Jonas wanted to say that no woman could have asked for a better man than Elias, but instead he said, "What went wrong?"
"We were gonna elope our first night in England since her pa was dead set against her wastin' her life on a cowboy. Figured we'd just do the deed and then her pa would have to come around." He dipped one hand into his pocket and pulled out a small gold watch that Jonas had often admired. Elias smiled down at the timepiece cradled in the palm of his hand. "She gave me this watch. Said this was one night I couldn't be late." His thumb smoothed across the intricately carved metal. "I was on time," he mused, more to himself than to Jonas. "But she didn't come. I waited most of the night. Half out of my mind with worry, wonderin' where she was… how she was. Then, around dawn, her pa showed up told me he'd already sent her home and that I should just forget about her."
"Bastard. Didn't you follow her?" Jonas asked, completely caught up in the story.
"Course I did," Elias snapped. "I ain't so quick to give up on a chance at love as you."
Jonas scowled at him, but kept quiet.
Elias tucked the watch back into his pocket, the scraped one hand across his jaw. "I was stuck in England another month, workin'. When I got home, I looked for her everywhere." He shook his head in remembered frustration. "Never did find a trace of her. It was as if she disappeared."
Jonas felt the regret in his old friend and was sorry for it. Strange how you could spend your whole life with a person and never really know all his secrets. Still he pointed out, "So after you lost her, you never tried marrying again?"
Elias glared at him, clearly understanding Jonas's meaning. "It ain't the same thing at all."
"What" s different about it?"
"I loved her. She loved me."
Jonas sucked in a gulp of air and shifted position uneasily. "I loved Marie."
"Maybe." the older man agreed. "Leastways, you tell yourself now you did. But did she love you?"
"Why the hell else would she marry me?" he demanded and fitted the bridle over the horse's head. Should have known better than to feel sympathy for the old coot. Hell, he'd probably only told Jonas that story so he could use it against him. Damn it, he didn't want to talk about this.
But he knew that wouldn't stop Elias. "Because she knew her pa would hate it," he said softly.
The simple words hit him like a solid fist.
Jonas had thought the same thing over the years wondered if Marie's easy acceptance of him had had more to do with anger at her father's remarriage than it did with her undying love for him.
"She wasn't interested in being your wife," Elias went on. "She only wanted to make her pa miserable and she used you to do it."
True, his mind screamed, but Jonas ignored the voice inside. If that had been Marie's plan, Lord knew she'd paid for it in the end. Shaking his head slowly, he gathered the reins in one hand and turned to face Elias again.
"It doesn't matter," he said. "Whatever Marie was, he was my wife and I failed her. Me. I wasn't there when she needed me most." His teeth ground together. "And that's why I won't marry again."
Elias grunted, disgusted. "So you're just gonna let Hannah walk out of your life?"
Jonas swallowed heavily. "She's not in my life."
"If you really believe that, you're a damn fool, boy."
"That's been said before," Jonas told him and swung onto the horse, gathering the reins up in his left hand. Giving the horse a nudge with his heels, Jonas left the barn and headed for the herd, hoping for a little peace.
* * *
Creekford
Eudora gripped the handle of her carpetbag and stepped into the night. Closing her front door behind her, she turned and looked into the darkness surrounding her little house.
Mooncast shadows danced and writhed along the grass bordering the road that led to town. Tree limbs waving in the wind outlined themselves against the star studded sky, looking like black, thorny arms reaching for her. Their leaves rustled like dry paper and the soft patter of a nearby creek had the sound of low-pitched voices whispering.
She inhaled sharply and tried to ignore the flutter of nerves swirling in the pit of her stomach. But between worry over Hannah and Wolcott and the Mackenzie, and now a train trip to a place she'd never been before, well, it was hopeless. It was her own fault. She should have left Creekford more. Seen some of the world. Instead, she'd lived her entire life within the safe boundaries of a town full of witches. Well, but for that one trip to Europe.
