by S R Mitchell
Allie’s smile faded as she spotted all the kicked-up snow and skid marks that materialized in front of her on the road. Her eyes followed them to a car in the snow-filled ditch. “Oh, my gosh! Oh, my gosh! Oh, my gosh!” she exclaimed as she quickly pulled the truck over. She reached for the little shovel she kept under the seat and got out, making her way toward the vehicle.
The back lights were still on and steam rose from the snow-covered front. As she drew closer, this was the only vehicle she could see. Some people just don’t know how to drive safely in the snow, she thought, shaking her head.
Sports car. Figures, she thought. Maybe they’d been going too fast or not paying attention. The closer she got to the car, the more damage she saw to it. It had obviously flipped, and Allie felt compelled to help.
She reached in her side pocket and pulled out her cell phone. No signal. Crap! Really? she thought. Looking up, Allie could see the glow of lights from her home. She considered her options. Maybe she could bring them to her house, or… Allie shook her head. First things first; she needed to assess the situation and see exactly what or who, she was dealing with.
She could do this and maybe use a little magic if needed. No one was here to see her use her magic; no one would know.
Allie snapped her fingers to create a small orb of light so she could see better as the light in the sky lessened with every passing minute. She started to shovel away the snow covering most of the driver’s side door. It was heavy and thick and her arms and back muscles burned from the physical exertion. Gosh, snow could be damned heavy.
Finally, the door and window was free of snow, and she peered inside the window as she caught her breath. There was a nice sized crack in the windshield and a large streak of fresh blood. Allie’s gaze shot to the driver’s seat. He must have hit his head pretty hard on the window, she thought.
As he shifted slightly, Allie quickly snapped the orb of light away and reached for the handle of the car door, pulling hard.
The door opened and a man sat still in the driver’s seat, wearing his seatbelt. Thank God his eyes were closed. Blood made a thick trail down the left side of his face to pool in the collar of his dress shirt and sports coat. There was a gash on the left side of his head. His busted lip was swollen and already bruising. The airbag lay deflated in his lap.
“Um, sir,” Allie started, shaking her head as she took a deep breath. “Hello,” she said louder. “Can you open your eyes? Sir?” Allie paused, watching him. “You’ve been in an accident.”
Brock could hear a woman’s voice as he slowly aroused from the blackness. He focused on it. It wasn’t familiar, but it was very nice.
Soft.
Feminine.
Brock slowly became aware of the throbbing in his head and the image of the damn deer. Shit! He must have hit the fucking deer and—he paused, taking a breath—he must have hit his head. He slowly opened his eyes to see the most beautiful woman leaning over his open driver’s side door trying to help him. “You don’t have to yell,” he said quietly, fully gaining her attention.
Allie blinked at the silver-blue eyes that suddenly pinned her with their gaze. “Yelling? I’m not yelling.” Allie shook her head, waving her hand, “Never mind. You’re hurt and my home is just that way.” She pointed to the twinkling lights. “If you can bear some of your own weight and make it to my truck, I can help you and tend to your wound at my house. The hospital is just too far away, but I could call nine one one if needed.”
His head felt heavy and hurt like hell, but her words registered. “Nine one one isn’t necessary,” he assured her. Then her words sank in, “The inn is your home? You’d bring me in your home to help me? You don’t know me.”
Allie smiled. “I know you’re not going to hurt me, and it is not an inn. It’s my home.” It was a good sign that he was talking.
“And how do you know that?” Brock asked, a little annoyed at her overly-trusting nature. “I could hurt you.”
“You won’t,” Allie simply stated and smiled.
“How are you so sure?” Brock asked, rubbing his face gently and moving his hand to the side of his head that coursed with pain.
“Good vibes,” Allie offered, smiling again. “Now, come on, let’s get you into my pickup. I need to tend to your head; it’s a pretty nasty gash.”
