Books by Nora Roberts

by Roberts, Nora

  “Wait.” Mia held up a finger, swallowed. “Of course he’s using her. That isn’t always wrong. She refuses to let him be direct in this area, so he’s indirect. Why should he ignore what she is because she does, Nell?”

  “To spend time with her, to play on her feelings. That’s wrong.”

  “I didn’t say that, and I don’t think he is. He’s too well mannered. And I think besides being smart, he’s also a very good man.”

  Nell sighed. “Yes. So do I.”

  “I imagine he’s quite attracted to her, despite the fact that she’s abrasive, annoying, and hardheaded.”

  Nell nodded. “That makes sense. You care about her a great deal, despite those facts.”

  “I once did,” Mia said flatly. “Your kettle’s boiling.”

  “She matters to you. You matter to each other, no matter what happened between you.” Nell turned to deal with the tea and missed Mia’s soulful expression.

  “She’ll have to deal with me again, and I with her. Until she accepts who she is, what she is, and what she’s meant to do, she’ll never be open to what you have. You had fear. So does she. So do we all.”

  “What’s your fear?” As soon as she asked, Nell turned back. “I’m sorry, but I look at you and see only confidence, such incredible assurance.”

  “I fear feeling my heart break a second time, because I’m not sure I could survive it. I’d rather live alone than risk the pain.”

  The statement, the quiet truth in it, made Nell’s own heart ache. “You loved him that much?”

  “Yes.” It hurt, Mia thought, just to say it. As much as it ever did. “I had no barriers where he was concerned. So you see, it could be dangerous to nudge at Ripley’s. MacAllister Booke is part of her destiny.”

  “You know that?”

  “Yes. Looking isn’t interfering. They’re connected to each other. But what they do about it, the choices made, are for them alone.”

  There was no arguing with Mia’s logic. But . . . there was no reason not to choose pink candles for the table. She neither charmed nor inscribed them. The color being that used for love spells could be purely coincidental.

  She already had rosemary potted on the windowsill, for cooking, of course. And also to absorb negative energy. It was true that that particular herb was used in love charms, but that was neither here nor there.

  Nor was the rose quartz tumbled in a bowl, nor the amethyst crystals that stimulated intuition.

  It wasn’t as if she’d made a charm bag.

  She’d used Zack and Ripley’s grandmother’s china, the silver candlesticks she’d unearthed weeks before and polished to a gleam, an antique lace tablecloth that had been a wedding present, and a centerpiece of lily of the valley that she’d forced to keep the winter gloom away.

  The wineglasses had been another wedding gift, and their garnet stems went well, she thought, with the pale pink candles and the rosebuds on the china.

  She was so intent on judging the results that she jumped when Zack came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “Pretty fancy.” He rubbed his lips over her hair. “The table hasn’t looked like that in . . . Come to think of it, I’ve never seen it look like that.”

  “I want it to be perfect.”

  “I don’t see how it could look better. Or smell better. I nearly fell to my knees in reverence when I passed through the kitchen. How come Rip’s not helping you out? It’s her date, isn’t it?”

  “I chased her out half an hour ago. She was in my way. And so”—she turned, kissed him briefly—“are you.”

  “I figured you needed somebody to sample some of those little canapé things you’ve got in the kitchen.”

  “No.”

  “Too late.” He grinned at her. “They’re great.”

  “Zack. Damn it, I had them arranged.”

  “I scooted everything in,” he told her as he followed her back into the kitchen. “No gaps.”

  “Keep your fingers out of the food or I won’t make beef stew and dumplings with the leftovers.”

  “Nell, honey, that’s downright mean.”

  “No sulking. Now, let me look at you.” She stepped back, skimmed her gaze over him. “My, aren’t you handsome, Sheriff Todd.”

  He hooked a finger in the belt of her slacks. “Come over here and say that.”

  She obliged, was just lifting her mouth to his when she heard the knock on the front door. “That’s him.” She broke free, dragged off her apron.

  “Hey, come back here. Ripley can get the door.”

  “No, she can’t. She needs to make an entrance. Oh, just—” She waved a hand at him as she hurried out. “Go put on some music or something.”

  Mac brought wine and flowers, and earned Nell’s approval. Three times, that Nell counted, he touched Ripley’s hand as they enjoyed appetizers in the living room.

  It was comfortable, as she’d wanted, casual as she’d planned. And watching the two of them together she felt a nice warm glow. By the time they settled down in the dining room, Nell was already patting herself on the back.

  “Of all the places you’ve been,” she asked Mac, “which is your favorite?”

  “Wherever I am is always my favorite. Three Sisters is like this perfect little slice of the world.”

  “And the natives are friendly enough,” Zack added.

  “They are.” Mac sent Ripley a grin as he ate his roast. “Mostly.”

  “We discourage munching on missionaries and explorers these days.” Ripley stabbed a potato. “Mostly.”

  “Lucky for me. I’ve had some interesting interviews. Lulu, the Maceys.”

  “You talked to Lulu?” Ripley interrupted.

