"'Course I'm all right," he muttered thickly, turning his head away from the too-knowing gray eyes watching him. "Why wouldn't I be? The herd looks good. Roundup's just a few weeks away, and there's only a few days until Saturday."
Elias grumbled something under his breath.
"What was that?" he asked, though he knew damn well what the man had said. Same thing he said every damn week.
The older man's jaw worked like he was trying to spit out something that tasted foul as sin. "I said," he repeated, "you don't need to be goin' into town every Saturday night."
Yes, just what he'd thought. A flash of irritation shot through him and was gone again. Pointless to get mad at such an old argument. "That's my business, isn't it?"
"With roundup coming, I figured you'd have better things to do."
Jonas tightened his grip on the reins. The rawhide strips bit into his fingers. You figured wrong."
"I can see that."
Sighing, Jonas turned on his oldest friend. The man who'd been a father to him. "Don't start on me."
"Start?" Elias snorted. "I been saying this for near ten years."
"Then you ought to be about ready to quit."
"Not hardly."
"Damn it," Jonas said, straining to keep his voice even. "I don't need a gray-bearded mama clucking over me."
"No," Elias grumbled. "What you need is a mule kick to the head."
Despite his frustration, Jonas chuckled shortly. "Well, until you find the mule to do the job… leave me be."
The dinner bell rang out loudly, pealing across the range. Heads turned toward the house and, as one, the cowboys started their horses in. After a long morning's work, they were eager for food and the chance to sit on something that wasn't moving.
Jonas and Elias, the tension still thick between them, also headed for the house. "You reckon," Elias asked, "that new girl's settled down some since this morning?"
Jonas smiled, pleased his old friend had decided to let go of their long-standing quarrel—at least for the moment. "Oh, he said, remembering vividly the talk he and Hannah had had under the tree that morning. "There won't be any more trouble."
"I don't know, seems a hardheaded female to me. One to keep an eye on." His scowl deepened.
"She might be hardheaded," Jonas agreed, giving his horse a nudge to quicken its pace, "but she knows who the boss is here."
* * *
That notion dissolved a few minutes later as he stepped into the kitchen. Rather than sitting at the table eating their dinner, the men were still standing in a group just inside the door.
"What's going on?" he asked and got no answer.
With Elias right behind him, Jonas pushed his way through the small crowd, wondering what in hell could be keeping his cowhands from eating. He stopped dead when he got a clear look at the table.
"Your dinner's ready, gentlemen," Hannah announced in a voice that let him know she was well pleased with herself.
Jonas shot her a look that had been known to quell bar fights.
She smiled at him.
"What are you up to now?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous enough to make one or two of his men back up instinctively.
Hannah merely smoothed the folds of her dark green skirt, untied her apron from around her waist, and then turned to hang it on a nearby peg. When she was good and ready, she looked at him, meeting his steely glare with a look of wide-eyed innocence. "Why, I don't know what you mean."
He should have known she wouldn't kowtow to orders. Hadn't he thought it from the first moment he'd laid eyes on her? Hadn't he told himself she was trouble, pure and simple?
His gaze raked over her, from her shining, amused eyes to the lock of honey-blond hair that fell from the knot on top of her head to lay against her cheek. She looked like an angel and apparently had the temperament of a demon.
Who the hell else would have thought of a way to circumvent his orders without actually breaking her word? And though a part of him almost admired her inventiveness, he damn sure wasn't going to let her know it.
He tipped his hat back on his head, planted both hands on his hips, and fought to restrain a surge of frustrated fury that was clamoring at his throat. "I mean this," he nearly shouted, waving one hand at the laden table.
She shrugged. "You said you wanted your meals to be plentiful and hot."
"Yeah…"
"With no worrying about table manners."
He sucked in a gulp of air.
Someone behind him chuckled briefly.
He didn't see anything to laugh about.
