"I try not to. Why borrow trouble?" Mia sailed in, laid a note on the counter. "Phone message for you, Nell. Gladys and her newest party brainstorm."
"I'm sorry. You don't have time to run over here this way. I'll speak to her again and I promise I'll see about getting a phone."
"Don't worry about it. I wanted a walk or I'd have left it for tomorrow. And I'll have a glass of that lemonade."
"She needs a computer," Ripley said flatly. "She won't use the one at the store because she doesn't want to hassle you."
"Ripley. Mia, I'm perfectly fine working this way."
"She can certainly use the computer at the store when it's free," Mia said to Ripley. "And she doesn't need you running interference between her and me."
"She wouldn't if you weren't trying to push your psychic hooey on her."
"'Psychic hooey' sounds like the name of a second-rate rock band and has nothing to do with what I am. But even that's better than blind, stubborn denial. Knowledge is always better than ignorance."
"You want ignorance?" Ripley said, getting to her feet.
"Stop! Stop it." Jittering inside, Nell put herself between them. "This is ridiculous. Do you two always go at each other this way?"
"Yes." Mia picked up a glass, sipped delicately. "We enjoy it, don't we, Deputy?"
"I'd enjoy popping you one more, but then I'd have to arrest myself."
"Try it." Mia angled her chin. "I promise not to press charges."
"Nobody hits anybody. Not in my house."
Instantly contrite, Mia set down her glass, rubbed a hand down Nell's arm. It was rigid as steel. "I'm sorry, little sister. Ripley and I irritate each other, a long-standing habit. But we shouldn't put you in the middle. We shouldn't put her in the middle," Mia said to Ripley. "It isn't fair."
"Something we agree on. How about this? If we run into each other here, it's a neutral zone. You know, like Romulan space. No warfare."
"Romulan Neutral Zone. I've always admired your grip on popular culture. Agreed." She even picked up the second glass, passed it to Ripley. "There. You see, Nell, you're a good influence on us already." She handed the third glass to Nell. "To positive influences."
Ripley hesitated, cleared her throat. "Okay, okay, what the hell. Positive influences."
And standing in a loose circle, they tapped glasses. They rang like a bell, one bright peal as a shower of light fountained up from that connection of secondhand kitchenware.
Mia smiled slowly as Nell let out a laughing gasp.
"Damn it," Ripley muttered, and gulped down lemonade. "I hate that."
~•~
Celebrants streamed to the island for the Fourth. Red, white, and blue flags snapped from the rails of the ferries as they chugged to the mainland and back. Banners and bunting swagged the eaves of the storefronts on High Street, waving cheerfully as tourists and islanders alike jammed the streets and beaches.
For Nell it was anything but a holiday, but that didn't prevent her celebrational mood as she delivered orders. She not only had a job she loved, she had a business she could be proud of.
Independence Day, she thought. She was going to make it hers.
For the first time in nine months, she began to plan for a future that included bank accounts, mail delivery, and personal possessions that couldn't be stuffed into a duffel or backpack at a moment's notice.
A normal, functioning life, she thought as she paused by the display window of Beach Where. The mannequin was wearing breezy summer slacks with bold blue and white stripes and a gauzy white top that scooped low at the breasts. Strappy white sandals as fun as they were impractical adorned its feet.
Nell bit her lip. Her pay was burning a hole in the pocket of her ancient jeans. That had always been her problem, she reminded herself. If she had ten dollars, she could find a way to spend nine of it.
She'd learned how to save and scrimp and resist. How to make five dollars stretch like elastic.
But she hadn't had anything new, anything pretty, in so long. And Mia had been hinting, not quite so gently of late, that she should spruce up a bit on the job.
Plus, she had to make some sort of a showing of herself for the catering sideline. If she was going to be a businesswoman, she should dress the part. On the island that meant casual. Still, casual could mean attractive.
On the other hand, it would be more practical, more sensible, to save the money and invest it in kitchen tools. She needed a food processor more than she needed sandals.
