Enchanted Bookstore Legends (5-book complete epic fantasy romance box set)

by Marsha A. Moore

  The familiar property looked sad and neglected—like Lyra’s life after her divorce. Winter’s grime still covered the front porch, flower beds tangled in disarray. She resolved to tidy things up. She hoped Aunt Jean would feel well enough to watch and chat while the work went on. Maybe, it would be Lyra’s first step toward a new and happier life. Was there any chance being with Cullen might make her happy? How could she even think that about a man she’d just met? His strange behavior confused her…but having a man actually want to know her was tempting.

  ***

  The tall, skinny nurse scurried back and forth from kitchen to family room, laying out medications, propping Aunt Jean up with a pillow, taking last vital signs, marking charts, writing directions for meals. Shoulder length mousy brown hair floated behind her. Nancy made Lyra dizzy with this fussy manner, which prompted her to do a few errands in town until close to time for the woman to clock out. How would she ever write with this woman in the house?

  The nurse set steely gray eyes squarely on her, took a deep breath, and began a long string of directions. “Now here are all the meal suggestions that’ll help her feel comfortable digesting, and be sure to take her pulse and temperature at these hours as well as making sure she gets plenty of fluids, but if you have any questions, here’s my cell number, and a page with all the emergency numbers for the hospital, her doctor, and the ambulance, just in case, and be sure to try and get her up on her feet for an hour tomorrow before I come back at noon because she needs some exercise.” Nancy never inhaled for a second breath.

  With great relief, Lyra shut the door after the nurse left. How did Aunt Jean endure all that long-winded conversation? She returned beside the couch where her aunt lay and asked, “How do you feel?”

  “Better now that the Energizer Bunny’s gone,” she said with as much of a laugh as her thin, weak frame would allow. “I’m glad you’re here, Lyra. Thank you for coming.”

  Lyra chuckled. “No problem. I have nothing to keep me home now. It’ll be a good summer, spending time with you, getting some writing done, and seeing the places around the island I loved as a kid.”

  She smiled. “I know, dear. You have time for me due to bad happenstance. But, I’m glad I’m not putting you out and can at least be company for you.”

  “You’re great company, Aunt Jean. By the way, do you know of a bookstore called Drake’s in town on Tenth near Elm? I don’t remember it being here last time.”

  “Drake’s? No, I only know of The Book Nook over on Oak. Was it a new place?”

  “Didn’t seem to be. All the furnishings were ages old, even one of those library ladders that move around the room on a track. And the collection was impressive too.” She left out the part about moving shelves and magical tea. Her aunt already had enough to worry about without thinking her niece was unstable.

  “Well, I can’t be sure about anything around this island since I’ve stayed inside too much the past few months.” That wasn’t the answer Lyra hoped for. The old lady shifted uncomfortably on the pillows behind her. “At least my cottage has a nice view where I can watch the boats.”

  Lyra smiled. “Tomorrow I’m going to wash down the porches. Once the front is cleaned, I’ll have you come out and sit there to tell me how to care for your flower beds.”

  “Oh, you’re a dear. I’d love that.” Her blue eyes gleamed from under droopy folds of skin with a hint of her former, healthier self.

  “I’m going to unpack more things and then start our dinner. Anything you want in particular?”

  “Whatever isn’t on that list of Nancy’s, I’ll have!” She chuckled. “It’s all bland.”

  Jean’s laughter warmed her heart. Lyra grinned as she headed up the stairs. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  She stayed in the larger guest room because it included a tiny alcove with a desk set against a bay window. She always liked to sit there in the ladderback chair and let her mind float along the water while writing ideas streamed into place.

  She set about unpacking her supplies and books. Rustling through her briefcase, she located notebooks, index cards, pencils, and pens. These found a home alongside her laptop and printer, already positioned on the black enameled desk. She moved to the oversized, brown tweed chair, angled into the corner, and reached into various tote bags nearby. They were filled with books she couldn’t travel without: references, much-loved familiar fiction, new reads to entertain her on quiet evenings.

