by JoAnn Ross
When Vicki's blue eyes misted with unshed tears, Tara put her hand over the woman's trembling one. "You want children." It was an educated guess.
"So much." Vicki hitched in a breath. "I had my first ovary removed because of cysts when I was a senior in high school. The doctor wants to take the other, but I can't let him. Not until I try Brigid's remedy. I know three friends who swear they were only able to have children after they received the magic herbs from her."
"Does your husband know you're asking me for help?"
"Of course." She took the tissue Tara handed her and began drying her wet face. "Jimmy and I have never kept secrets from each other."
"And he doesn't mind?" Although several of Whiskey River's citizens seemed not only tolerant but eager to have a witch living among them, Tara couldn't imagine a minister being pleased about his wife seeking magical means to conceive a child.
"He's Unitarian," Vicki said, as if that explained everything. "They're very open-minded."
Apparently so. Even as Tara reminded herself that she did not want to get involved, she viewed the pain in the woman's glistening blue eyes and made her decision.
"Wait here," she said. "I'll see what I can find."
The joy on Vicki Harper's face could have lit up all of Whiskey River for a month.
Tara went into Brigid's greenhouse and found some dried dragonwort and acorns that she wrapped up in a cream linen square, and tied it with a green ribbon, which symbolized fertility. Then she went into the study, opened an antique hand-carved box that her grandmother had discovered at a crossroads fair in the west counties of Ireland, and took out a small jade stone and a green votive candle.
"Keep this beneath your pillow," she said, handing Vicki the small linen package. "And keep this stone with you at all times."
"Oh!" Vicki's eyes widened as Tara put it into her palm. "It's so warm."
"Yes, it is, isn't it?" The stone, like so many things in the house, radiated with Brigid's life force. "I think it's going to be a very powerful aid." She handed Vicki the sweet marjoram-scented candle. "Burn this when you're planning to make love, and keep it burning afterward."
"Oh, thank you!" Vicki Harper's relief was so palpable, Tara could have reached out and touched it.
"I can't guarantee anything—"
"Oh, I know that. But you've no idea how wonderful it is to have my hope renewed. And I just know it's going to work." She rubbed the jade stone between her palms, soaking up the warmth before slipping it into the pocket of her denim skirt. "How much do I owe you?"
"Nothing."
"But—"
"Consider it a gift from a friend."
"We don't know each other."
"We didn't," Tara corrected. "But I'd say that your telling me how you lost your virginity when you were sixteen in the back of Jimmy's father's pickup classifies me as a friend."
"Jimmy would just die if he knew I told you about that." Vicki giggled, sounding for the first time since Tara had met her like a young girl. "I was picking hay out of my hair for days." Her expression turned earnest again. "But really, I'd like to give you something. After all, I'd planned to pay your grandmother."
"My grandmother was in the business of selling her herbs. I'm not."
Vicki nodded sadly. "That's too bad," she said finally. "Because I think you're a natural."
With that she was gone, taking her herbs and candles with her.
Sighing, Tara wondered how long it would take for the erroneous word to get out that Brigid Delaney's granddaughter had finally showed up to take over her grandmother's house. And the family business.
For a woman known for making cool, calculated decisions, Tara dithered uncharacteristically over what to wear on what she could no longer deny was a date. Gavin had told her that jeans were appropriate, but a strong feminine vanity she'd thought she'd packed away with her wedding gown and veil returned with a vengeance, making her want to look her best.
No, she decided as she discarded one possible choice after another, she wanted to look even better than her best. It would be a simple matter to cast a spell over him, but using magic to achieve her wishes had never been Tara's way. If she was going to charm Gavin, she was going to do it on her own merits.
Not that she really wanted to charm him.
Oh, hell, she admitted, of course she did.
Reminding herself that her response to the man was only female hormones running amuck—after all, she hadn't allowed herself to even feel attracted to any man since the Richard debacle—she went upstairs to the attic.