Still it wasn't really the traveling that worried her.
It was her destination… and what she might find.
Eudora stared into the darkness and wondered as she had so many times over the years. Old regrets shimmered through her and she wished, not for the first time, that she'd been able to use the crystal on her own. But seeing into her own future was impossible, and looking into her past, futile.
She sniffed, tightened her grip on the carpetbag, and resolved to keep her mind on the matters at hand. From the corner of her eye, she glanced at the ivy-covered fence to her left. Someone was there. She felt his presence as surely as she could feel her own heartbeat.
Her fingers squeezed the worn leather strap in her hand. Blake Wolcott's man was still watching her, then. Good. A small, tight smile curved her lips briefly as she took the porch steps and moved onto the road. She walked quickly, her long, even strides carrying her toward the tiny train station outside town.
She walked surely, following the silvery path of moonlight. Let her watcher stumble and crash his way blindly through the darkened woods. Let him chase after her as she led him in circles around the country. The longer Wolcott and his minion were concerned with her, the more time Hannah would have to do what she must.
* * *
One Week Later
Hannah still felt the sting of rejection.
Oh, she'd gone about her business, cleaning, cooking, talking with the men as they streamed in and out of her kitchen looking for coffee or cookies. She'd already planned what she would cook for the first day of the roundup, due to start in less than a week. And every night, she attempted new spells, designed to weaken Jonas's ability to resist her.
Unfortunately, none of them seemed to be working.
A sudden hot wash of tears swam in her eyes and she blinked them back furiously. She would not give in to tears, despite the temptation.
She'd offered herself to him. Stood before him naked, for heaven's sake. He'd kissed her and made her feel all sorts of things she'd never imagined. He'd touched her and shared the strength of his power. Her hands gripped the edge of the kitchen table and squeezed tightly as a rush of embarrassed heat swamped her. If he could kiss her and walk away from her in that situation, what chance of success did her latest plan have?
"I have to try, though," she said, gritting her teeth and lifting her chin. Glancing at Hepzibah, she asked, "How do I look?" When the little cat only stared at her, Hannah sighed and reached up to anxiously pat at her hair. "It will work, you'll see," she muttered and wasn't sure if she was trying to convince Hepzibah or herself.
Turning to the window that overlooked the ranch yard, Hannah stared out at the lightening darkness. Dawn was still an hour or more away. Stars shone faintly in the sky and the moon hung low and looked close enough to touch.
Even the men in the bunkhouse hadn't stirred yet. But Jonas was awake, she knew. As he had all week, he was up and moving long before anyone else. He'd avoided her nearly every morning and surrounded himself with others during the day. At night, he'd retreated to his bedroom, closing a now-secure door.
This was her first chance to talk to him alone since the night he'd rushed out of his room as if demons were on his heels. But she was ready. Memories of her day in town and the woman she'd seen filled her mind, restoring her confidence. Hannah'd decided that what had been lacking between her and Jonas was seduction. And now that she'd figured out how to seduce the Mackenzie, everything else would fail into place.
He did want her. Hadn't he said so?
But she couldn't wait much longer. The Solstice was almost upon them. They had to be joined. They had to have found each other before then.
For everyone's sake.
Footsteps in the main room alerted her to his presence. Breathing deeply to quiet the butterflies in her stomach, she turned in time to flash him a smile and see his eyes narrow as he looked at her.
"Good morning," she said and walked past him slowly, headed for the stove. Remembering the woman she'd seen in town and how the men had stumbled over each other to be near her, Hannah desperately wished she owned a red dress that sparkled. Her blue and white calico hardly seemed appropriate to the task. Deliberately, though, she straightened her spine, pushed out her chest, and let her hips sway from side to side as she moved at a snail's pace. She wanted to give him plenty of time to notice the change in her. To be seduced by her.
"Did you sleep well, Mackenzie?" she asked and filled a cup with thick black coffee.
"What the hell…?"
