A Fantasy Christmas

by Cindy Bennett, Sherry Gammon, Stephanie Fowers

  “I believe you’re right.” I patted him on the shoulder. “Smart thinking on your part to hurry him down the ridge. He could have bled to death.” Greg nodded soberly. “That’s all for now, boys. Marigold and I need to do some scouting around. You can sit in the car and I’ll take you back home in a bit.”

  “Would it be alright with you if we walked home? I’d rather not sit for a while.” Greg’s face scrunched in discomfort.

  I eyeballed the both of them before nodding in sympathy. “Sure. But go straight home.” They mumbled yes, sir, and headed down. I noted Hank sneaking in a sideways glance at Marigold as they left.

  “Dreamer,” I grumbled.

  Marigold startled me with a laugh. “You look good in green,” she teased. “You do know you have no need to be jealous, right? I’ve loved you since ninth grade, Jack Mahoney.” She stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed me. It took me all of one second to bury my hands in her hair and kiss her back.

  “You’re intoxicating, Marigold,” I said, struggling to collect my scattered thoughts. “Focus, Jack.”

  She chuckled and let me go. “I’ll be good. Let’s see if we can find anything.”

  We hung yellow police tape around the hole before walking the lower perimeter of the Abbott property. We discovered six more traps, each just as dangerous. I took several more photos and Marigold helped me run yellow police tape around each. Regrettably, we found nothing that resembled a working still.

  “We need a search warrant,” I said as we finished taping around another hole. “If there is a still, it’ll be hidden deep in the woods.”

  “Good luck getting that,” she said. “Judge Mead buys moonshine from the Abbotts.”

  I planted my hands on my holster. “How do you know that?”

  “My dad, after he ran out of money, used to deliver moonshine for the Abbots in exchange for free booze.” She shrugged. “Judge Mead was on his route.”

  I scrubbed my jaw with my hand. “I guess we’ll have to go around Judge Mead then.” I took her hand. “It’s clouding over.” I pointed to the dark, ominous snow clouds overhead. “We’d better get going. Ah hear tell a nor’easter’s comin’,” I said in my best West Virginia twang.

  “You best not be funnin’ about my peeps,” Marigold warned, her eyes narrowed playfully.

  “Never.” I pulled her into my arms. “But I am fixin’ to kiss ya.”

  **

  We made a detour to my house for some dinner. Big mistake . . . sort of. The snow hit fast and furious. So fast, I didn’t have time to take Marigold home after we ate. And so furious, I couldn’t even if I wanted to—which I didn’t.

  “Are you sure you want to stay with Chayton and Gina?” I asked Marigold later that evening as the snow continued to pile up. The smoke from my truck’s engine billowed high as it sat idling outside their house. I stood on the freshly scraped sidewalk with Marigold, staring down at her rosy, snow-kissed face. “You’re welcome to stay with me until this storm passes.”

  She stepped up onto the porch of Chayton’s pristine, two-story Colonial. “They have plenty of room here. You live in a one-bedroom apartment.” She tugged on the front of my shirt. “Besides, my momma would appreciate the fact that I stayed here and not at your place.” She tapped me playfully on the nose.

  “Stupid southern morality,” I grumbled.

  “But you wouldn’t want it any other way if I were your daughter.”

  “Maybe,” I said, giving her a quick kiss good night.

  “Git back here,” she said. She was getting sleepy—it made her drawl more pronounced. It’d been a long day up on Sugar Maple Ridge, and truth be told, I couldn’t wait to crawl into bed myself.

  Marigold drew me into a southern style kiss: long, slow, and freakin’ hot. “I do love you, Jack Mahoney,” she whispered, her eyes drooping sleepily.

  “I love you, Marigold Yarrow.” I kissed her again, softly, and left.

  Chapter Eleven

  Marigold

  The nor’easter blew in hard, stalled, and limped out, dumping over two feet of snow in its wake. That was more snow than Sugar Maple usually got in an entire season by six-and-a-half inches. Though stunning to see the area blanketed in white, especially the snow-covered hills and rooftops, Chayton had to break out the city’s snowmobile to get around town. He or Jack took turns every day bringing me up to my place to tend to my animals. I could’ve stayed at my house alone, but that would mean not seeing Jack until the roads cleared. Chayton and Gina kindly offered to let me sleep in their spare room until the city cleared the roads.

