by Terri Reid
The mother stood up on her back legs, walked to the edge of the table and began to scold him. With a nod and a resigned sigh, Henry had to agree with her. “Of course,” he said. “You’re right. Once again, I should have knocked first.”
He stepped back and waved. “No, please, don’t go to any bother,” he remarked. “I’ll just see myself out.”
He closed the door, locked it and returned the key to the spiders’ nest. He pulled out his cell phone, relieved that he had two bars for reception, and texted his secretary back at the university to have her reverse the charges on his credit card and contact the owner, explaining that he must have made a mistake and overbooked.
With a sigh, Henry walked back to his motorcycle and sat on the edge of the seat, staring at the dilapidated and animal-infested building, wondering what his next step should be. Perhaps all these things were signs, although he really didn’t believe in signs. He looked up at the sky and shook his head. “Okay, what am I supposed to do next?”
He turned when he heard the sound of a vehicle approaching in the field across the road. Perhaps the farmer would know of another place he could rent. Another sign?
“I don’t believe in signs,” he reminded himself.
He stood up and walked to the edge of the road. The sun glinting off the windshield of the Gator prevented him from seeing the driver until the vehicle stopped and the driver stepped out.
Rowan, wearing a long, canvas, gardening apron over jeans, stood with her hands on her hips and shook her head. A few strands of long, red hair had escaped the bun and were now curling wisps around her face. “You rented that place?” she asked, astonished.
Henry was surprised at the sudden rush of desire he felt at the sound of her voice.
“The website said it was rustic and cozy,” he replied, trying to keep his voice even.
“That’s real estate talk for run down and small,” she replied, and Henry was grateful to see her smile.
“See, that’s what I love about Americans,” he replied, walking across the road to stand on the other side of the fence from her. “You’re so creative with your words.”
Her smile widened. “That’s one of the things we pride ourselves on,” she replied. She looked past him to the mobile home. “I’m surprised it isn’t infested with animals.”
“Funny you should mention that,” Henry replied.
“Really?” she chuckled. Then she shook her head. “Don’t tell me. A black stag.”
Henry stared at her for a long moment. “You know, in our short acquaintance, I had no idea that you had such a quick wit,” he said drolly. “But no. No such luck. The lucky occupants appear to be merely a mother raccoon and her adolescent brood.” He paused, a twinkle in his eye, and leaned closer to her, lowering his voice. “Although, I have heard tell that very often paranormal entities disguise themselves as beasts of the forest.”
“Like werewolves?” she suggested.
He nodded. “And even more fierce, the dreaded were-raccoon,” he suggested.
She bit her lower lip, trying to contain her laughter, and a spark of heat rushed through Henry as he wondered what it would be like to sooth the small indentation with his tongue. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and tried to focus on what Rowan was saying.
“…only if it were a full moon,” she finished.
He laughed, hoping that was an appropriate response, and breathed a sigh of relief when she smiled.
“So, do you have any suggestions on who I can speak with about renting a place?” he asked.
She paused for a moment and then nodded. “I hope I’m not going to regret this,” she said. “But we have a place. It’s a small apartment over the barn. It’s actually pretty nice. We just, um, recently remodeled it.”
“Cozy? Rustic?” Henry asked with a smile.
She chuckled. “Why don’t you drive back to the house and take a look?” she said. “If it doesn’t work…” She shrugged. “No big deal.”
Henry stepped closer to the fence and studied her. “No, this is a big deal. And you’re being very generous,” he said. “I did something, said something, earlier that hurt you, and for that I’m sorry.”
Rowan hated the rush of emotion that sent tears to her eyes. He was being kind. In her experience, that was unusual for people outside her family. She shrugged. “Really, it was nothing,” she insisted.
“No, it was something,” he replied. “And I have to admit that this is not the first time that I’ve said something stupid. I tend to make a habit of it.”
The beseeching look in his eyes softened her anger. “You’re forgiven, Henry,” she said.
He smiled and held out his hand. “Friends?” he asked.
She clasped his hand and immediately felt a fission of heat shoot up her arm and through her body. Wide-eyed, they stared at each other and then quickly released their grip and stepped back.
“Okay, well, there might be a problem,” he said, taking a deep breath.
Slightly breathless, Rowan shook her head. “No, there’s no problem,” she said.
He studied her for a long moment. “Is there no problem because you are ignoring the empirical data that definitely proves there is a strong attraction between us or because you believe this attraction is predestined and therefore inevitable?”
“Do you believe in fate, Henry?” she asked, charmed by his academic postulating.
“I believe in everything, at least at first,” he replied. Then he shrugged and smiled. “Okay, well, I don’t believe in signs…” Then he shook his head. “Well, I used to not believe in signs, but suddenly, I feel like I’m seeing signs all over the place.”
“Henry, could you just answer the question?” she said.
He smiled at her, and her heart leapt. “Yes, I do believe in fate,” he said.
Rowan believed in fate too. But she also knew that healing someone often created a bond that imitated physical attraction, even love. However, that kind of attraction was generally one-sided, and she knew she was feeling it as much as Henry. She wondered about her mother’s feelings about Henry, that he was to be a part of their quest. Was it because he was supposed to be connected with her?