  The last book she pulled from the totes was her journal. She took a deep breath and opened it. Darkness from her divorce proceedings loomed out. She snapped the cover shut.

  Staring into the lake, her thoughts returned to Cullen. The magic in his store remained a mystery, but something about his eyes seemed familiar. Where had she known him? After leaving the shop, this question lodged in the back of her mind. No matter how many times she posed it, no answer came. Whatever the connection, his warmth tempered her concerns about the strange events and, best of all, eased those awful memories of battles with her ex.

  She reopened the journal to a blank page toward the back and wrote about what happened in Drake’s Bookstore.

  After a simple dinner, she helped Jean to bed in her suite on the first floor, added years ago when her husband was still living.

  Then, Lyra selected a novel to read through the evening. Her aunt had outfitted the guest room for comfort. A cozy, flowered duvet invited her to snuggle in. She smiled at Little Bear watching her from the dresser, the teddy she had always played with during her childhood visits to Aunt Jean’s.

  She tried to concentrate on reading, but her mind drifted…back to the bookshop, its owner, and the volume that promised to make her happier than she’d been since childhood. After the hardships of the last year, that seemed like a dream. Could any book make that much difference? Could Cullen? Was she foolish to hope?

  ***

  Lyra awoke twisted in the sheet with the book poking her in the back. She stumbled to her feet, washed, and hurried downstairs to prepare breakfast for her aunt.

  After breakfast, she hosed and scrubbed silt off both porches, lowered the front swing from its winter storage position, and assisted Jean outside to oversee the rest of the job. “I found some planters in the garage. Shall I get some annuals for them?”

  Wearing a flowered housedress with a bright kerchief covering her bald head, the older lady seemed to enjoy the day from her perch on the swing, keeping it gliding with her slippered foot. “That would be nice. How about geraniums—red ones? I like those against the blue house.”

  “Sounds great. Tell me what to do with the flowers in this bed. How do you want these daisies staked up?” The sweet organic smell of warm, moist soil brought a smile to Lyra’s face. She sighed. The earth seemed so real in her hands, grounding her after months of turmoil.

  “Use that set of stakes with a circular cage and work in the stems. Careful now, they’ll break.” Her aunt loved directing the work so much that she didn’t even notice Nancy drive up.

  It swelled Lyra’s heart to bring Jean some pleasure.

  “I wanted you to get out, but didn’t expect to see you wearing a posy frock, hanging over a porch railing, and barking out orders!” The nurse beamed.

  “Blame my niece. She got me going. Girl can’t seem to figure out an aster from a lily—been in Florida too long.” She clung to the rail, smiling.

  It was good to see happiness on her aunt’s face again. The yard tidy and the nurse back in charge meant one thing to Lyra—time to buy geraniums. Stores on the island stayed open on Sundays for the weekend tourist trade and usually closed on Monday. Good thing for her too.

  ***

  Lyra took the long way to the greenhouse in order to drive past the bookstore. She slowed her silver Subaru sport wagon along Tenth, looked to the right, and—there was a hardware store exactly where the bookshop stood yesterday. She glanced back to the road, slammed on her brakes, and narrowly escaped hitting the car in front of her. She turned do
wn the next street, to be certain she hadn’t made a mistake. No, not there either. Did she imagine going into the store? Was her mind that rattled from her recent losses?

  After taking a few deep breaths to steady herself, she drove toward the greenhouse. As she pulled up to the stoplight on the corner of Elm and Main, her mouth dropped open—the sign above the building that should have housed a barber shop read “Drake’s Bookstore.”

  Chapter Three: Appearances Deceive

  Lyra swerved the car into a parallel parking spot across the intersection, intending to rush into the store and demand an explanation. After she closed the car door, the reflection in its window showed her appearance: hair in a lumpy ponytail; flower stems clinging to its length; faded T-shirt smudged with dirt. Perfect garden center attire, but not how she wanted Cullen to see her, just in case there was any hope of a more than a friendship.

  Reluctantly, she reopened the door, preparing to crawl back in. She looked at the store again for any clue. Tessa Wilson, who lived next to Mrs. Kendall during summers, emerged from the bookstore. That proved the store was real, but Lyra wanted to find out more.