  Not used to having so much snow at one time, it took the Sugar Maple maintenance crew two-and-a-half weeks to clear the roads. Magic would have made fast work of the snowy road to my place, but the town folk would want to know why the back road to my house was clear, while the town remained snowed in.

  “Thank heaven the roads are finally open,” I said, climbing out of Jack’s truck the afternoon my road finally reopened. “I missed being around my animals.” The snow had stopped, but the wind still cut like a knife as it blew mercilessly.

  “But we brought you up here every day to tend to them,” he said.

  “I know, and I’m grateful,” I said as we trudged through the knee deep snow to the barn. “But I told you before, I love living up here, taking care of my animals and my farm, away from the congestion of the city.”

  Jack stopped dead. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Marigold, I do love you, but honestly, you have no clue what a congested city looks like if you think it looks like Sugar Maple.”

  “You know what I mean.” I punched his shoulder playfully. “Compared to life up here, it’s a virtual jungle in town. Besides, I went to college right outside of New York City. I’m well aware of what a big city looks like.”

  I opened the barn and the animals rushed me, all vying for my touch. Even the chickens cackled with excitement. I greeted each by name, stroking the furry heads of the goats, and patting the flanks of the pig and her piglets. Bliss filled my soul. Indeed, I’d come home.

  “You never intend to move from here, do you?” Jack asked as we filled the troughs with food.

  “Never. This place is a part of me.” I tossed out some salt for the goats. “Do you think that’s silly?”

  “No. Not at all. I wish my mother could’ve grown to love it here. She prefers the concrete jungle, not a warm country cottage.” Jack pointed to my house after closing the barn door.

  The wind had already blown our tracks away from when we’d entered the barn not more than ten minutes ago. Jack glanced up at the cabin and stopped, grabbing my arm and pulling me behind him, his gun drawn.

  “What’s the matter?” I whispered in his ear.

  “I think someone’s broken into your house.” He pointed to a small open window near the back door. The curtains were fluttering with the wind.

  “Oh that.” I went around him. “I had the window specially installed for Sera. She only has to press on the latch with her paw and it opens.” I plodded up the front steps, stomping my feet, shaking the snow from my boots and jeans. “She sometimes forgets to close it. I’m afraid it’s going to be freezing cold inside.”

  “Marigold, wait.” He hooked my elbow again. “How do you know someone didn’t climb in the window after seeing it open?”

  “Impossible. Remember, my entire property has an enchantment around it. No one can enter unless I permit them.” I opened the door and hurried inside, waving my hand at the fireplace as it roared to life, while Jack closed the window. We huddled around the flames for warmth.

  “How about another witch—wait, what are male witches called?” he asked.

  “Warlocks. And it would take a very powerful witch, or warlock, to break my enchantment. It’s very complex, and difficult to detect.” I took his arm and pulled him aside before waving my hand over the brown leather couch. It raced across the room, stopping next to the fire.

  “You’ll be very usefu
l if I ever have to move again,” Jack teased as we sat down. “I’m impressed that you can create a spell strong enough to protect your entire property.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled. “A clever witch can hide almost all traces of their magic if they want. Whereas, a dull, lazy witch will leave an obvious, definable trail, sometimes so obvious you miss it.

  “Can you tell if a person is a witch simply by sight?”

  “Most times, but it is an unwritten code that a witch never outs another. It has to be their decision if they want others to know.”

  He nodded. “Sorry for all the questions. My only exposure to magic is old Bewitched reruns on TV, and the Harry Potter books.” Jack tugged the blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around us.

  “Bewitched?” I frowned. “Is that the one where the woman wiggled her nose to make magic happen?”

  “Yes. I never could understand why her husband didn’t like her to use magic. I mean, what was that all about anyway?”

  “You do know that the show is completely inaccurate,” I pointed out.

  Jack wiggled my nose, his fingers tickling my skin. “I’m not a green toad, so I guess you’re right.”