Like the rest of the house, the attic was overflowing with Brigid's personal belongings. Tara knew that several of the steamer trunks—and the clothes inside them—had come all the way from Ireland long before Tara's mother was born.
When she'd been a little girl, Tara had enjoyed playing dress-up in the hats and turn-of-the century dresses that had belonged to her great-grandmother, Moira. The first Delaney woman to step foot in America, Moira had left her beloved county Clare one step ahead of the rigid priest who'd threatened to excommunicate her for practicing witchcraft.
The clothes were all carefully wrapped in tissue and carried the faint scent of mothballs. They were also dangerously fragile, making Tara fear they'd crumble to dust if she tried to wear them.
She was getting discouraged when one particular item captured her eye. High-collared and long-sleeved, the blouse was created of a lace so delicate it could have been spun by fairies from dandelion fluff. Instead of the camphor scent that had been prevalent in the other trunks, the blouse carried a faint scent of the sachet that had been tucked into the tissue it had been lovingly wrapped in.
Tara lifted the blouse to her nose, breathed in the fresh, green, rain-washed fragrance of the Irish countryside and imagined her great-grandmother wearing this blouse to dinner in a pub with one of her admirers after a performance. Moira Delaney had been her country's premiere actress, renowned for her beauty, talent, sharp wit and even sharper tongue, which tended to get her in trouble when she spoke up for women's rights. In a country where female equality had not been a burning issue, she'd been infamous for her independent mind and free-spirited life-style.
Like the jade stone Tara had given Vicki earlier, the blouse practically hummed with the energy of the woman who'd once worn it. Deciding she could use all the emotional and psychic help she could get to protect her from Gavin's own form of masculine magic, Tara took it downstairs with her.
Gavin had known Tara was lovely. But he was not prepared for the vision who opened the door of Brigid's house. She'd complied with his suggestion to wear jeans. But the feelings stirred by what she'd chosen to wear with those snug blue jeans were a long, long way from being casual.
"You look absolutely gorgeous."
Unreasonably nervous, but loath to show it, Tara laced her fingers together behind her back. Gavin wondered if she knew how the gesture only served to pull the snug lace tighter against the soft globes of her breasts.
"The blouse belonged to my great-grandmother." She absently ran her hand down the front of the lace bodice. "She was an actress in Ireland. When I was getting dressed earlier, I couldn't help wondering if she'd worn this on the stage."
Hands in his pockets, Gavin rocked back on his heels and looked at her. She'd done something to her face, too. There was a touch of soft rose in her cheeks and some smoky color around her eyes that gave them a sultry, siren's look. Although she'd applied it with a light touch, this was the first time he'd seen her wearing makeup. Gavin found the fact that she'd made an extra effort with her appearance encouraging.
"If she had been wearing that, she would have had the audience eating out of the palm of her hand."
Although their relationship—and she was beginning to have to admit that they had one, of sorts—had been rocky from the start, Tara smiled. It was one of the first honest ones she'd given him. "That's exactly what I was thinking."
"If you want to come in for a minute, I'll get
my coat," she suggested when he just kept standing there, studying her as a botanist might study some exotic new breed of orchid.
He followed her into the parlor, which was a great deal neater than it had been the last time he'd been here. "You've been working hard."
She glanced around the room, which, since having been cleaned, was cheery and neat. "I didn't have much choice. Call me picky, but I draw the line at sharing my living space with spiders."
"Makes sense to me." He picked up a cut-glass globe. "Ah, a crystal ball." He stared down into it. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to look into it and tell my future?"
Once again Tara proved she had the capacity to surprise him. "Of course."
When she held out her hand for the globe, he laughed. "I was just kidding around."
"Ah, but I wasn't."
They stood a few feet apart, Gavin holding one of Brigid's collection of gazing balls, Tara with her hand outstretched. Neither moved until finally, deciding that it might prove entertaining if nothing else, Gavin placed the crystal sphere on her palm.
"I see a man," she murmured dramatically, tracing her fingertips over the crystal surface. "A creative man who is often misunderstood."
"So far, so good."
