This is one of my stories from Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.

A photographer spends the afternoon capturing wildlife and scenery with her camera. Her latest photos are of a moose. As she finishes her shoot, she realizes she’s being watched.

—

A deep male voice penetrated Ramona’s concentration. “Ma’am, this is private property.”

The young woman gasped and spun around, almost onto the toes of the stranger who had been watching her. His face radiated a timeless strength, as though he had been sculpted from the trunk of an ancient tree. She stepped back a pace. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He scrutinized her for a moment. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

A nervous thrill tingled through her body, the way she felt just before slipping into the water for a deep-sea dive. She extended her hand. “I’m Ramona Young, wildlife photographer. I was …”

The stranger bowed and kissed her fingers. “I’m Marcos Ingram.”

Her hand tingled from the brief contact with his soft, dark whiskers. She shivered. “Is this your land? It’s beautiful with the river and woods and all the animals. I was just shooting the moose over there.” She pointed, but the moose had disappeared.

His serious expression brightened. “Shooting without a rifle, fortunately. This property has been in my family for generations. And its beauty is eclipsed by yours.” His voice resonated with a quiet smoothness that reminded Ramona of Harry Connick Jr.

Her face glowed pink. How delightfully old-fashioned and charming he is. If I weren’t already married … “I’ll pack up my equipment and leave. Sorry to intrude.”

Marcos helped with her gear. “Have you heard the legend of the moose?”

“No.”

“Aboriginal lore says that moose are magic, with the power to bestow long life and stimulate fertility.”

“Stimulate fertility?”

His chocolate eyes sparkled as though they had been sprinkled with fairy dust. “Yes, among other things.”

“My husband and I have been trying to have kids. D’you suppose we should invite a moose into the bedroom?” She giggled.

As they continued to chat, the smiling sparkle in Marcos’s eyes intensified.

He loaded the tripod into her truck, and they trudged up the hill for one last look at the river. The wind whispered through the treetops, carrying a light scent of pine and wild roses. Tiny songbirds twittered. The sunset sparkled off the water, bestowing a mystical quality to the scene.

She turned. “Bye, Mr. —” Marcos was gone.

Her gaze shifted to the river, where the moose had reappeared. She squinted. I swear he has chocolate-colored eyes. And he’s smiling at me.

Nine months later, she delivered a baby girl.

—

You’ll find more short fiction like this in Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.