  “Ridiculous.” I rolled my eyes. “As far as Harry Potter, that biography is pretty accurate.”

  His mouth dropped open as he sat up straight. “You’re telling me that Harry Potter wrote his life story and published it in a set of seven novels?”

  “Oh, heavens no,” I said. “The Harry Potter books are a biography not an autobiography. Harry Potter is a male. J.K. Rowling is definitely female. And that’s her pen name, by the way.”

  “Pen . . .” He dropped back against the couch, his eyes wide.

  “Her real name is . . .” I mouthed, Hermione.

  He stared at me for a moment then said, “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe.” I wiggled my nose. “Or maybe not.” I left the warm cocoon next to him and went into the kitchen to make us some herbal tea.

  “I can see loving a witch is going to keep me on my toes,” he said, snugging the blanket under his chin.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” I muttered under my breath.

  Between waiting on the federal search warrant and waiting for the snow to melt enough to clear the roads, Thanksgiving arrived before we got the okay to search the Abbott property. It would have been longer, but when Jack told Chayton that my father’s delivery route encompassed two states, that pushed the moonshining business into federal territory.

  “Everything looks wonderful, Gina,” Jack said as we sat down to Thanksgiving dinner at Chayton’s. “Thanks for inviting us.” Gina and her daughters had decorated the dining room with paper turkeys and real pumpkins. Brown and tan acorns, along with Indian corn, with its rich rust and yellow kernels, lay down the center of the table. The plates were burnt orange, and the glasses a soft brown. Gina had roasted a goose instead of a turkey, and I’d made my delicious rice pilaf and homemade rolls.

  “When are you going to raid the Abbott place?” I asked, adding a roll to Jack’s plate and mine.

  “Gina reminded me this morning that the Abbott’s are going to Alabama tomorrow,” Chayton said, scooping a mound of green beans onto each of his daughter’s plates. The girls groaned and plugged their noses, but he just piled it higher. “We’ll be able to check the land for stills and moonshine equipment uninterrupted. Probably the best option knowing the Abbott clan. No doubt they’ll be putting up a stink once they find out about the warrant.”

  “Do we know why they’re going to Alabama?” Jack asked. His eyes on Chayton, he squeezed my knee under the table.

  “They have a cousin down there somewhere,” Gina explained as she sliced up the goose. Her eyes sparkled when they lit on us. “Every year at the end of November they take their dogs and head out for a week to do some hunting,”

  “What about the Abbott wives?” Jack asked. His hand lifted from my knee so that he could pass the rice to Chayton.

  “They’ll be with them. Neither Jed nor Buck trust their wives.” Gina set a plateful of goose in the center of the table. “Rumor has it the Fartious twins have developed a taste for bull riding and cowboys.”

  “And deputy sheriffs,” I added under my breath.

  Jack’s amused glance drank me in. “You have nothing to worry about. This deputy sheriff prefers his woman smell of lavender, not flatulence.”

  “Mommy, what’s fatence?” Jenna asked.

  We dropped the subject immediately.

  The next morning before the sun rose, Jack and I began our search outside of the house as soon as the Abbotts left. My bed called to me and I could barely keep my eyes open in the darkness. “Don’t you have to present them with the warrant before we can snoop?” I asked, fighting a yawn.

  “Technically.” He smiled mischievously. Apparently, the man who loved rules was learning to bend a little.

  After hours of searching produced nothing, we went home, tired and hungry. We continued searching every day for the entire week, covering the whole ridge. Chayton even came along to help a couple days, but we found nothing. Not a barrel, not an inch of tubing, copper or otherwise.

  “Maybe we’re wrong.” Jack sat on a dead tree stump. “Maybe they aren’t selling moonshine anymore.”

  I nestled in next to him. “Then why all the traps around the property line? You and I both know there are more than the ones we found. Those were only the tip of the iceberg.” I opened my backpack and removed a couple roast beef sandwiches and a thermos of hot chocolate. We ate in silence, each of us lost in thought. What were we missing?

  Abruptly, Jack set his half-eaten sandwich down on the stump and shot to his feet. “I know you can’t reveal to me who’s a witch and all, but there are more like you in town, right?”