"A man who enjoys the better things in life."
"Guilty."
"A man accustomed to fast cars, good wine and beautiful, willing women in his life. And his bed."
"Bingo," he said, playing along. She'd hit the old Gavin Thomas right on the money. He decided that there was no point in revealing that the only women in his life these days, besides Tara, were Brianna and Morganna. As for females warming his bed, as Trace had so succinctly pointed out over breakfast right before Tara had shown up in Whiskey River, it had been a very long time since he'd gotten lucky.
Not that he hadn't had more than his share of feminine offers. But having learned the hard way that sex could end up getting a guy in deep trouble, he hadn't met any woman worth the risk. Until Tara.
"And I see a woman."
"Tell me she's a drop-dead gorgeous redhead with remarkable green eyes, and I'll be in your debt for life."
"She has red hair," Tara agreed. There was no way she was going to let him know that having him refer to her as drop-dead gorgeous was enough to start her blood humming. "And her eyes are green."
"like the sea. Calm and inviting one minute, stormy and dangerous the next. The type of eyes a guy could drown in. And relish the experience."
His voice had dropped to the lower registers. Tara lowered her gaze to the ball and was startled by the image that was emerging from the previously clear globe.
An image of Gavin and her together. Her head was tilted back, enticing his lips to taste her throat. Her eyes were closed, and her hands were gathering up fistfuls of his shirt while his own fingers were busy on the pearl buttons of her blouse.
"The woman has been waiting for the man for a very long time," she murmured.
"He's sorry to have kept her waiting."
"He should be." Tara put the globe down onto the marble-topped side table and picked up her jacket from the back of a chair. "Because she's starving."
As she moved toward the door, Gavin made the mistake of glancing down at the crystal globe. The vision surrounded by swirling clouds of fog was every bit as sexy as it was unexpected. And even as he felt his body growing hard at the idea of being with Tara in such an erotic fashion, Gavin assured himself that the picture he knew would remain forever stamped in his memory was merely a trick of lighting. That and a result of his rampant imagination and runaway, testosterone.
When Gavin pulled into the parking lot of the large, two-story building, Tara suffered a moment's trepidation. The name Denim and Diamonds flashed in bright lights above the door.
Accustomed to trendy San Francisco night spots, where the jazz was cool and the wine list boasted the best Napa Valley had to offer, Tara couldn't remember the last time she'd been in a cowboy bar. Actually, she realized as Gavin went around the front of the truck to open the passenger door, she'd never been in a cowboy bar.
Gavin sensed her hesitation. "There's plenty of time to drive to Payson or Flagstaff."
If it was a test, Tara was determined to pass it. Besides, it occurred to her that this was undoubtedly the same place Brigid had danced the Texas Two-Step with Thatcher Reardon.
Still intrigued by that idea, Tara threw caution to the wind. "I can't think of any place I'd rather be."
As she walked with him toward the heavy oak door into which brands of local ranches had been burned, Tara imagined she could hear her grandmother's pleased, satisfied laughter.
Except for the extensive collection of sports memorabilia displayed in a glass case just inside the door, the inside of Denim and Diamonds was decidedly Western.
"The place recently changed hands," Gavin explained. "A former pro athlete from Phoenix bought it when he and his wife moved to Whiskey River about six months ago. He added a sports bar with satellite television in the back, turned the upstairs into dining rooms, but kept the downstairs as a watering hole for the locals."
"Sounds as if the new owner's got all the bases covered," she murmured, glancing past him into the bar, where a young man wearing a cowboy hat and a young woman with a tight leather skirt and rhinestone-studded Western-cut blouse were deftly making their way through a series of remarkably complex dance steps.
"Wrong sport."
She tried to imagine her grandmother dancing that way with Thatcher Reardon and failed. "Excuse me?"
"Covering the bases is baseball. Nick McGraw's game was football. He was a quarterback for the Phoenix Thunderbirds."
"Oh." She shrugged, having scant interest in professional sports or the men who played them. "Well, he obviously made a wise investment."
