by Cindy Stark
“Hazel?” Peter’s voice was awfully close to her ear, and she opened her eyes with a start.
“Yes?” She blinked a few times to pull her back into the present.
He chuckled softly. “I think you fell asleep.” He walked to the front of the couch and peered down at her.
Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “No, I didn’t. I was just really relaxed.”
His smile grew bigger. “Uh-huh. I think maybe my job is done, and you should head to bed.”
She gave him a sleepy smile. “Your fingers are amazing.”
He snorted. “So, I’ve been told.”
She lifted teasing brows, and he held up a hand. “Forget I said that. Do you want me to help you to your room?”
She placed a hand on her cheek and rested her chin in her palm. “I think that’s a really good idea and a really bad one.”
He gave her a knowing nod. “Right. I’ll just see myself out then and see you in the morning at your shop.” He held out a hand and helped her from the couch.
She leaned into him and soaked up the pleasure from a long kiss. “Goodnight, Peter. Thank you for taking care of me.”
He held her gaze for a long, delicious moment. “My pleasure.”
It took all her will not to ask him to stay. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Sure. First thing. You can make me some tea.”
She smiled, loving his dark, wavy hair and devastating green eyes. “I’d love to.”
He headed to the door and then paused to look back at her. After a second, he shifted his gaze to the carpet near her feet. “You take care of her, okay?”
Hazel found Mr. Kitty sitting beneath the coffee table watching them, and she widened her eyes and smiled. He released a long meow that made Peter chuckle.
“I don’t think he likes me much.”
Hazel snorted. “Don’t worry. That’s what he always says to me, too.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgement. “Okay, then. I’ll say goodnight to you both.”
With that, he opened the door, stepped out, and closed it firmly behind him. Immediately, her heart lamented its loss. Her brain tried to argue, but her emotions would have none of it.
Hazel cared deeply for the man. Her so-called threads had become intricately entwined with his, and there was no pretending otherwise.
Funny that she didn’t seem to care so much anymore. They might have the world standing between them, but they’d figure it out.
Seven
In the backroom of her shop, Hazel pulled the tea strainer from her favorite mug. She sniffed the newly-created tea and closed her eyes with a relaxed smile.
Heavenly.
Inspired by the popularity of her iced teas at the May Day church event, she had decided to try crafting some different blends. Her first attempt to combine blueberries, pineapple, hibiscus and rooibos had turned out bland and watery.
So, she’d upped the amount of pineapple and let it steep for five minutes longer.
If the smell was any indication, this recipe would taste much better. She blew on the top of the liquid and took a tiny sip.
Yes. Very nice. She might be able to sell some of it during the winter months, but she’d specifically crafted this one to be enjoyed cold, a sweet refreshment on a hot summer day.
As soon as it cooled, she’d pour it over ice and take another taste.
In the meantime, she corrected the handwritten recipe in her book so that she’d remember exactly how she’d made it, including adjustments.
The phone sitting on the end of her workbench buzzed. She cast a sideways glance at it and smiled.
Peter.
Since the moment he’d walked out her door the night before, she’d been looking forward to seeing him again.
“Good morning.” Happiness colored her words.
“Good morning, lovely witch.”
She gasped at his greeting and glanced around even though she knew she was completely alone. Even if anyone had been there, they wouldn’t have heard anyway. “Be careful with your words, sir.”
Peter chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m standing outside your shop, and there’s no one around to hear. They’re all gathered at the opposite end of the street.”
She drew her brows together and headed toward the shop’s front door. Peter lifted his chin in greeting when he saw her, and she hung up the phone. She turned the lock on the door, and he pulled it open.
Before she could say anything, he had her in his arms with his mouth on hers. “Missed you.”
She allowed her mind and senses to drift along in the lovely world he created with his kiss.
When he pulled back, she sighed with contentment.
She wouldn’t mind starting all her days that way. “Could you do that every morning?”
He lifted his brows in surprise, and she realized he’d misunderstood her meaning.
“I didn’t mean like first thing in the morning, like married or living together kind of stuff.” She didn’t dislike the idea, but she didn’t want to scare the guy. “Just that it was really nice, and…”
He smiled and touched the center of her lips, sending sensual shivers careening through her. “It was really nice.”
He gave her another quick kiss and then pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind standing here kissing you all day, but you’re probably going to want to come and see this.”
She glanced past him, toward the direction he’d indicated. A large group of people stood on the corner, all facing toward something in the middle. “What’s going on?”
He took her hand and tugged her from the shop. “Come see.”
Together, they walked toward the crowd. As they neared, she could hear someone spouting the evils of witchcraft, and she knew without a doubt the person was Timothy Franklin.
She squinted in annoyance and shook her head.
“This is a serious problem, folks,” Timothy announced. “We can’t become complacent. That’s what we’ve done for the past five years, and look, they’re coming out of the woodwork again like cockroaches.”
Hazel opened her mouth the slightest and gaped at Peter. She mouthed, “Cockroaches?”