She turned around, offered him the cup, and, hiding a satisfied smile, dipped her head, giving him an excellent view of her hair.
Feathers.
Her head was covered in small white feathers.
Jonas stared at her, amazed. Blond hair piled high on her head, the tight rolls and ringlets she'd arranged so carefully were dotted with feathers sticking up and out at odd angles.
She turned and sashayed across the kitchen, swinging her hips wildly from side to side, and bunches of feathers flew off her head and swirled in her passing like a small snowstorm.
As he watched, dumbfounded, his fingers curled around the cup of coffee and he took a quick sip, burning his tongue and scalding his throat. A moment later, though, he grimaced tightly and stuck his fingers in his mouth, pulling out a limp, wet feather.
The damn things were all over the place, wafting in the air, settling in his coffee, and dotting the surface of the fresh bread she'd just pulled from the oven.
The woman was a constant surprise.
Helplessly, he shook his head and heard himself ask, "What are you doing?"
She turned again and, smiling, headed straight for him, laying down yet another trail of white. "I'm seducing you," she said and stepped up close to him.
Seducing him? Hell, she did that just by entering a room. "With feathers?" he managed to ask around the sudden knot in his throat.
Her smile widened. "You noticed."
"Hard not to," he pointed out. "Like it's snowing in here."
She patted her hair, sending a puff of feathers flying high over her head.
The scent of lemon surrounded him. Memories of that night in his room crashed down around him, strangling him. A week it had been. The longest week of his life. He kept waiting for the mental image of her, naked in his bed, to fade a bit. To give him peace.
Instead, each day the images were clearer, stronger, harder to ignore.
"Jonas," she repeated, looking up at him from beneath lowered lashes. "I've been thinking about the kiss you gave me that night…"
His long-suffering body tightened instantly and he knew another uncomfortable day in the saddle was stretching out in front of him.
"Hannah," he said tightly. "Now's not the time."
"And I'd like another kiss, please," she said as if he hadn't spoken. Then she tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and pursed her lips.
Ah, damn it.
Jonas smiled softly, letting his gaze sweep across her features. What was it about this woman that touched him in so many ways? Innocence, surely. But there was so much more to her than that. Clearly unused to ranch living, she'd slipped into the life here and made herself so much a part of the place that Jonas couldn't imagine his home without her. Couldn't imagine spending a day not thinking of her. Lifting one hand, he grazed the tips of his fingers along her jaw and caught his breath when she turned her face into his touch.
So easy. So… right.
Her eyes opened. Dazzling green. Gazes locked, they stared at each other for a long, breathless minute. Then she asked, "Aren't you going to kiss me?"
He wanted to so badly he could already taste her. And realizing that made him see that she'd already come to mean too much to him. He couldn't risk letting her mean more. "No, ma' am, I'm not."
The disappointment in her eyes twisted inside him. Damn her for making him feel things again. Damn her for smiling. For having eyes the color of spring grass. For smelling like lemons. For coming into his life and throwing everything he'd ever known upside down.
And mostly, damn her for making him want her.
Need her.
His hand dropped to his side. Setting the coffee cup down, he turned for the door. "I've got work, Hannah."
"You're leaving again?" she asked, following him to the door. "Without even a kiss this time?"
He stopped, his fingers curled around the doorknob. Glancing back at her over his shoulder, he said softly, "If I kiss you again, Hannah, it won't end there."
She touched him. Her hand lay atop his forearm and the slight brush of her fingertips sent warmth scattering through him. "I don't want it to end," she said.
"And I can't let it begin," he told her softly, then stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
She kicked the door, then yelped with the pain before muttering, "But I'm wearing feathers!"
He glanced over his shoulder and smiled. At least she was mad, not hurt.
Shaking his head, he jumped off the back step and into the dirt, idly brushing feathers off his shirt. Feathers. What had she been trying to do with feathers? Smiling to himself, he realized that since Hannah's arrival, been doing a lot of grinning. And yelling. And thinking. More than he had in ten years. Maybe Elias was right. Maybe he didn't like the fact that Hannah Lowell was making him live again whether he wanted to or not.