"I believe I've done just what you wanted," Hannah told him, and the amusement in her eyes shifted to something more like satisfaction. "But, if you gentlemen will excuse me. I believe I'll clean the main room while you eat. I don't think I can stand watching a second performance."
And then she was gone, leaving them to their meal. Jonas's gaze drifted to the kitchen table. Just as she'd promised, there looked to be plenty of food. It was even his favorite: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and hot biscuits.
Too bad he'd lost his appetite.
Lengthwise along the center of the table, piled high directly onto the scrubbed pine tabletop, she'd laid out a wall of mashed potatoes. The thick, buttery mass towered into peaks that resembled the Rockies. Crispy looking pieces of fried chicken jutted up out of the potatoes like dozens of scrub trees along a mountain range. And scattered across the table's surface were golden brown biscuits.
There wasn't a plate or a cup or a knife and fork anywhere in sight.
Damned if she hadn't gotten the best of him after all.
She'd called them a bunch of wild hogs, and blast it if she hadn't set up their food like she was laying it in a trough.
Slowly, grumbling, the men moved past him and took their seats. After looking at each other dubiously for a minute or two, they picked up the biscuits and used them as shovels to dig out mouthfuls of potatoes.
"Y' know," one of them mentioned, "a plate would be a handy thing right about now."
"Maybe, but I ain't gonna ask her for one."
"Durn females," someone else said.
"She might be sassy, but she sure can cook."
"Reckon we'd best start mindin' our manners after all," still another voice added. "'Cause I sure as hell don't want to see how she'd serve up soup."
They were eating. It would take a lot more than this to keep hungry men from food. But change was already starting, Jonas thought. She'd made her point. From now on, these cowhands would be a bit more cautious about their behavior.
Jonas hadn't moved. Frowning to himself, he had to admit that Hannah Lowell wasn't what he'd first thought of her. She wasn't crazy—she was too darned clever to be loco—and she sure wasn't the quiet sort. Already she'd slipped into his life, making a mark, refusing to be ignored. And this was just the first day.
"You gonna eat?" Elias asked from beside him.
Jonas swallowed. "No." Watching dirty hands paw at creamy potatoes was enough to kill what was left of his appetite. Maybe there was something to what she said about table manners after all.
"Like I said," Elias muttered, "that's a hardheaded woman there. One to watch careful."
"Yeah."
He flicked a glance at the open doorway where he'd last seen Hannah. He didn't think he'd have the slightest problem watching her. And that worried him quite a bit.
* * *
Creekford
"Oh, my," Eudora groaned quietly and shook her head as the picture of the Mackenzie's kitchen slowly faded into oblivion. Trailing threads of mist swirled across the polished surface of the crystal, dimming the images hidden within.
Eudora's eyebrows arched high on her forehead as she reached for the dark blue silk scarf lying just to hand. Draping the fragile fabric across the glass, she then leaned back in her chair. She shifted her gaze to the window and the maple tree beyond, letting her vision swim blurrily until the broad tree with its umbrella of leaves was nothin
g more than a wash of green.
"Patience, Hannah," she murmured, concentrating despite the rueful smile curving her lips. "You must have patience with him. He is your destiny, child… as you are his. And our only hope."
A dark shadow fell across her mind and she shivered, knowing that Hannah and the Mackenzie faced obstacles far greater than their own stubborn natures.
* * *
Privately, Hannah decided that the missing Juana was a slattern. For heaven's sake, what did the woman do with her days? The windows hadn't been scrubbed in weeks, the floors were grimy, and there was enough dust and dirt on the tables in the main room to grow a good-sized crop of potatoes. Apparently, since the woman was being paid to cook, that was all she did.
Broom in one hand, dust rags in the other, Hannah grimly surveyed the main room before eyeing the door leading to the short hall and two bedrooms. She'd already peeked at them both and knew she had plenty of work to do there, as well. But first, the main room.
Hepzibah stepped into the room, mewed daintily, and then climbed up the back of the horsehair sofa to nest on its top.
