Page 22 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

Shortly after noon, a gust moves through the park hard enough to rattle several canopies. Radio calls come from three areas at once. One vendor loses a banner. Another has failed to secure a table covering. Near the wellness garden, a suspended wooden sign swings loose from one side of its frame. I reach it before it falls.

The sign is heavier than it looks. I catch one edge overhead with my right hand while guiding two visitors away with the other. Pain drives through my shoulder and down my arm, sudden enough to weaken my grip. Another set of hands steadies the lower edge.

Loralee stands beside me.

“Let go,” I tell her.

“No.”

“The bracket could fall.”

“Then stop holding it over both our heads.”

She is right.

I lower the sign carefully while one of my employees clears the surrounding area. Once it is on the ground, I step back and rotate my shoulder. The movement sends another sharp line of pain beneath the blade.

Loralee watches.

“I’m fine. The sign is down and no one was hurt.”

“That is not what I’m looking at.”

People begin moving along the path again. My employee reports that the bracket pulled free because the vendor used indoor mounting hardware. I instruct him to inspect every suspended sign in the section.

Loralee waits until he leaves.

“Your arm is trembling.”

I close my right hand into a fist. The tremor stops.

“You caught a sign before it struck two people,” she continues. “Your shoulder has been aggravated since yesterday, and you just put your full weight through it.”

“It will subside.”

“It could. It could also tighten until you can’t turn your head tomorrow.”

“I’ve dealt with it before.”

“That doesn’t mean you’ve dealt with it well.”

I look at her. The playfulness is gone again, but there is no triumph in her. She isn’t pleased to have proof that she was right. Loralee is concerned. That makes refusing her more difficult.

“My last appointment ends at eight-thirty,” she says. “I can give you thirty minutes after the festival closes.”

“No crystals.”

“One.”

“No.”

“A small one.”

“No crystals, Loralee.”

She considers this. “I’ll place them nearby and promise not to tell you.”

“That still involves crystals.”