  “Tessa! Hi!” she called out, waving as the middle-aged woman walked past. “It’s me, Lyra!”

  Initially caught off guard, recognition soon hit. “Lyra! Hello. Good to see you.” She scurried closer. “Are you here for a week or the whole summer?”

  “All of July and most of August, to take care of Aunt Jean. How’ve you been?”

  “Good, crazy-busy as always. We’ll have to share some lemonade and gossip sometime.” As a cloud passed overhead, she raised her sunglasses into the sleek dark bob which made her look every inch the business analyst she was.

  “That would be great.” Before she could ask about the bookshop, Tessa stepped back and attempted to move on, but Lyra needed some gossip now. She pursued a step closer to her neighbor with a string of questions. “I saw you come from Drake’s Bookstore. Is that new? Does it have a good collection? What’s the owner like?”

  “Um, it’s just your ordinary quaint indie bookstore. Cullen, the owner, is friendly to chat with. I often buy from him. I like the personal feeling rather than ordering online. I’m sure you’ll like the shop. Go check it out.”

  “I will.” Lyra’s pulse raced when she finally got to the most important question. She raised her voice to carry across the increased distance. “Has it always been there?”

  Tessa lowered her sunglasses. “He’s been there about four years. Need to run. Have a conference call. Catch you later.” She hurried along to her own car.

  Strange. Tessa didn’t seem to find anything odd. The way that woman liked gossip, she would have dished. But, the shop changed locations for Lyra, or maybe her memory suffered from that long twenty-four hour drive. This was as odd as Cullen’s unusual tea. Lyra sunk back into her driver’s seat and headed for the greenhouse.

  Back at home, she set out geraniums, red like Jean had asked for. Sadly, her aunt felt too ill to see the new flowers. After Lyra cleaned up and made them dinner, she settled into recording what happened at Drake’s Bookstore today to keep track of what she couldn’t explain.

  ***

  Monday dawned quietly, and Lyra stayed at home to organize her book outline. After struggling for an hour to create a midpoint turn in the plot, she cast the writing aside. With a paperback in hand, she settled into a cozy cushioned chair on the back porch, feet propped upon a hassock.

  Within minutes, her gaze drifted and followed boats on the lake, while her mind focused on the unusual bookshop. She needed more details to decide whether or not its magic was real. If only Cullen would call and say he found that book.

  To quell her restlessness, she headed out for a long walk to the community pier. The exercise of the mile-long trek soothed her. At the far end of the wooden dock, she sat on a bench engraved with a paid tribute to a deceased loved one. She welcomed stillness into her mind, needing deep relaxation like this after the stresses of last spring.

  Several tourists and fishermen surrounded her. A weather-beaten old man sat on an upturned bucket, pole in hand, humming a soft melody. Cries of gulls embellished his tune while a toddler tossed handfuls of bread to encourage their chorus.

  She focused on the lapping waves. A deep breath of sea air filled her nose with its unique blend of minerals and fish. The sounds and smells lulled her into a peaceful state.

  Her cell phone rang and abruptly ended her meditation. She flipped it open. A Michigan exchange. Her pulse quickened. She answered with a high-pitched, expectant tone.

  “Hi. Lyra? This is Cullen Drake from Drake’s Bookstore. I’ve located the book I told you about. Can you stop by yet today for it?”

  “Oh, I wish I could. I’m sorry. I can’t since my aunt’s nurse leaves soon. How about tomorrow morning?” Lyra paused, unsure if she should ask how the store changed locations. “And will the store be on Elm and Main, or somewhere else?” Silence followed. She held her breath.

  Finally, he cleared his throat. “I didn’t realize you were having difficulties locating the store. Um, I don’t know where it will be tomorrow. I realize how strange this must seem, but I’ll help you understand when you’re here. Truly, there are answers which will make sense. I apologize for the inconvenience. I really hope you’ll come.”

  “Yes…around nine,” she stammered.