"Are you going to listen to the good angel or the bad angel?"
"Mia." Vaguely embarrassed at being caught daydreaming over a pair of shoes, Nell laughed. "You startled me."
"Great sandals. On sale, too."
"They are?"
Mia tapped the glass just below the Sale sign. "My favorite four-letter word. I smell possibilities, Nell. Let's shop."
"Oh, but I really shouldn't. I don't need anything."
"You really do need work." Mia tossed back her hair, took Nell's elbow in a firm grip, much like a mother with a stubborn child. "Shopping for shoes has nothing to do with need, and everything to do with lust. Do you know how many pair of shoes I own?"
"No."
"Neither do I," she said as she strong-armed Nell into the shop. "Isn't that wonderful? They have those slacks in a candy-cane pink. They'd look fabulous on you. Size six?"
"Yes. But I really need to save for a good food processor." Despite herself she reached out to finger the material of the slacks that Mia pulled off the rack. "They're so soft."
"Try them with this." A brief hunt turned up what Mia considered the perfect top, a clingy white halter. "Don't forget to lose the bra. You've got little feet. Six there, too?"
"Yes, actually." Nell took a discreet peek at the price tags. Even with the sale it was more than she'd spent on herself in months. She was stuttering protests as Mia shoved her behind a dressing room curtain.
"Trying doesn't mean buying," she whispered to herself over and over as she stripped down to her practical cotton panties.
Mia was right about the pink, she thought as she slipped into the slacks. The bright color was an instant mood lifter. But the halter, well, that was another matter. It felt… decadent to wear something so close-fitting without a bra. And the back—she turned to look over her shoulder. There basically wasn't a back.
Evan would never have allowed her to wear something so revealing and casually suggestive.
Even as the thought popped into her mind, Nell cursed herself.
"Okay, back up and erase," she ordered herself.
"How you doing in there?"
"Fine. Mia, it's an adorable outfit, but I don't think…"
Before she could finish, Mia whisked open the curtain and stood, the sandals in one hand while she tapped her lip with the finger of her free hand. "Perfect. Girl-next-door sexy, casual, chic. Add the shoes. I saw this little bag. Just the thing. Be right back."
It was like being marched through a campaign by a veteran general, Nell thought. And she, a mere foot soldier, couldn't seem to do anything but follow orders.
Twenty minutes later, her habitual jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers were tucked into a shopping bag. What was left of her cash was stuffed into a palm-size purse that she wore cross-body and at the hip of her new slacks, which flapped softly around her legs in the frisky breeze.
"How do you feel?"
"Guilty. Great." Unable to resist, Nell wiggled her toes in her new sandals.
"That'll do. Now, let's buy some earrings to go with it."
Nell abandoned all resistance. Independence Day, she reminded herself. She fell for the rose quartz drops the minute she saw them.
"What is it about earrings that makes you feel so confident?"
"Body adornments show that we're aware of our bodies and expect others to be aware as well. Now, let's take a walk on the beach and get some reaction."
Nell fingered the pale pink stones swinging from her ears. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Go ahead."
"I've been here a month now, and in all that time I haven't seen you with anyone. A date, I mean. A male companion."
"I'm not interested in anyone at the moment." Mia held the flat of her hand above her brow to skim the beach. "Yes, there was someone. Once. But that was another phase of my life."
"Did you love him?"
"Yes, I did. Very much."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry."
"It's no secret," Mia said lightly. "And the wound's long healed. I like being on my own, in control of my destiny, and all the little day-to-day decisions and choices. Coupling requires a certain amount of unselfishness. I'm a selfish creature by nature."
"That's not true."
"Generosity has levels." Mia began to walk, lifting her face to the breeze. "And it's not synonymous with altruism. I do what suits me, which stems from self-interest. I don't find that something to apologize for."
