The Legacy of Buchanan's Crossing

by Rhodan, Rhea

  She blinked rapidly. Clint hardly recognized her voice when she said, “I would have spared myself the trouble, had I known you were going to do it for me.”

  He tried to go to her then. But Alexa’s hand on his arm, and the sharp long nails attached to it, gripped him like a vise. “And I thought my little sister was an embarrassment. It’s not your fault, you know, sometimes they just—”

  A tell-tale caw, followed by more in the distance, stopped Clint from any explanations he might have attempted. He dragged Alexa up the block as fast as he could.

  Not fast enough.

  He needn’t have worried about Alexa, though. Avoiding the stares of other patrons, he installed her at a cafe table with a drink while he went to the men’s room to clean up. He ordered them each another drink when he got back.

  That part of his plan worked, anyway. By the time the band finished their last set, Alexa was pretty well trashed. He thought she might actually pass out laughing when they got to his truck. Clint was just glad he’d taken to keeping a rag and some cleaner in the back because his windshield wipers alone wouldn’t have been able to handle the layers of bird shit on both sides of the windshield.

  Chapter Seventeen

  If Clint had thought Cayden might be inclined to tone down either her makeup or wardrobe for the East Granby Planning and Zoning Committee meeting, he’d been mistaken. In the airless confines of the small room, he’d have been sweating in his suit anyway. One look at all of the pale, round, dewy Cayden revealed by the little silk vest she wore, minus the pirate shirt underneath, turned his body into a furnace.

  And if he’d thought she might meet his gaze, even once, he’d been mistaken about that, too. He could hardly blame her, considering their unfortunate meeting Friday night. He’d fought the need to go to her after he’d tucked a fully-dressed half-asleep Alexa into bed. To hell with overprotective Nevermore. Then the heavens had opened, scouring his truck with hail and rain, nearly drowning Springfield. Exhaustion and guilt, combined with the feeling he was fighting forces beyond his control, had sent him home.

  The rest of the meeting went just as Dean, the only one in the room not sweating, had predicted it would. Two members voted against the development, four for it. Then they declared economic development for the greater public good as a basis for using eminent domain to force the sale of Cayden’s grandmother’s land. Said sale to take place within sixty days. Exactly as Dean’s lawyer had written it up for them.

  Cayden hadn’t missed Alexa’s wink in his direction when she voted for the development. He could still taste the bitterness of the glare she’d drilled into him minutes later when she skated out, her black skirt stretched tight across her ass, flowing loosely below it down to the tops of her boots.

  Without a backward glance at Dean, Clint followed her through the red double doors. The sky was darker than it should have been for seven thirty on a Monday evening the last day of June. Especially since the sky had been clear when he’d stepped into East Granby’s quaint town hall less than an hour ago. The light wind that had been present then was as absent as the sun.

  She was moving a lot faster on those damn roller boots of hers than he could in his tight new loafers. He knew where she was headed. Two months from now, it would no longer exist. His conscience dragged at his feet.

  The only ground he gained was when she stopped in front of the cottage gate to bend down and flip those ingenious levers on her boots. He had trouble catching enough breath to call out, “Cayden! Wait, damn it. We need to talk.” He felt as though he was yelling at the top of his lungs, but the air was so thick he didn’t think he could be heard ten feet away.

  Whether she had or not, she didn’t slow. By the time he’d jogged around to the back of the house, she’d disappeared into the trees on the slope. The closer he got to the hill, the more effort each step cost him. It was like trying to run in a nightmare.

  Exhausted, his feet throbbing in rhythm with the pounding of his heart, he stumbled to the top. The inside of the grove was even darker. Darker than the night he had first laid Cayden down, there in the moonlight under the big oak in the clearing. His chest tightened at the memory.

  She was standing there now in the very same spot. He could see her because… He swallowed a gasp. The air was too close. It didn’t burn his throat as it ought to. It prickled instead, inside and out. He leaned hard against a gnarly trunk, glad for the physical reality of the rough bark on the palms of his hands, and peered through the trees again.

  Cayden was surrounded by light. The light that was supposed to be everywhere else had been drawn to her. Her arms were raised, her curly hair dancing as if in a high wind. Except there wasn’t even the hint of a breeze.

  He didn’t know how she saw him in the shadows mostly hidden by the tree. Yet she turned her head and met his gaze. Her eyes were full of fire, and rage, and pain.

  “You knew. Last Monday night when you came to HandiMart, you knew this was going to happen, didn’t you? Then Friday night…and she’s on the commission… I had it right, even if I didn’t know the all of it. You really are the Cumberlands’ whore.” Her voice was low, it shouldn’t have carried so easily across the clearing.

  Guilt twisted his frayed gut. “It’s not what it looked like. I didn’t—”

  “Liar.” The light around her spiked. “What I don’t understand is why you bother with the pretense. You’re already getting everything you want. Or is making me hate myself your idea of fun?”

  “No! God no. You’re killing me, Cayden.” It wasn’t an exaggeration. He did feel as though part of him was dying.

  “I’m killing you?” Sudden thunder menaced loud and near. “You could have warned me. If you had an ounce of decency, you would have.”