“The window,” Brock said as he winced, “is not my friend.” He felt her reach for his key, turn off the engine, and unbuckled his seat belt. Gosh, she smells good, he thought, dully leaning toward her, like cinnamon and spice.
“Come on,” Allie said gently, “you need to pull yourself up. You’re too big for me to take all your weight. I’m not even close to being strong enough to lift you.”
“I can walk. I’m just dizzy,” Brock admitted once he was out of the driver’s seat and leaning against the car. He watched as she reached over and placed her arm under his and then pulled his arm around her shoulders. They made their way to her pickup while the snow gently fell around them. Brock leaned against the truck bed as she quickly opened the passenger door for him and then guided him to the passenger’s side.
“Okay,” Allie said, “now slide in.”
“My name is Brock,” he offered as he buckled the seat belt.
“My name is Allie.”
Chapter 3
“Aunt Margret?” Allie said as a muffled noise sounded on the other end. “Aunt Margret!”
“Oh, now I can hear you.” Aunt Margret smiled into her phone and giggled. Betty sat beside her, listening quietly, a smile on her face, as well. “Are you on your way? I tried to call you several times but the call wouldn’t go through—weirdest thing.” Aunt Margret winked at Betty.
“Yeah, about that, I can’t make it,” Allie started.
“Why, honey?” Aunt Margret asked curiously.
“Because it’s now dark and,” she paused a moment and sighed, running a hand through her hair, “I found a man on the side of the road.” Allie was interrupted by her aunt’s surprised voice.
“What?!” Aunt Margret all but bellowed. “It’s too cold for anyone out in this weather. He’d be frozen.” She swatted at Betty who sat behind her laughing. Betty smiled and placed a finger over her lips with a serious expression. Aunt Margret shook her head.
“Well, he must have hit a patch of ice on the road and his car ended up in the ditch. He has a pretty nasty gash on his head and—“ Allie said before her Aunt again interrupted.
“Oh,” said Aunt Margret, “well then, you call me back if you need help and go take care of him. I think Kitty is better anyway. She finally hacked up something nasty and is now roaming the house like nothing was ever wrong.”
Allie laughed. “Well I’m glad that your cat is better, Aunt Margret.” Allie could hear someone ask something in the background but couldn’t make it out. “Is that Betty?”
“Um,” her aunt said quietly all but stumbling over the word. “Well yes. She’d come over to visit and help me make some things.”
“Things?” Allie repeated in a questioning voice. “You two better not be up to something. I swear you are always getting each other in trouble, and the older you two get, the more trouble you seem to get each other into.” Allie could hear the two older ladies giggling and sighed.
They always meant well, but it didn’t necessarily always end well, no matter how good-intentioned they were.
Aunt Margret and Betty had been best friends for as long as Allie could remember. Betty wasn’t family by blood, but she might as well have been. Growing up, by fluke, Betty had lit a candle from across the room during a birthday party unexpectedly with magic. Freaked out, Betty hid, and Aunt Margret found her hiding in a spare room. From that day on they were the best of friends.
According to what they’d found out, Betty’s great-great-grandmother had some magical gifts, but they’d weakened through the generations for some unknown reason. Magic could be funny that way. In some families, the magic lasted and grew stronger; in other families, the
magic seemed to just fade away. Some in the witching community attributed it to bloodlines—pure versus impure parentage.
As they got older, Betty found she could light a candle, create an orb of light, and help plants grow a little, but that was about it as far as her magic was concerned. She’d always worried over her daughter, but her daughter never once showed signs of magic. Betty would still keep an eye on her grandchildren just to be safe. She didn’t want what happened to her to happen to any of them.
“Where is he now?” asked Aunt Margret, for the second time bringing Allie out of her musing.
“He’s in the guest bedroom upstairs,” answered Allie. “I cleaned up the gash using antiseptic.”
“Did you use your magic on him?” asked Aunt Margret.
“Well, a little,” Allie answered honestly. “I am not good with stitches, so I just healed it enough so I didn’t have to worry about stitching it up.”