"I've had personal acquaintance with the selfish. You may do what suits you, Mia, but you'd never deliberately hurt anyone. I've watched you with people. They trust you because they know they can."
"Not causing harm is a responsibility that comes from what I've been given. You're the same."
"I don't see how that can be. I've been powerless."
"And because of it you have empathy for those in pain and those who despair. Nothing happens to us without purpose, little sister. What we do because of it, what we do about it, is the key to who and what we are."
Nell looked out to sea, to the boats gliding, the jet skiers racing, the swimmers gleefully riding the waves. She could turn away, she thought, from what she was being told and what would be asked of her. She could have a calm and normal life here.
Or she could have more.
"The night I stayed at your house, the night of the solstice, when I saw you on the cliffs I told myself I was dreaming."
Mia didn't turn, just continued to look calmly out over the ocean. "Is that what you want to believe?"
"I'm not entirely sure. I dreamed of this place. Even when I was a child, I had dreams. For a long time I ignored them, or blocked them out. When I saw the painting—the cliffs, the lighthouse, your house—I had to come here. It was like finally being allowed to come home."
She looked back at Mia. "I used to believe in fairy tales. Then I learned better. The hard way."
And so, Mia thought, had she. No man had ever lifted his hand to her, but there were other ways to bruise and scar. "Life isn't a fairy tale, and the gift carries a price."
A shudder raced up Nell's spine. Easier, she thought, to turn away. Safer, to run away.
A boat out to sea let off a sky rocket. The gleeful shriek of sound ended on a burst of light that showered little specks of gold as it shattered. A delighted roar went up from the beach. She heard a child call out in wonder.
"You said you would teach me."
Mia let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. So much rested on this. "And so I will."
They turned together to watch the next rocket soar.
"Are you going to stay to watch the fireworks?" Nell asked her.
"No, I can see them from my cliffs. And it's less frantic. Besides, I hate being a fifth wheel."
"Fifth wheel?"
"Ladies." Zack strolled up. It was one of the rare times he had his badge pinned to his shirt. "I'm going to have to ask you to move along. Two beautiful women standing on the beach creates a safety hazard."
"Isn't he cute?" Mia reached up to cup his face and give him a noisy kiss. "When I was in third grade, I planned to marry him and live in a sand castle."
"You might've clued me in on it."
"You were sweet on Hester Burmingham."
"No, I just had lustful feelings for her shiny red Schwinn. The Christmas I turned twelve, I got one of my own from Santa, and Hester ceased to exist in my little world."
"Men are bastards."
"Maybe, but I've still got the bike, and Hester's got twin girls and a minivan. Happy ending all around."
"Hester still checks out your butt when you're walking away," Mia told him, delighted when his mouth dropped open. "And on that note, I take my leave. Enjoy the fireworks."
"That woman always manages to get the last word," Zack muttered. "By the time a man untangles his tongue, she's gone. And speaking of getting a man's tongue tangled, you look great."
"Thanks." She held her arms out to the side. "I splurged."
"In all the right places. Let me cart that for you." He slipped the shopping bag out of her hand.
"I need to take it home, and see to some things."
"I can walk in that direction for a bit. I was hoping to see you around today. I heard you've been busy, delivering potato salad all over the island."
"I must've made twenty gallons of it, and enough fried chicken to deplete the poultry population for the next three months."
"Don't suppose you've got any left."
Her dimples winked. "I might."
"It's been hard to find time to eat—traffic control, beach patrol. I had to sit on a couple of kids who thought it'd be fun to toss firecrackers in trash cans and watch them blow up. I've confiscated enough firecrackers, roman candles, and bottle rockets to start my own insurrection. And all that on two hot dogs."
"That doesn't seem fair."
"No, it doesn't. I spotted a couple of your box lunches. Looked to me like there was apple pie in there."
"You have good vision. I could probably hunt up a few drumsticks, scrape together a pint of potato salad. I might even be able to manage a slab of apple pie and donate it to a hardworking public servant."