  “Yes, a few.”

  “What if the Abbotts hired someone to put an enchantment on the stills like you did around your property?” His face glowed with excitement.

  “I guess that’s possible, but why just the stills and not the entire property?” I pressed. He shook his head, his brow pinched in thought. “Anyway, no one I know would do that,” I said.

  “No witch you know, but what if you didn’t know them? What if . . .” His brow furrowed in thought. “What if they’re from another town, far enough away you wouldn’t know them? Like Alabama, maybe. Maybe the boys are doing more than hunting down there every year.”

  “That’s possible, but again, why just the stills?” I rewrapped the lunch he clearly wasn’t going to eat and tucked it into my backpack.

  He massaged his forehead with his gloved thumb and fingers, deep in thought again. “Marigold, I can’t answer why they’d enchant just the stills, but we’ve been up and down this ridge for a week and we’re coming up empty. The Abbott boys are up to something, and I know it’s moonshine.”

  The shadows from the trees stretched long across the forest floor and his eyes went to it as he sighed. “It’s getting dark. Let’s come back tomorrow and try again. It’s our last day before the Abbotts return. We have to find those stills before then because it will be near impossible to search with them around.”

  I looped my arms through his. “How are you holding up?” I asked. “You almost died not very long ago. You shouldn’t push yourself so hard, yet.” He brushed my concerns off with a scoff as his eyes scanned the gully again. “Don’t worry,” I assured him. “We’ll find it, Jack.”

  The next day we searched from sunup until suppertime. I strained so hard, struggling to find some sign of magic, my head throbbed.

  “Guess, I’m wrong,” Jack said. “I thought for sure magic played a part in this.” He rubbed his half-frozen hands together. I covered them with mine and let the power flow. “Thank you.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “We’d better head back. It’ll be dark in an hour.”

  “’Kay.” I hiked my backpack up on my shoulder and began heading out when a brown field mouse scurried in front of me. I squealed and j
umped back.

  “You’re afraid of a little ol’ field mouse, farm girl?” Jack teased, taking my hand.

  I shivered. “People come out here in the woods and worry about bears and wolves, but it’s the little things scurrying around that you hardly notice that are the most deadly. Do you have any idea the disease those—”

  “Marigold, that’s it!” He startled me. I swung around to face him and his epiphany. “We, well you, have been searching for strong powerful magic. What if we’re dealing with a lazy witch, or warlock, for that matter? Maybe you’ve been overlooking the obvious as you tried to find the complex.” He smiled ear to ear.

  “That would explain the spell only being around the stills and not all the property.” I glanced out over the gully as the setting sun disappeared over the ridge. And I didn’t have to look far. “There,” I pointed. It was just over a snow-covered hill. We ran to the spot, and with a wave of my hand over the obvious anomaly of nothing more than an awkward wrinkle in the snow, a fully functioning still appeared, surrounded by a barely noticeable, dull gray aura. We found four more within three hundred feet of each other.

  Jack scooped me up and spun me around. “We . . . you did it!” He set me down. “Let’s mark the trees and we’ll bring Chayton and some federal boys back tomorrow.” He cut x’s with his knife into the bark. “Okay, let’s go. It’s getting darker by the minute and it’s almost impossible to see anymore.”

  “No worries.” I waved my hand and lit the path back to his truck.

  His smile got wider. “Let’s head back to your place. I could use some of your delicious warm tea.” He caught my fingers in his. “And maybe you can warm me up with some more of your kisses.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Jack

  Early the next morning, Chayton and I raided the Abbott brother’s home. As predicted, they went ballistic when we handed them the search warrant, shouting profanity and accusing Marigold of setting them up. Half an hour later, ten federal agents arrived, each carrying a high-powered rifle. That shut them up pretty quick. With Marigold’s help, we found a hundred-and-sixty-six stills hidden in the hills, with supplies in the garage to make another seventy four. It was a little tricky at first having her reveal the locations with so many people around, but with each new still located, chaos ensued as pictures were taken and evidence tagged. That made it easier to find the rest without anyone getting suspicious. The brothers were tossed into jail, all the while denying the stills were theirs.