  “I tried to, but you wouldn’t let me talk. Then those kids came in, and the storm, and my truck—”

  “Get. Out.” The words echoed off the trees surrounding the clearing.

  Blackness fell like a blanket, a prickling pulse swirled over his skin, and the awful feeling of that horribly wrong geometry from his nightmares slammed into him. Then nothing.

  Consciousness returned slowly to Clint. He was in no hurry to leave the comfort of oblivion. Although the vortex was winding down, he didn’t dare open his eyes if he wanted to hang onto the two bites of sandwich he’d choked down before the meeting.

  As it stilled, he began to hear sounds, normal sounds: a dog barking in the distance, a chipmunk scolding, rain sizzling on asphalt. Rain. Which must be why he felt wet and cold, so cold. His muscles were cramping because…he was kneeling.

  He opened one eye and closed it against the nausea of more false geometry. Grass and weeds didn’t grow vertically. He drew damp soggy air into his lungs and blinked a few times. Relief loosened the clutch of fear and nausea on his chest and stomach. He was in a steep-sided drainage ditch.

  He rose carefully, first to a crouch, then a shaky stand. Water squelched inside his shoes as he widened his stance to steady himself. He was shamefully grateful to discover the easiest way out was to crawl.

  After he made it out of the ditch, he struggled to get his bearings. He’d seen the oak-covered hill from this angle the evening Cayden had made him park a fair walk away. She’d been concerned about his truck dying if they drove closer. He’d let the comment go, then made love to her up there all night.

  Something just out of reach tapped at his consciousness, past those blissful heated memories. Something the torn condom had made him forget. Something to do with that hill and what lay beneath it. The old trees covering it stood like grim sentries in the dim light. Grim dry sentries. Rain was falling everywhere except for the unmistakably clear gap surrounding the place called Buchanan’s Crossing.

  Impossible. Sure, it could rain on one side of the street and not the other. A hole, though? That large? About as likely as…finding himsel
f on his knees in a ditch a half a mile from the place he’d been standing moments ago. Or a crow with a limited but fully-functional grasp of the English language, or his truck being struck by lightning while he was trying to talk to Cayden last week, or…

  Or Cayden being what she said she was.

  He braced himself on the post of a split-rail fence that ran parallel to the road. If he accepted that, everything else made sense. Everything from his cell phone frying the first time they’d kissed to his inexplicably powerful attraction to her.

  Her casting a spell on him would explain a great deal. She wasn’t even his type, for God’s sake. And the missing her, the wanting her, had been getting worse every day he was away from her, much worse every sleepless night.

  She must have done it when she’d handed him the odd copper ring in HandiMart after he’d knocked the rack over. If he’d knocked it over. That had probably been part of the setup.

  His head pounded. He gripped the post more tightly. His headaches, when had they started? The same time as the nightmares. The same goddamn night.

  When she’d tried to give him the ring again, it had nearly split his head in two. That night, she’d offered him “special” headache tea. And what about the crow feathers that kept turning up after his nightmares?

  The implications piled on like defensemen trying to take a quarterback out of the game. Yup, that was him, at the bottom of the pile.

  Just when he thought that sandwich might come up after all, the headlights of a sleek black limo pierced the murky light.

  It pulled up next to him. A tinted window glided down. Dean’s voice spoke from the darkened interior. “I should be angry with you.”

  Shit. That comment could only mean Dean was aware of, or had guessed, his relationship with Cayden.

  The smooth dry voice rolled on after a reproachful pause. “Well, don’t just stand there. Get in. I’ll drive you to your truck.”

  Much as he’d rather give himself some time to wrap his head around a whole damn new reality before talking to anyone, especially Dean Cumberland, one look at the expression on the man’s face and another at his ruined suit told him to accept the offer.

  They drove in silence for a minute while he decided how he was going to handle Dean, whose confidence in him was obviously shaken.

  He fought to keep his voice cool, to maintain his defense with a good offensive strategy. “Why would you be angry with me? If you’ll recall, you kept the location of this project under wraps until last week. How was I supposed to know you were the developer Cayden mentioned? And I certainly didn’t see any reason to discuss my girlfriend with you. You and I are in business together, not bed.”

  Dean threw back his frizzy head in a grating laugh.

  “There are those who consider the terms synonymous.” He leaned toward Clint across the broad expanse of the limo’s leather seat, eyes narrowed. “But you knew last Monday when I showed you the map of the project, didn’t you?”

  Damn it, Dean had a point. “I thought it was an unfortunate coincidence.”

  “You mean, she didn’t ask you to run interference for her?”

  “No. I don’t—didn’t—think she was aware you were the developer I’m working with.”

  “How very clever of her not to come out and ask. I want to believe you, Clint. What I don’t believe is a coincidence of this magnitude.”

  Neither did he. Not anymore. No matter how grievously he missed them, the happy days of ignorance and denial were gone forever. All that remained was the mind-numbing icy burn of bitterness and humiliation. As far as clever went, Cayden was smarter than all of them combined. Too bad she was also a heartless, lying little—God help him—witch.