“So, you didn’t heal it all the way?” Aunt Margret questioned, surprise in her voice.
Allie sighed. “You know as well as I do that if I healed the wound altogether, it would have caused a problem. He knew it was there; he just didn’t know how bad it was.”
“Is he handsome?” asked Aunt Margret. She hoped after everything she and Betty did to get him there, that he was damned well worth it.
Allie thought about the first good look she’d gotten of his face after he’d fallen asleep and she’d begun to clean the wound. His strong chiseled jaw and full lips… Of course, she’d helped him fall asleep, but that wasn’t the point. “Gorgeous,” she finally answered, tapping her fingers on the kitchen counter. “Well, I just wanted to call and tell you I was not going to make it over to your house and why.”
“Okay, dear; it’s perfectly all right. You have a wonderful, and hopefully delicious, excuse. Take him the broth when he wakes up; it’ll make him feel better. Then let him rest, and see what happens,” Aunt Margret said, smiling into the phone.
“How did you know I was warming up some broth?” Allie straightened. “Aunt Margret?” That lady was up to something, Allie could just feel it.
“Oh, honey, I have to go,” Aunt Margret answered quickly. “I think I hear Kitty coughing up a hairball or something. I need to help her. Call me if you need anything, honey. Love you.”
Allie just stared at the phone as it went dead. Coughing up a hairball, my ass, Allie thought, still looking at the phone. Those two were definitely up to something.
Now was not the time to worry about it, she thought as she looked up toward the second floor. She had a wounded man to tend to. He was gorgeous though—yummy. And totally out of her league by the looks of his car and designer suit, but it didn’t hurt to look a little. She giggled.
Right now, Brock’s shirt sat in her sink, soaking to remove the blood stain, but Allie doubted it would all come out. After getting him out of the jacket, she’d managed to also get him out of his button-up dress shirt, which was quite the feat, but what she found underneath the shirt was a very strong, healthy man. A smile tugged her lips.
She stirred the broth she was making and turned down the heat on the stove so it would gently simmer, and then she set the timer for ten minutes. After adding a little salt and pepper, she sat on a stool by the kitchen island.
“Smells good,” came a very deep, masculine voice from behind Allie a few minutes later. It startled her and she jumped, falling off the stool and landing on her bottom on the floor. “Ouch!”
“Damn. I’m sorry.” Brock rushed to her to help her off the floor. He had heard her talking as he’d headed downstairs and followed her voice. It was a nice voice with a sweet sound to it.
Allie just stared at him as he lifted her up and placed her back on her feet as if she weighed nothing.
When he’d reached the double archway to the kitchen and saw her, his feet froze. She was beautiful. He watched as she added seasoning to the little pot bubbling on the stove top and then sat down on the stool. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said as he offered his hand to her. “I heard your voice and followed the sound of it.”
“It’s okay,” she said, adjusting her off-the-shoulder, quarter-sleeve sweater and pushing her wavy, blonde hair out of her face.
Allie’s breath caught as she looked up, meeting his silver-blue gaze and strong manly features. He was taller than she’d first thought that was for sure—at least six foot three inches. The darkness of his cropped black hair and goatee just made his eyes stand out that much more. His eyes were a beautiful silvery gray blue that made a woman want to stare. Maybe this man was dangerous, but in a way she hadn’t anticipated.
“It’s okay, really,” Allie finally answered. “I, um—“ she paused looking at his wide bare chest that tapered down to where his pants hugged his hips. Allie swallowed. “I um, I’m soaking your shirt in the sink, but I think your jacket is a loss. Sorry.” She smiled up at him.
“Thank you,” he smiled back. She was fucking cute when she blushed. “I have more jackets. No worries.”
Allie looked at him. “Yes, well, you have to have something to put on, so,” Allie turned and walked to the sink feeling flushed, “I think the majority of the stain is out. I’ll toss it into my dryer on low. The heat shouldn’t hurt it.”