  They exchanged goodbyes, and Lyra stared at the phone as if she’d heard something impossible. He knew the store changed locations, but Tessa hadn’t seemed to notice. Did it actually move? But more than that, his voice echoed in her mind; she’d heard that exact cadence and tone before. She had to know more about that man.

  Her phone alarm rang. Time to start home and take over for Nancy. She jumped off the bench. Shoving her cell phone into her shorts pocket, she rounded a corner of the old bait shop, and narrowly avoided smacking into the wide chest of a tall man. She uttered a brief apology as she realigned herself to pass him.

  He smiled and tipped the bill of his baseball cap, worn over straight, black hair which hung past his shoulders.

  Determined to pay better attention, she sprint-walked home, dodging sightseers and thinking of things she wanted to write in her journal. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

  Chapter Four: The Pretentious Cicada

  Out in the crisp morning air, Lyra slipped a cardigan over her tank top. She rose early and tried three outfits before deciding on a blue-flowered short skirt and gold sandals. Goosebumps lifted along her bare legs, either from the air, which felt chilly to a Floridian, or from apprehension about visiting the bookstore.

  She was giddy with anticipation. Was she foolish to hope any of the enchantments were real? She loved the idea of magic, but could it exist outside daydreams and childhood illusions? She once believed. That hope vanished after grieving the deaths of her parents, being beaten by a failing marriage, watching the suffering of her aunt. A tingle in her spine awakened her to possibilities…of magic, wonder, and happiness. And also to danger and fear.

  She paused at the corner of Elm and Main. The store wasn’t there. No surprise. Strolling down a side street, aromas of pastries and fresh-brewed coffee from the bakery tempted her. With difficulty, she side-stepped inviting outdoor tables and turned onto Pine. There, across from a favorite store, stood Drake’s. As she hurried past the familiar window of the perfumery, an ad caught her attention. It featured this month’s special scent, jasmine.

  Lyra took a long breath and crossed the street, examining the building for any clues that might explain its magic. Although in a different location, the store front looked the same, brown with blue trim. A large window, partitioned from the inside by a royal blue curtain, presented familiar books on and around an antique table. Compasses, sextants, and other nautical instruments from days past accented the display, not unusual for shops on the quaint island.

  Like a schoolgirl nervous with a crush, her palms perspired. She grasped the latch of the heavy wooden and leaded glass
door. Cool and smooth under her damp hand, she slowly pushed.

  Before her eyes adjusted to the interior light, Cullen called out, “Good day to you, Lyra! Come in. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Then, he addressed another customer. “May I suggest a title for you, ma’am?”

  While busy with the other patron, Lyra browsed her way closer to them and sneaked a few glances at the shop owner. He was even more handsome than she remembered. His blue eyes twinkled, and the tiny bit of gray at his temples gave just the right accent to his medium brown hair. His broad shoulders narrowed to a slim waist. He was dressed neatly, as before, in casual shorts and shirt. A single item of jewelry caught her attention—a massive silver ring festooned with a dragon having blue topaz eyes. Was it magic?

  “No, I think this will be fine, but thank you,” the customer replied.

  Lyra sniffed the air for traces of the wonderful anise tea, but smelled delicate jasmine instead. The scent didn’t seem to affect her. She examined the store. The floor of polished oak boards remained, but the Persian area rugs and runners covered new sitting areas. Brown leather chairs had traded places with old wooden ones and bookcases were completely rearranged.

  Cullen rang up the sale, walked the lady out, turned the sign over to indicate the store was closed, and bolted the door. Lyra quivered at the thought of being locked in, but the look in Cullen’s eyes reassured her. He reminded her of someone from long ago who she cared for. But who?

  He appeared as though he was about to speak, but a tiny voice from somewhere on the counter spoke up before him. “She’s pretty.”

  “Yes, she really is, Sheridan,” Cullen replied.

  This compliment made Lyra’s cheeks warm. “Who’s there?” she asked, leaning forward, looking behind the case. “Aren’t we alone?”

  “Me! In the iron cage right under your nose! Pretty, but no smarts, Cullen.”