Henry met her eyes and felt like he was being pulled into a maelstrom of desire. He stepped closer to her. “You know, as a professor and a researcher, I have always felt that a theory is only as good as the data provided,” he said softly.
Rowan’s heart was pounding in her chest, and letting her guard down, she allowed herself to be guided by emotion. Wide-eyed, she leaned closer to the fence. “Data?” she breathed.
Henry stared at her lips; he could almost taste them. “Perhaps we need to perform an experiment,” he said, his voice low. He lifted his hand to cradle her face, ready to lower his lips to claim hers.
Then he saw the wariness in her eyes, like a doe from the woods, tentatively trusting him. If he kissed her now, would he betray that trust?
It took every modicum of self-control and willpower to step back and keep his hands at his sides. She was like an ancient siren, her green eyes glowing with desire and curiosity. All it would take would be one taste, one touch, and he was sure that he would be lost to her forever. And, he realized, she was totally unaware of her own sensuality.
“Rowan,” he choked, his voice dry and thick. “I don’t think I should do this.”
“Do what?” she asked, her voice trembling and confused.
He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. “Exactly,” he replied with a wry smile. He stepped forward once more and gently pushed her glasses back up her nose. “So, what’s next?”
She shivered at the contact of his calloused fingertip against her skin and then met his eyes. “Next?” she whispered.
“You know,” he said, a teasing light in his eyes. “My escape from the were-raccoons.”
She laughed. And the sound seemed to relieve the tension hanging in the air. “Drive back to the house, Henry,” she said. “I’ll show
you the apartment.”
Then she turned and walked back to the Gator and drove away, leaving Henry more confused than he had been in a long time.
Chapter Twenty-three
Agnes looked up from the pot she was stirring when Cat walked into the kitchen.
“What’s cooking?” Cat asked.
“I’m making a spring tonic,” Agnes said. “I harvested the Burdock root and the Dandelion root yesterday, and today I picked the nettles, dandelion leaf and clover.”
Cat walked over, sniffed the steam rising out of the pan and wrinkled her nose. “I remember taking this every spring,” she said. “I hated it then, and I still hate it now.”
Agnes chuckled. “Yes, but now when you hate it, you realize that it’s doing good things for you,” she said.
Cat shook her head as she settled on a bar stool across from her mother. “No, now when I take it, I place a spell on it so it tastes like chocolate,” she said.
“Oh, that is much smarter,” Agnes replied. She lifted the lid from the counter and placed it on the top of the pot. Then she turned to her daughter. “So, what’s up?”
Cat sighed, knowing better than to try to hide anything from her mother. “Donovan came into the store today,” she said.
Agnes narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Doesn’t it seem a little odd to have Donovan show up after all these years at the same time we get Buck deciding to attack Henry?”
Cat nodded. “Yes, it is odd,” she agreed. “And he didn’t seem to know that Buck came onto our property last night.”
“Did he know that Buck visited you at the store?” Agnes asked.
Cat shrugged. “When I told him, he wasn’t too happy about it,” she said. She leaned her elbows on the counter and rested her head in her hands. “I really don’t know what to do.”
“What does your gut tell you?”
Cat closed her eyes. “My gut tells me I can trust what he’s saying, but my heart—” she paused as her eyes filled with tears. “My heart still hurts, and I don’t want to give him the chance to hurt me again.”
“Can you separate this?” Agnes asked. “Can you deal with the Donovan you feel you can trust, but keep it on a professional level?”
“I don’t know,” Cat responded honestly. “Just hearing his voice sent chills down my spine. Just being close to him reminds me of what we used to have. And I still see that, in some weird way, he still cares for me.”
Agnes shook her head. “It’s not weird, sweetheart,” she said. “Donovan loved you.”
“Not enough,” Cat replied. “Not enough to give up what he was.”
“The same could be said about you,” Agnes said. “You didn’t give up who you were for him.”
She shook her head. “You know, I’ve had that argument with myself over the years,” she admitted. “And it’s not the same. We have always protected. We have always made sure what we did never hurt anyone. We were always concerned that good would triumph over evil.”
She looked up and met her mother’s eyes. “He wanted power and prestige,” she said. “That’s what he chose over me. Not a legacy, but a fortune.”
“From what I’ve heard, he got it,” Agnes said. “And without any help.”
“As far as we know,” Cat argued. “Buck has somehow tapped into that power. We don’t know that Donovan hasn’t had the same opportunity.”
“You’re right,” Agnes agreed. “We don’t. So, what do you want to do?”
Cat sighed deeply. “I think we need to meet with him,” she said. “I think we need to learn what he knows about this power that’s being tapped into. And, if we can, I think we need to learn what their plans are.”
“Very logical answers,” Agnes said. “Now what do your emotions say?”
A tear trickled down Cat’s cheek, and she impatiently brushed it away. “My emotions say,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, “that somewhere deep inside, I still love him, and I need to be very careful that he never finds that out.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Rowan parked the Gator behind the house and entered through the back door to find Cat and Agnes sitting at the kitchen table drinking iced herb tea. “That looks good,” she said, joining them at the table.
