strength and determination
to do some good.
Basha lowered
his arm, freezing as Jawen stood in the doorway, staring at him and at his
bouquet with her blue eyes. Her face was prominent with large features, hardy
and full of class. An old blue cotton dress covered her shapely form. Basha
couldn’t help but notice the laugh lines around her mouth and the coy glint in
her eyes as he saw her throat move when she gulped. She looked past him,
apparently checking again for anyone watching them, just as he said, “I have
come here…” He inhaled, trying to calm himself down, “to ask you…”
“Are you here
to woo me, or have you come to help me feed the pigs?” Jawen asked.
“I come to
you with a yearning heart!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air.
His heart had been yammering so fast that nothing could touch it, but now it came crashing down. “Respect me, and
accept me for who I am, and what my feelings are!” he insisted. “At least don’t
joke about it. Don’t joke about my love for you,” he said, lowering his hands
and pulling back his flowers in frustration. “Be serious for once.” Several
petals had been shaken loose. He should have known that she would do this,
Basha thought. He could almost hear his older brother laughing at him in the
back of his mind, but he had hoped that she would take him seriously, just this
once, especially when the Courtship ritual would take place tomorrow.
He reminded
her of a puppy dog, especially when she made fun of him. His little nose would
flare up, and his large brown eyes, usually as intense and somber as a
scholar’s, would light up in anger. It was priceless. She tried not to laugh as
he ranted and raved about a bit. She ought to be scared that he might harm her,
but she wasn’t—she knew that he wouldn’t. No matter what she did, or what she
tried to say, she ended up always teasing him. It was easier than trying to
acknowledge her own feelings for him sometimes, and at least she was kinder to
him than she had been before.
Her little
sister stood behind her, watching Basha’s reaction to the pig joke. Annalise
whispered, “You know you should not
be seen with—”
“Be quiet! Go
away!” Jawen told her.
Annalise
finally went away, but she was bound to blab to their father soon. So Jawen had
to get Basha out of here, but she wanted to hear what he had to say. She owed
him that much after the years of trouble she had put him through. He had not
even noticed Annalise was there at all, he was so angry, and Jawen was angry at
him, too, for putting them both at risk.
“I am not.
Basha, you shouldn’t even have asked me for anything,” Jawen said. “You
shouldn’t even have come here. What do you want me to say?” Yet he put up with
it for the most part. He knew that she was still attracted to him. Why else
would he keep coming back? She wished that she wasn’t, sometimes, but she
couldn’t help it. It was the way that they were attracted to each other; it was
the way that they were meant to be together. She could see him as something
inevitable. She could not put him off for years; eventually he would find a way
into her heart.
“When will you say you love me, in front of everyone, by accepting my
proposal of marriage?” Basha asked.
Jawen
frowned. “I ought not to, but Basha, I love you; you know that.” She softened.
“I just don’t know if I can say it in front of everyone just yet when I’m going
to be facing my father along with them.”
“Jawen,
please tell me when.”
“I don’t know when I can accept your proposal
of marriage, but not right now. Maybe when Mount Doomba turns to ice?” she
asked, hopelessly smiling. There had always been a certain amount of tension
between Basha and Jawen, a back-and-forth game of love and lust ever since they
were little; she had not recognized it then. But as they got older, it had
developed and grown more intense, a ritual of fight or flight between them,
chasing each other around and trying to hide, or show, their real feelings.
“Jawen, be serious.”
“All right
already, I will be serious.” Jawen groaned. “But can’t it wait just a little
while longer?” she wheedled. “I haven’t lost you yet, have I, Basha?” She knew
she was being ridiculous, but she hoped that it would be enough to keep him
satisfied for now until she was ready to get married.
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