Brock breathed deep as he took in the green of her eyes, now fully focused on him. She smiled, showing off her full lips. Damn, she was beautiful. She wasn’t very tall, but she was confident, and it showed. He liked that. Confidence... He leaned against her kitchen counter with his hands placed on each side of his body. “Thank you for helping me. Many people nowadays would not do what you did for a stranger.”
Allie paused and turned to look at him from where she stood at the sink, holding his still-dripping shirt. “You’re welcome.”
“You are too trusting, though,” Brock continued as he watched her wring out the excess water. “What if I’d been a bad guy?”
“Are you?” she asked and smiled.
“No,” he said, quietly rubbing a hand over his goatee as he continued to watch her. “You could have—should have—called for help.”
“I actually tried, but my phone wouldn’t work, so I gave up and went with plan B,” Allie answered.
“Plan B?” Brock questioned.
Allie waved her hand playfully through the air as she looked around the room. “My home.”
“Ah,” Brock nodded, “yeah.” He looked around the kitchen area. “It’s nice.”
“I redid it when my mom died,” she stated quietly. “I love this old house.”
“I can see that,” Brock answered.
“Well I am going to go put your shirt in the dryer. You’re welcome to some of the broth. It should be ready by now. I put some little potatoes in it to give you some sustenance, but I wasn’t sure how your stomach would feel; everyone reacts differently.”
“Thank you,” he smiled.
Seeing him smile made him more handsome—if that was even possible. A flustered Allie grinned back and hurried from the room with his wet shirt grasped tightly in her hands. She used her exit as a means to catch her breath and calm her fast-beating heart.
She breathed deeply in her nose and out her mouth as she tossed in his shirt with a dryer sheet and hit the start button. She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the familiar sound of the running dryer. Why was he making her flustered? Allie sighed.
When she came back into the kitchen he was sitting at the island with a big bowl in front of him, steam wafting into his face. He didn’t seem to care. Lord help her he had a nice back, too. Muscles—that’s what she saw—and more muscles. Ugh, she thought, and sighed again, encouraging her feet to take a step forward.
She giggled slightly as the familiar phrase, I’m just a woman in front of a man, popped into her mind. And what a man he was!
“May I ask you why you were all the way out here?” Allie asked softly as she walked to stand beside him.
“Your leggings remind me of a candy c
ane,” he said suddenly as his eyes lazily traveled over her body instead of answering her question. She looked sweet, but he would bet that there was some spunk hiding somewhere.
“I like Christmas,” Allie stated.
“And Christmas lights,” he chuckled.
Allie just watched him as his eyes finally made it to her face and her face suddenly felt flushed with heat. Why the hell did she feel so attracted to this man? Why did he make her feel crazy inside? “Yes.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” He paused to lift the bowl to his mouth and finished the broth. “My mom liked to have a lot of lights around the house, too. I grew up with her pretty much covering everything, but it made Christmastime fun for me as a kid.”
“Where is she now?” Allie asked.
“My parents are dead. My mom died from cancer when I was fifteen, and my dad died from a heart attack two years ago,” he answered, getting up to rinse the bowl and place it in the bottom of the sink.
“Sorry,” Allie retorted sadly.
“Nah, don’t be. They loved me and made sure I knew it and I loved them just as much.” He shrugged it off. “What about your family?”
“I never knew my dad, and my mom passed about eight years ago when I’d gone away on vacation with a few of my friends.” Allie paused. “I should have been here for her, and I wasn’t. The autopsy was inconclusive as to reason of death.” She paused to take a breath, “She loved this house. When she was alive we never had enough money to keep it up properly.”
“So, how did you manage this?” he asked, looking around the room which obviously received some TLC.
“Some of the renovations I did on my own; for some, I hired it out.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I received a little money when my mom passed, and then my business started taking off and I just worked my way down the to-do list,” she smiled. “I’m stronger than I look.”
She’s beautiful, Brock thought again as she beamed with pride at the work she’d put into the house. “What kind of business do you own?”