“It’s hibiscus,” Agnes said, pouring a glass and handing it to Rowan. “So, how’s Henry?”
“He’s on his way here,” Rowan replied. “Since he had to take the road and I cut cross-country, it’ll take him a few minutes to get here.”
“Get here for what?” Cat asked.
“Henry’s renting the apartment above the barn,” Agnes said casually.
Cat stared at her mother and her sister, then spoke. “But we don’t have an apartment over the barn,” she said.
Agnes smiled and waved her hand lazily. “Oh, Hazel is taking care of that for us,” she said, and before Cat could respond, she added, “And she is making a list of the materials she used so we can pay the vendors.”
“But what happens when the vendors show up in their warehouses and find their materials gone and no way to explain how they disappeared?” she asked with a sigh.
Agnes looked at her daughter with feigned innocence and smiled. “Why, I’m sure it must have been an oversight on their part,” she replied. “I mean, what do they think happened? That we magically moved their materials from their warehouse to our barn?”
Cat rolled her eyes. “See, and that’s the reason people don’t like witches.”
“Who doesn’t like us?” Hazel asked, coming in through the back door. “By the way, the apartment is gorgeous. I get dibs after Henry leaves.”
Hazel snagged a chair and poured herself a glass of tea. “So, was that Donovan I saw pulling out of here in that fancy sports car?” she asked.
Rowan quickly turned to look at Cat. “Donovan’s been here?” she asked.
This time Cat tried to shrug casually. “No big deal,” she said. “He just decided to show up at the store.”
“Did you throw him out or turn him into a lizard?” Rowan replied and then took a sip of her tea.
Cat grinned. “Actually, there were a few moments when his arm greatly resembled that of a toad,” she admitted. “Until he decided to let go of my arm.”
“He grabbed you?” Agnes asked, angrily. “You didn’t tell me—”
“Mom, no,” Cat inserted. “I was walking away, and he took my arm to stop me.”
“Okay, if he’s not a toad, and you didn’t throw him out, what’s up?” Rowan asked.
Cat sat back in her chair. “He told me that we need to talk,” she said. “He told me that the others want to stop us.”
Rowan took another sip and then placed her glass down. “I think we should meet with him,” she said decisively.
“What?” Hazel asked. “If I recall, you were the one who wanted to send him chocolates laced with a potion that would turn him into a eunuch.”
“And it would have worked too,” Rowan said, “if the spell hadn’t asked for two tablespoons of bat tongue.”
Astonished, Cat gaped at her sisters. “And why did I never know about this?” she asked.
“Because you were locked up in your room crying your eyes out,” Hazel replied. “He really hurt you when he left town.”
“I was young. I was emotional,” Cat said. “Really, it was no big…”
Rowan got up and walked around the table to her sister, putting her arms around her neck and kissing the top of her head. “He hurt you. It was a big deal,” she said. “And we love you.”
Then she straightened. “I still think we need to meet with him and learn all we can,” she said. “But now, I have to go.”
“Go?” Agnes asked. “Go where?”
They all heard the motorcycle pull up in front of the house. “Henry’s here,” she said.
Hurrying through the house, Rowan reached the front door before Henry had a chance to ring the bell. She stepped out onto the wraparound front porch and nodded. “Ready to see the apartment
?” she asked.
He put his hands on her shoulder to stop her from moving. “Just a moment, please?” he asked. He quickly removed his hands and then stepped back, slipping his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “I just want to be sure…I don’t want to be…I never would want…”
She shook her head. “Henry. What do you want?” she asked.
He met her eyes. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “Are we okay?”
She nodded and smiled. “Yes, we are okay,” she replied.
Chapter Twenty-five
Henry followed Rowan up the narrow, wooden steps that lead from the main floor of the barn up to the small apartment on the second floor. He stopped for a moment and took a small exploratory sniff of the air around him. “Do you actually use this barn?” he asked as his senses were overwhelmed with the scent of sweet hay and grain.
Rowan stopped near the top, turned, and leaned against the wall. She looked down at Henry. He was such an odd mixture of affability and determination. Charming, yet resolved. He would not be pushed around, but he would be polite to you when you tried to do it. She had never met someone quite like him. “Yes, we house our goats in this barn,” she replied. “But my sister Hazel would be personally offended if you could smell anything but fresh hay.”
He smiled up at her, continuing up to meet her at the top of the staircase.
“Well, as a potential renter, I appreciate her fastidiousness,” he said. “I have to admit, I was a little leery about living over a barn.”
She cocked to head to the side and grinned. “Would I ever suggest an apartment that smelled like manure?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Well, as I recall, we weren’t on very good terms when you left me this morning,” he said. “So, yes, I could imagine you might. And, I might have deserved it.”
Laughing, she continued up to the landing and opened the door. “Well, I took pity on you after the were-raccoons,” she replied, stepping aside so he could enter the apartment in front of her.
Henry was dumbstruck. A huge window that incorporated both the second-floor space and the height of the barn loft took up an entire wall of the apartment flooding the area with light. A great room, including a living space, a dining space and a modern kitchen, took up the main floor. There was access to a loft space via a staircase at the back of the apartment.