"Might even be tax deductible. I've got to supervise the fireworks display." He stopped at the end of the street. "We usually get it started right around nine." He set her shopping bag down to run his hands up her bare arms. "Things start thinning out around nine-thirty, nine-forty-five. I lost the toss with Ripley, so I've got to take the last patrol, cruise around the island to make sure nobody's set their house on fire. Maybe you'd like to take a drive."
"I might."
His fingers danced up and down her back. "Do me a favor? Put your hands on my shoulders. I'd like you to have a grip on me when I kiss you this time."
"Zack—" She took two careful breaths. "I'd like you to have a grip on me this time, too."
He wrapped his arms around her. She circled his neck. For a moment they stood, lips a breath apart while her system shivered with anticipation.
Mouths brushed, retreated, brushed again. It was she who moaned, she who crushed her lips to his on a hot spurt of hunger.
She hadn't let herself want. Even when he'd stirred those dormant needs to life, she'd been careful not to want. Until now.
She wanted the strength of him, the press of that hard, male body. She wanted the ripe flavor of him and the heat.
The silky dance of tongues, the teasing nip of teeth, the edgy thrill of feeling a heart pound against her own. She let out a little gasp of pleasure when he changed the angle of the kiss.
And dived in again.
She set off aches in him that throbbed like pulse beats. Quiet sounds of need hummed in her throat and burned in his blood. Her skin was like hot satin, and the feel of it under his hands sent erotic images through his brain—desires, demands that belonged to the dark.
Dimly he heard another rocket burst, and the shouts of approval from the beach behind them.
He could have her inside her cottage in two minutes. Naked and under him in three.
"Nell." Breathless, churning toward desperate, he broke the kiss.
And she smiled at him. Her eyes were dark, filled with trust and pleasure.
"Nell," he said again, and lowered his forehead to hers. There were times when you took, he knew. And times when you waited. "I've got to make my rounds."
"All right."
He picked up her bag, handed it to her. "You'll come back?"
"Yes. I'll come back." She was fl
oating on air as she spun around and headed for her cottage.
Chapter Nine
"Power," Mia told Nell, "carries with it responsibility, a respect for tradition. It must be tempered with compassion, hopefully intelligence, and an understanding of human flaws. It is never to be used carelessly, though there is room for humor. Above all, it must never be used to harm."
"How did you know you were… How did you know what you were?"
"A witch." Mia sat back on her heels. She was weeding her garden. She was wearing a shapeless dress of grass green with deep pockets in the skirt, thin floral gardening gloves, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. At the moment, she couldn't have looked less like the witch she professed to be.
"You can say the word. It's not illegal. We're not the pointed-hat-wearing, broomstick-riding cacklers that much of fiction drew us to be. We're people—housewives, plumbers, businesswomen. How we live is a personal choice."
"Covens?"
"Another personal choice. I've never been much of a joiner myself. And most who form groups or study the Craft are just looking for a pastime, or an answer. There's nothing wrong with that. Calling yourself a witch and holding rituals is one thing, being one is another."
"How do you know the difference?"
"How do I answer you, Nell?" She leaned forward again, neatly snipping off deadheads. "There's something inside you, burning. A song in your head, a whisper in your ear. You know these things as well as I do. You just didn't recognize them."
The deadhead went along with her weeds into a basket.
"When you peel an apple, haven't you ever thought if you could finish it without breaking the chain, you'd have a wish granted or gather good luck? Snapped a wishbone? Crossed your fingers? Little charms," Mia said, sitting back again, "old traditions."
"It can't be as simple as that."
"As simple as a wish, as complex as love. As dangerous, potentially, as a lightning bolt. Power is risk. It's also joy."
She picked up one of the deadheads, cupped it gently in her hands. Opening them again, she offered Nell a sunny yellow blossom.
Delighted, fascinated, Nell twirled it in her fingers. "If you can do this, why do you let any of them die?"
Books by Nora Roberts Page 155
