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“Hey!”
Melody’s voice startled the man right out of whatever he was doing. He whirled on her so quickly it almost scared her right back.
“I’m Melody Larson,” she said, before he could utter a word. “What’s your name?”
The blacksmith — if that’s what he was — stared back at her in what seemed like astonishment, or disbelief. For several moments he said nothing.
“Lucus,” he muttered at last.
Melody smiled. “Well good morning Lucus,” she said pleasantly. “Looks like we’re both up early enough to—”
“Who sent you here?”
The words were short, even harsh. He didn’t say them angrily, but he meant them. And there was an accent too. Something thick and staccato Melody couldn’t make out.
“I— I just saw you working, and I wanted to—”
“You really shouldn’t be here.”
Melody crossed her brows in confusion. The man was looking around now, glancing over his shoulder. Staring back at the fields. At the house…
“And why not?” she asked defiantly.
“Because…” He looked almost like he might say something, then let it go. “Never mind. It’s… it’s nothing.”
He turned back to his task, adjusting the pin on a pair of long iron tongs. Melody watched him for a moment. Noticed his corded arms, bare up to his shoulders, flex and release as he twisted the metal between his hands.
“How long have you worked here, Lucus?”
He ignored the question without looking up. “Hand me that hammer.”
Melody looked around quickly and grabbed the nearest tool. She held it out to him.
“Not that one, the other.”
For the next minute the air was filled with the sounds of metal striking metal. It echoed across the plantation field. Reverberated strangely off the big manor house.
She chuckled. “You’re going to wake everyone up.”
Lucus looked up at her, then back down again. “No I’m not.”
He hammered some more, then tested the fit. The tongs moved, but creaked noisily along the pin. He grabbed a bottle of something — some kind of clear oil — and poured some directly onto the joint. When he was finally satisfied, he looked up with a sigh.
“What exactly did you want, Melody Larson?”
The question broke her out of a sort of trance. She’d been staring at the smith’s arms, his shoulders… the sharp cut of his square, stubbled jaw. But her gawking went beyond simple attraction. There was something else about Lucus that seemed… somehow familiar.
No, not familiar. That’s not the word. Maybe… compulsory?
“I’m looking for something,” she said carefully.
“And what’s that?”
She paused, biting her lip. Melody didn’t know how much she should say. But she needed him to open up, at least a little bit, if she was going to read him successfully.
“Is it some new clothing?” Lucus smirked. “Because you’re way overdressed for a barefoot morning stroll.”
“Not exactly,” Melody said.