"Thanks," a deep voice behind her said. Tara turned around and found herself gazing into the handsome face of a man who appeared to be in his mid-forties. "I keep assuring myself that buying the place was more than merely a typical mid-life crisis." He held out his hand. "I'm Nick McGraw."
Tara found herself immediately liking this man with the friendly eyes set in a dark, sun-weathered face. "Tara Delaney."
"Ah, Brigid's granddaughter." His gaze swept over her. "I suppose you're accustomed to people telling you that you bear a striking family resemblance to her."
"Not really." She didn't mention that with the exception of Richard, whom she'd been going to marry, she'd never introduced any of her San Francisco friends to her grandmother.
"You do," Nick confirmed. "She was a remarkable woman."
"Yes, she was." Tara wondered if Nick was one of his grandmother's customers. She did not have to wonder long.
"She gave me some salve for my knees that really helped my arthritis. Even my wife, who's a doctor, was impressed."
Tara was not at all surprised by that little medical bulletin. "My grandmother seemed to have a very thriving practice here in Whiskey River."
"She sure kept busy," Nick agreed. His gaze became speculative. "I don't suppose you're—"
"No." Tara cut him off with a shake of her head. "I have no plans to take over the business."
"Too bad." He shrugged his wide shoulders. "Whiskey River is one of those small towns where everyone has a role to play. Brigid's death has left a pretty big void in the community."
"I'm sorry, Mr. McGraw, but I already have a life back in San Francisco."
"So I've heard. Brigid was very proud of you. I doubt there's anyone in town who hasn't had your letters read to them."
Letters that had become less and less frequent these past two years, Tara thought miserably.
Watching the shadow move across her eyes, Gavin decided the time had come to change the subject. "Is our table ready, Nick?"
"Sure." The former football star flashed Tara an apologetic smile. "Sorry to hold you up. I really just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for your loss. And I miss Brigid's friendship. If it's any consolation, Ms. Delaney,
your grandmother was much loved here in Whiskey River."
"So I've discovered, Mr. McGraw. It's a comfort to know she had so many friends."
"She sure did." His smile reached his eyes, crinkling the corners in an attractive way. "And it's Nick."
"And I'm Tara." Going by Ms. Delaney seemed ridiculous in Whiskey River, and especially ridiculous here in the casual atmosphere of Denim and Diamonds.
Without any further delay, Nick led them up the stairs. "It was my wife Laurel's idea to tear out the walls up here and turn the bedrooms into dining rooms," he said as they walked down the hallway. "I have to admit I had my doubts, but so far most of the tables are booked nearly every night."
"Was this originally a hotel?"
"Not exactly." Nick exchanged a grin with Gavin. "Most of the rooms were rented by the hour."
"Oh."
Although she'd always thought of herself as a sophisticated woman, Tara could feel the color warming her cheeks as she entered a room that was definitely decorated in early bordello. The wallpaper was red flocked velvet; paintings of fleshy nudes had been hung on the scarlet-as-sin walls. The paintings didn't disturb her. But the lingering erotic vibrations were decidedly unsettling.
Gavin immediately noticed her discomfort. "If you want to go somewhere else—"
"Of course not. I've never eaten in a bordello before. Brigid used to say that you should strive to learn one thing, or have one new experience, every day."
"That sure sounds like her," Nick agreed. "I don't think I've ever met a more adventurous lady."
He plucked two tasseled menus from a rack by the door and led them to a table situated in front of a wide stone fireplace. Tara was faintly amused when a bit of masculine jockeying occurred over who'd hold the heavy oak chair out for her. In the end, his eyes laughing as if he was enjoying himself immensely, Nick backed away and surrendered the role of gallant to Gavin.
"Heather will be your waitress tonight. If there's anything I can take care of personally, be sure and let me know." He flashed her a smile that made her think that there'd undoubtedly been a time when he'd probably scored quite well off the gridiron as well as on. "Tara, it was a pleasure meeting you. I hope I'll see you again before you leave town."