But feathers? And where'd she get them? As he walked into the cool, shadowy barn, that question was answered.
Clucking in outrage, a flock of hens scuttled past in the dark. Each of them sported a plucked-pink, naked behind.
Jonas laughed out loud for the first time in too long.
* * *
"The pen's ready, boss."
Jonas drew his mind away from the thought of Hannah covered in feathers and concentrated instead on branding pens in front of him. Two small enclosures, side by side, with a narrow opening on each end fire pits already stacked with wood and kindling, ready for the first match.
He nodded thoughtfully as his gaze moved over the work done by his crew and imagined the scene as would be soon, when the ranchers came together to separate and brand their herds.
"You want me to ride out and help Stretch with last of the gather?" Billy asked as he walked to his horse, tethered to the top rail of the branding pen.
"Yeah," Jonas said. "The south pastures clear?"
"Finished yesterday," the young cowhand assured him. "Got some fine spring calves in that bunch, boss."
"Good." This was what was important, he reminded himself, dismissing thoughts of Hannah. This ranch. The cattle. The future he would build for himself with bare hands.
Witchcraft, warlocks, and green-eyed blonds to contrary, in the West, a man was what he made of himself.
"You and the boys finish the gather and I'll see you back at the house."
Through eyes gritty with a lack of sleep, Jonas watched the younger man wheel his horse around and take off across the pasture like the hounds of hell were after him.
He squinted into the late morning sun, letting his gaze rake over the herd and the men riding guard over them. Yanking off his hat, he wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, then resettled the hat low enough to keep the sun from streaming into his eyes.
Sleep.
That's all he needed.
Hell, since that night Hannah had stretched out across his bed, he'd been haunted by so many wild, vivid dreams, he was willing to bet he hadn't had more than an hour or two of
sleep altogether.
And it wasn't just Hannah's face and form invading his nights. With her story about his belt buckle, she'd opened a closed door in his mind. And once opened, visions, images raced each other through his dreams, each fighting to be recognized at last.
Scowling, he tried to recall them now and only half succeeded. Snatched glimpses of faces, people he didn't know, places he'd never been. And sometimes, he even thought he heard whispered voices chanting in a language he'd never heard before.
Warlock.
Something inside him tightened, hardened. It wasn't possible, he told himself. There were no such things as witches, haunts, and spooks. And he was too damned old to be swayed by ghost stories, no matter how well told.
But he had to wonder, if Hannah was lying, how had she known about the belt buckle? How had she known it was his mother's?
"Crazy," he muttered thickly and tightened his grip on the reins. Kneeing his horse, he started around the edges of the herd, trying to concentrate on the feel of the wind against his face, the sun on the trees, the distracted lowing of the cattle.
But his brain wouldn't be appeased that quickly. He remembered the fight in the bar and how the gambler's gun had misfired… right after Jonas had wished it to be so.
What were the odds, he asked himself, that a gun wouldn't shoot when the trigger was pulled? With a pepperbox, he argued silently, pretty damn good. Those little guns had never been reliable. And yet…
"Damn it," he swore viciously at the swirling thoughts in his head. It was all nonsense. Caused by a tiny woman who looked sane and beautiful but was obviously as wild-brained as a horse on locoweed.
If something inside him shivered with anticipation, he ignored it.
Chapter Ten
Somewhere in Indiana a Week Later
After a week on the train, Eudora was tired to the bone. Her clothes were sooty, her silvery hair drooped, and the tiny pink net veil on her hat was smudged and torn.
She turned her face toward the window and watched as the train pulled into the latest station. They all looked alike, she'd noticed. Small clapboard rooms where the station master reigned over his kingdom, and a long wooden platform with benches placed here and there so waiting passengers could get used to the feeling of a hard, uncomfortable seat before actually boarding the train.
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