He gave a slight shrug.
June Porter raised her hand. “What are we going to do? We’ve lost our priest, so we can’t exorcise them.”
If it wasn’t such a serious matter, Hazel would have laughed. Exorcisms only worked on demonic spirits. Most witches and wiccans were the furthest thing from that. If June had studied religion at all, she’d know that.
Rosalinda Valentine moved closer to Timothy and turned to face the group. She scanned the crowd with kind, deep brown eyes. Dark hair peppered with silver and a plump figure made her seem like a grandmother looking over her grandchildren.
“I have some news to share. The parish leader called me this morning and asked if I would return to my previous position at the church, and I told them yes.”
Murmurs grew among the crowd, but most people seemed appreciative of her acceptance.
“Most of you are aware that I stepped down because of differences of opinion with Father Christopher.” She held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I fully respected his position and mourn the loss of him like most in town. But if there’s a way I can help transition his replacement so that we have help sooner, I’m happy to do so.”
Timothy placed a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Rosalinda. We all appreciate what you’ve done for Stonebridge.”
She turned a grateful smile in his direction. “The church is sending a temporary replacement. He should be here by Saturday. I’ll fill him in on our troubles.”
Sighs of relief rippled through the crowd.
Timothy nodded. “In the meantime, I’ve done some research on ways to combat witches who might try to infiltrate our town. For all we know, there may be some among us right now.”
He glanced across the crowd. When his gaze landed on Hazel, she worked to give him her best impression of a rel
ieved smile.
Rosalinda turned to Timothy. “Tell us what we can do.”
“Holy water.” He nodded to the crowd. “Past citizens of Stonebridge used it to identify witches. Sprinkle a little on a suspected person’s skin. You should be able to tell right away.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Peter muttered.
Hazel shushed him. Deep inside, she was smiling. Let them toss all the holy water they wanted.
Timothy pushed his glasses further up his nose. “If you think you or your family might be afflicted, contact me, and I can supply you with as much as you need. As we speak, a priest friend of mine is blessing gallons of water for this serious outbreak. I have a few containers here with me today.”
Neighbors glanced around and nodded at each other.
Hazel wanted to drop her face into her palm and laugh at their naivety but couldn’t.
Peter tugged her back from the crowd. “Let’s go.”
Mrs. Lemon glanced up at them with rheumy eyes as they passed. “Don’t forget to take some holy water.”
Peter placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. “I’ll let you all go first and wait until Timothy gets more from his friend. I’m better equipped to take care of myself and worry more about all of you.”
Mrs. Lemon nodded with a solemn gaze. “Just remember, bullets can’t stop curses.”
He gave her a gentle smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t wait long to snag some for me and Hazel, too.”
Her weathered lips turned into a genuine smile. “You’re a good man, Chief Parrish.”
They both wished the older woman well and headed back to Hazel’s shop. She left the door unlocked behind them since she’d be opening soon anyway.
Irritation rolled off Peter like white-capped waves hitting shore, but he waited until they were safely in the teashop before he spoke. “Looks like my men and I will have our hands full trying to keep unreasonable fear from turning into all-out frenzy.”
She gestured for him to follow her into the backroom. “That scares me more than I want to admit, but if all they’re doing is using holy water as a litmus test, we have nothing to worry about.”
She faced him and took both of his hands. “Do you want to know what’s funny about all this? Timothy comes from a long line of witches. He belongs to one of the originals, the Named.”
Peter’s features twisted into amused disbelief. “Are you sure? He’s one of the biggest proponents against witchcraft in this town.”
“Right?” She snorted. “It would serve him right if someone doused him with holy water, and he shriveled up like a raisin.”
He chuckled. “Now, there’s a visual I can appreciate.”
His gaze grew serious, and he squeezed her hands. “Can I ask how you learned about Timothy’s heritage?”
The forever battle that raged inside her intensified again. She wished desperately that she could tell him everything. “A friend. I can’t say who.”
A cloak of sadness fell over his beautiful green eyes, and she hated herself for causing it.
“I’m sorry, Peter.” She had to find a way to fix this. “Give me a little more time, okay? I’ve barely earned the trust of this person, and I don’t want to ruin it.”
“What about our trust?”
She shrugged and sent him a hopeful look. “It’s there. Just have a little faith.”
He didn’t argue, but she could tell he didn’t fully accept her answer, either.
She moved to the cooled cup of tea she’d brewed earlier. “Hey, want to try my new iced tea?”
He hesitated and then, by degrees, let go of his impatience. “Is it any good?”
She scoffed. “I should hope so.” Really, though.
“What’s it called?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” She pulled an ice cube tray from the freezer and filled two plastic cups. “Maybe you can help me. Pineapple and blueberries are the main ingredients, mixed with a red bush herbal tea.”
A sly grin crossed his lips. “What about Pineberry Bush Tea?”
She almost said no, but then paused, rolling the words through her mind a few times. “Actually, I kind of like it. Pineberry Bush Tea. Sounds very holistic.”