Glancing at her cat, Hannah said, "He needs me more than I'd thought, Hepzibah. And once his house is in fine shape, no doubt he'll be willing to admit it. Soon enough, he won't be able to imagine life here without me."
"Is that so?" a deep voice asked from behind her.
She whirled around, startled, and dropped the broom.
Elias walked out of the kitchen, picked up the broom, and handed it to her.
"You scared me," she admitted with a chuckle as her hands folded around the broom handle. It was the first time he'd really spoken to her since taking her into town the day before. And even then, he'd hardly said a word.
"Figured as much," he shot a quick look around the room before letting his gaze come back to meet hers. Those gray eyes of his seemed to look deep inside her, as if he were searching for answers to questions he hadn't asked yet. "You're a bear for work," he said. "I'll give ya that."
"Well," she said on a sigh, "there's plenty to keep a woman busy around here."
"Mac says you came here to marry him."
Hannah blinked at the abrupt shift in the conversation. But judging by the look on his face, this was what he'd come to talk to her about in the first place.
"He told you?"
"He did." And Elias didn't look too happy about it, either. His arms folded atop a slightly bulging belly, he planted his feet wide apart and looked down on her. His gray eyes narrowed as he studied her warily. Well, she supposed he was entitled. Most people looked at strangers with a bit of suspicion. And she guessed she seemed more strange than most. When she didn't say anything, Elias spoke up again. "What he didn't tell me is why."
"Why what?" She knew what he meant, but she really didn't want to explain all of this to Elias before she'd had a chance to talk to Jonas about it. Fair was fair, after all and she thought the Mackenzie had the right to be the first to hear about their shared destiny.
"Why him?" Elias asked, taking a step closer and staring deeply into her eyes. "Why come all the way from Massachusetts just to marry Mac?"
He wasn't a witch, Hannah thought, but the older man had his own kind of power. The kind of strength that comes from years of living. Of learning to really see people for who and what they were. And she had the feeling that Elias, whether he would admit it or not, knew a great deal about her.
She lifted her chin slightly and returned his stare evenly. "That's between me and the Mackenzie," she said, not unkindly.
He shook his head slowly. "That's where you're wrong. I raised that boy, missy," he said, his voice no higher than a whisper. "I saw him through both hardships and good times. He don't even remember another family but me. From the time he was five years old, it's been the two of us. I figure that gives me some rights."
"He doesn't remember?" she repeated, focusing on one particular fact. Dipping her head to avoid those knowing gray eyes briefly, she let her mind race with this new information. If he didn't remember the Guild or his family or his duties, this was going to be even more difficult than she'd first thought.
Elias inhaled sharply and exhaled in a rush. "He don't say how much he recalls, but he was only a kid when his folks died, so I figure it ain't much."
Which would explain why he hadn't reacted as she'd expected when she'd told him who she was and why she was here. Oh, good heavens, no wonder he'd looked at her as though she should be locked away.
"So," Elias said, his voice gruffer now, more impatient, "you gonna tell me what you're up to?"
Hannah could understand his concern. He clearly cared for the Mackenzie as a father would. But at the same time, she couldn't let sympathy for his situation dissuade her from what she knew she had to do. "No," she said. "Not until I talk to Jonas first."
"I thought you might say that," he muttered, already turning for the door. "Told Mac you looked to be a hardheaded woman."
"I can tell you I mean him no harm," she offered, even knowing it wouldn't be enough to satisfy the man.
He stopped in the doorway and glanced back at her. "And I can tell you, missy. I won't stand for anyone causing Mac grief. Not if I can help it."
Then he was gone, leaving Hannah to wonder if she had enough time to win over not just the Mackenzie, but the man who stood between them, as well.
* * *
"You did it."
Hannah, her hands buried in hot dishwater, jumped at the sound of Jonas's voice and splashed the soapy water down the front of her skirt. As it soaked into the fabric, she turned to face him.