  As Dean’s gaze fixed on the torn knees of Clint’s muddy suit, the frown so much like his father’s creased his freckled forehead. “She wasn’t too happy with you after her plan backfired, was she? A wildcat, hmmm? I suppose that would explain how a girl who looks like she does got her hooks into a guy who looks like you.” He smirked. “You’re even wearing your hair longer.”

  His head was so messed up that, for a second, he actually considered telling Dean exactly how Cayden had tied him up in knots. Yeah, right. As if that tidbit would make him appear more dependable. Whatever else he’d lost, he wasn’t going to lose this contract, too.

  They’d pulled into the town hall parking lot. Dean eased back in his seat.

  “From the way you’ve been acting lately, this isn’t your first falling out. When was the last one?”

  “It happened when I showed her the mall, the day after we finished it. She saw the J. Milton Developments sign and acted completely freaked out. As much as I hate to admit it, she had me fooled.” From day-goddamn-one.

  Dean shrugged. “Since she hadn’t used you yet, she must have been saving you for a backup plan, in case she lost the vote. Which means you’re still in play.”

  The words “used” and “play” rang in Clint’s ears as he watched the rain running along the gutter into the sewer under the streetlight.

  Continuing to stare out the window, he said, “I don’t see how. She made it quite clear she doesn’t want anything more to do with me.” Shockingly clear, though he couldn’t tell Dean how she’d done that, either.

  “Possibly a temper tantrum, probably a performance.” Dean was staring at his pudgy steepled fingers. “She’ll be desperate now. Give it a couple of days to let her stew. Then invite her to meet with you. There’s no need to mention that my father and I will be present as well.”

  As badly as he needed to show Dean he could still be relied upon, he felt obliged to be honest. “That’s an awfully tall order. As I said, she’s not talking to me. And really, why bother? Seems to me it’s all sewn up. You’ll acquire the land for the development, and for substantially less than you were offering.”

  “Let’s just say I want to make certain she doesn’t cause any further problems.”

  They had that in common, if they could accomplish it. “How do you plan to manage that?”

  “Neither pressure nor incentives have proven effective with her in the past. Persuading her to recognize it’s in everyone’s best interest for her to accept her loss will require something special.” Dean’s lips thinned in a wide smile, then pursed. “Of course, if you’d informed me of your relationship with her, we would have been able to avoid this unpleasantness in the first place.”

  In spite of the underlying tone in Dean’s reprimand, and whatever this “something special” and “unpleasantness” might be, Clint was feeling pretty good about being in on it. He could prove himself to Dean and get some satisfaction. Two birds, one stone, albeit one big stone.

  “It’s not going to be easy.”

  “It’s necessary.” Dean touched the control panel and Clint’s door unlocked. He was being dismissed. “Let me know when it’s arranged. Soon, Clint.” There was no mistaking that message.

  It pissed him off, but he had priorities. He could put up with Dean’s shit because it would get him what he wanted. And the first thing he wanted was to be there when Cayden got taken down a notch. After that, he wanted all of the other things he’d dreamed of, things Dean was going to help him get.

  He didn’t notice his windshield until he was sitting behind the wheel of his truck. The message was even less subtle than Dean’s, if more difficult to interpret.

  The damn bird couldn’t call him clueless any more. Right?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cayden flipped up the magnifying lens on her soldering goggles and set the iron down. The acrid smell of the flux suited her mood. Her favorite pet project, the hybrid iPod pocket watch, was failing miserably to soothe and engage her as it usually did. Why should it? Nothing else was as it had been.

  In the face of all the brooding she’d had time for on the train to vi
sit Gran after leaving the Crossing, she’d gone the rounds of worrying and not worrying where she’d zapped Clint off to, moved on to blaming herself for buying his act, and landed where she was now: past anger, if not pain, in a no-man’s land of aching acceptance. Gran’s frail body lying in the crisp white bed, absent her heart and soul, had reminded Cayden her surrender dare not include the Crossing.

  Sudden heat pulsing against the outside of her thigh pulled her from her reverie. It emanated from the long pocket of her full skirt, where the amulet Clint’s mother had given her still rested. She felt it and jerked her hand away, whether out of the association or due to the magic, she couldn’t say. What had Moira told her when she’d insisted Cayden accept it? A dream of evil sinking its claws into Clint, another of a stolen baby. While the root of the evil was clear now, the one involving the baby remained a troubling mystery.

  The pulsing continued until she pulled the amulet out her pocket. The intricate silver Celtic knot was hot to the touch, yet didn’t burn her skin. Even unfamiliar with its nature or purpose, Cayden knew an alarm when she felt one.

  Nevermore arrived just as the small Victorian grandfather clock next to her work table played the opening bars of Corpus Delicti’s “Dust and Fire.” Midnight, the witching hour.

  His voice was grave when he spoke the single word, “Trouble.”

  Her hand closed tight around the amulet. “What kind of trouble?”

  He shifted from foot to foot and croaked, “Keeper trouble.”

  A wave of relief rolled over her, then one of grief. She opened her sweating palm. “Yes, I know.”

  “Not know.” Nevermore hit the first word an octave higher than the second.