He gave her a dubious look. “Don’t tell me it’s holistic. It’s a big turn off.”
She laughed and poured the red tea over the ice, loving the way it crackled. “Do you even know what holistic means?”
“Disgusting.” Then he smiled, giving away the fact that he teased her.
She handed a cup to him. “Natural, holistic things are good for you.”
He glanced at the tea. “Not all of them.”
“This one is. Try it.” She lifted her cup and waited for him to do the same. Then they drank together.
Full flavors burst on her tongue, and she knew she had a winner. He smiled, confirming her conclusion. “This is really good.”
She nodded with excitement. “It really is. I have to say, I’m kind of proud of it.”
He took another drink, and then smacked his lips. “You should be.”
“Oh, hey. I have an idea. I should make it with holy water and watch it fly off the shelves.”
Peter lifted his cup in a toast. “Do it, and you’ll be rich.”
He widened his eyes as his emotions turned serious, putting her on alert. “I can’t believe I forgot the biggest reason I’d come to see you this morning. Tests are back. Your tea tested negative for any toxins, peanut or otherwise.”
Her breath whooshed out of her in relief. “I mean, I knew it would because I didn’t poison him. But then you hear stuff on the news all the time about people who were wrongly accused and suffered for it.”
He wrapped a possessive arm around her waist and tugged her to him. “That’s part of the reason I sent the evidence to a neighboring, impartial lab. I didn’t want to chance any tampering. With things turning crazy, who knows what might be going through people’s heads. Some want the truth. Others want a scapegoat.”
She stood on tiptoe, pressing her face against the hollow below his ear. His scent infused her, and she kissed his neck. “I’ll say it again. Thank you for watching out for me.”
He cupped her chin and tilted her face toward him, pressing a warm kiss on her lips. “I wish I had the same good news for Lucy.”
Eight
“No, Peter. Don’t tell me that Lucy murdered Father Christopher.”
His original news had left Hazel relieved and buoyant one moment but now heartbroken. “I can’t believe that dear woman could take a life. She was so good to help out Cora after Belinda died.”
To Hazel, Lobster Lucy was one of those people who had a heart big enough for everyone.
“I’m not saying she did it, Hazel, but it doesn’t look good for her.” He drew a rough finger down her cheek as he studied her eyes. “That’s where we’ll focus our investigation for now. Thank God you’ve been cleared, which allows me to take over again so things don’t get out of hand.”
Yes, that was a good thing on both accounts. “I’m sure John won’t like to have his power usurped so soon. I’m also very glad he’s no longer in control. The person in charge of protecting the town needs to have unbiased opinions. At least as much as possible.”
“He was never fully in charge. Just over this one investigation. But, you’re right, he’s not happy. He’ll be even less happy after we discuss his career this afternoon.”
She liked the sound of that. “Are you going to fire him?”
“I wish I could, but, technically, he didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Are you kidding me? Between him and Timothy, Stonebridge is likely to have an all-out civil war.” Someone had to stop those crazy fools.
He disagreed with a shake of his head. “You can’t have a civil war if you don’t know who you’re fighting, can you? Timothy and John are taking pot shots in the dark. For now, they’re clueless.”
She stepped back and folded her arms. “You hope.”
He
lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “One can never know for sure, but I keep a close eye on everyone and my ears open. You know, it might help if I knew who was on the opposite side. I could pay special attention to them which would help me keep them safer.”
She sighed. Too many of their discussions led back to this point. “I promise, Peter, I don’t know who they all are. Belinda was a witch. So was Glenys, but you already know those two. Timothy denies his heritage, and then one other person. That could be it for all I know.”
“It’s Cora, isn’t it?”
She clamped her lips tight and narrowed her gaze. “Don’t ask me. I can’t tell you.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
Maybe he had figured it out, but she wouldn’t confirm anything. “Perhaps there isn’t anyone else in town,” she added.
He tugged a hand free from her folded arms and twined his fingers with hers. “Is that what you believe?”
She thought for a moment and then shook her head. “I’ve heard there’s a coven in town. That makes me think there must be at least a handful more. My friend told me something interesting about another curse. She said the original witches cast a spell that would keep Stonebridge from ever being free from witches. A descendant from each of their lines would always be drawn to town. If one left or died, another would take his or her place.”
He snorted. “Great. We’ll always enjoy the perks of civil unrest.”
She cast him a sideways grin. “Unless the town learns to accept witches and treat them decent.”
“Glenys was far from decent. Some of the stuff she tried that day…” He shook his head as though to erase the memory.
“Yes, well, neither was Mr. Winthrop or Timothy Franklin. Or sadly, even John Bartles.”
Peter made a face as he scratched the side of his chin. “I have to admit that one really shocked me. When you gave me that Sons of Stonebridge document…” He shook his head in disappointment.
“Same. But I guess it’s better to know your enemies.” She turned to face him and pinned him against the counter with her body. “What I want to know is what you’re going to do to help poor Lucy.”