Standing in the open doorway leading to the main room, he had one shoulder propped against the doorjamb, his booted feet crossed at the ankles and his hands stuffed into his pockets. Though his posture looked lazy, Hannah sensed the coiled tension within him.
He gave her a brief nod and a half smile that sent tendrils of warmth snaking along her spine to pool in her suddenly wobbly knees. She took a deep breath, locked her knees to keep from dissolving into a puddle, and asked, "Did what?"
He pushed away from the doorframe, pulled his hands from his pockets, and took two long strides to stop beside her. "You managed to tame eleven pretty salty men," he glanced at her sodden skirt and reached for a towel, holding it out to her. "Never thought I'd see that bunch washing up and combing their hair before supper."
Abandoning the dishes for the moment, she took the towel and rubbed at the wetness covering her front. But her wool skirt had already soaked up the water like a garden in summer, so she lifted her gaze to his. A strange rippling sensation surged through her stomach and she wondered idly if he would still have that affect on her fifty years from now.
"Only eleven?" she asked. "You're not counting yourself?"
He shook his head and his too-long black hair fell across his forehead. He brushed it back impatiently before she could give in to the urge to do it herself. "I don't tame, Hannah, so I'd advise you not to try."
There was something more behind his words. Something he wasn't saying.
"I'm not here to tame anyone," she said and wondered what he was thinking. Feeling. Now that she knew he didn't remember his heritage, she realized that his questions about her must be legion. But did he also have questions about himself? Did he even want to know his background? Would he thank her for being the one to tell him?
But even as that thought occurred to her, she told herself that of course he'd be grateful. What man wouldn't want to know that he was in fact, a powerful warlock? She nodded to herself. She had to tell him. Had to remind him about his heritage and about his duty.
"Mackenzie—"
"What are you doing here?" he interrupted, his voice low and intimate enough to send shivers of appreciation along Hannah's spine.
"I told you why I was here. Yesterday."
"No," he shook his head again and moved around her, walking in a slow circle, his gaze raking over every inch of her as thoroughly as a touch. "A woman like you doesn'
t need to come halfway across the country to marry a man she doesn't know from Adam."
She turned, too, keeping pace with him. "But I do know you," she said.
Black eyebrows lifted. "How?"
Lamplight wavered as the flame dipped and swayed on the wick. Silence stretched out between them. Inside the stove, burning wood popped and hissed.
She looked up at him, entranced by the play of shadows across his features. A muscle in his jaw twitched under her steady regard. His eyes darkened as he looked down at her, becoming the deep, violet blue of a stormtossed sea.
Never before had she been so drawn to a man. She hardly knew him and yet, something inside her seemed to… recognize him, somehow.
"How, Hannah?" he demanded, reaching for her. His hands closed around her upper arms in a hard, tight grip. "How do you know me?"
She gasped aloud. Pure, undiluted power rushed through her body, streaming from his hands into her very bones. Hot, bright, pulsing with colors she sensed rather than saw, it filled her, making her feel dizzy and strong all at once. If she'd been struck by lightning, she couldn't have been more stunned.
And any doubts she might have had about him and his abilities to help her family and friends dissolved under the sheer flood of his strength. Eudora had said that marriage to her would make the Mackenzie even stronger because he could draw not only on his own power but on Hannah's as well. Yet she couldn't help wondering why a warlock as powerful as Jonas would have need of her pitiful abilities.
Hannah breathed deeply, steadying herself under the waves of energy still rippling through her. When she felt sure her voice wouldn't crack, she reached up, covered his hands with hers, and said. "I'm a witch. Jonas. Just like you."
Chapter Six
"What?" Jonas released her as if he'd been burned and took a hasty step backward. Staring at her earnest features and solemn eyes, he told himself she was crazier than he'd thought at first. But as he continued to look at her, searching her green eyed gaze for hints of madness, he had to acknowledge that she obviously believed every word she said. Which could still mean she was crazy.
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