  “Mmm. She was top of my list. She’s lived here a long time, but she wasn’t born here. And there’s her close association with Mia. It’s intriguing to me the easy, almost casual way Lulu accepts the metaphysical. She accepts Mia’s gifts the way another might accept a child’s hair color. It would be different for you,” he said to Nell. “Coming into your talents as an adult.”

  “I suppose.” She didn’t mind talking about it. In fact, Nell thought she might enjoy discussing the entire matter on an intellectual, scientific plane. But she recognized the warning signals in Ripley’s stiff shoulders. “More beef?” she asked brightly.

  “Thanks. It’s great. Zack, I wonder if I could schedule some time with you? Get your perspective as someone who’s lived here all his life, and who married a woman of considerable talents.”

  “Sure. My time’s fairly flexible.” He wasn’t oblivious to his sister’s reaction, but he considered it her problem. “You’re going to find that most of us don’t think about the history of the island on a daily basis. We save that for the tourists. Most of us just live here.”

  “That’s one of my points. You live with it, go about your business, create and maintain normal lives.”

  “We are normal,” Ripley said softly.

  “Exactly.” Mac lifted his wine, studied her coolly. “Power doesn’t alter, doesn’t have to alter, elemental human needs. Home, family, love, financial security. The close, familial relationship between Lulu and Mia, for example, isn’t based on what Mia is, but on who she is.”

  He looked at Zack. “I don’t imagine you married Nell because she’s a witch, or despite it, but because she’s Nell.”

  “True. Then there was her pot roast.”

  “Which can’t be discounted. Strong emotion feeds power. I’ve been pretty emotional about Nell’s cooking since my first bowl of soup.”

  Zack chuckled as he topped off everyone’s wine. “Good thing I saw her first.”

  “Timing is key. If Lulu hadn’t landed here when she landed here, she might not have had the major role in Mia’s upbringing. And as I understand it, Nell, if you hadn’t walked into the bookstore at the exact moment that Mia’s former café chef was quitting, you might not have made that connection—or not that precise connection. That connection led t
o one with Zack, and to Ripley, and in a winding, indirect way, to me.”

  “I don’t have anything to do with it.” Ripley’s voice remained soft, but the barbs were poking through.

  “Your choice,” Mac said easily. “Choice is another key. In any case, since you’re reluctant to show me around the island when I’m working, I wanted to ask you about a place on the south point. Great old house. Lots of gingerbread, wide covered porch. There’s not much else around it. It’s just up from a cove that has a shale beach. There’s a terrific little cave.”

  “The Logan place,” she said shortly. “The family that owns the hotel.”

  “It looked empty.”

  “They don’t live here anymore. They rent it out now and then during the season. Why do you care?”

  “First, because it’s a beautiful spot and an appealing old house. Next, because I got particularly strong readings in that area.” He watched Ripley’s gaze flick to her brother’s face, hold a moment. “I haven’t heard much about the Logans. They show up in my research, of course, but no one has much to say about them in the village. How long since any of the family lived in the house?”

  “More than ten years,” Zack answered when Ripley remained silent. “Mr. Logan, or one of his representatives, comes back now and then to look things over, but they stay at the hotel.”

  “Shame to let a beautiful house like that sit empty. Is it haunted?”

  Zack’s lips twitched at the muttered rumble his sister made. “Not that I know of.”

  “Too bad.” And he meant it. “How about the cave? I got the strongest readings there.”

  “The cave’s a cave,” Ripley shot. There was a little twist in her heart, and it annoyed her.

  “We used it as boys,” Zack began. “To play pirate and hunt for treasure. Teenagers have been known to treat it as a kind of lovers’ lane.” He stopped abruptly as it struck home.

  Sam Logan, and Mia. They’d been teenagers once, and the cave would surely have been theirs. One look at his sister’s face told him she’d known. And was trying to protect a childhood friend’s privacy.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me if your equipment’s picking up on all those hormones,” Zack said cheerfully. “What’s for dessert, honey?”

  At sea, Nell rose. “I’ll get it. Ripley, mind giving me a hand?”

  “No, fine. Sure.” Annoyed, Ripley pushed away from the table and stalked into the kitchen.

  “What is it?” Nell demanded. “What don’t you want to say about the Logan place?”

  “It’s just an old house.”

  “Ripley, I can’t help if I’m in the dark.”

  With her hands in her pockets, Ripley paced the kitchen. “Sam and Mia—they were a major item.”

  “I know that much. He left, and hasn’t been back. It still hurts her.”

  “Yeah, well, she ought to get the hell over it.” With a sigh, Ripley bent down to stroke Diego the cat. “They were lovers. Mia and I, we were still . . . we were friends. We knew everything about each other. The first time she was with Sam, the first time they were together, was in the cave. It was one of their meeting places.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s still a raw spot with her, and she doesn’t need some jerk asking questions and taking energy readings.”

  “Ripley, don’t you think if Mac knew he’d be less likely to rub against that sore spot?”

  “I don’t know what to think about him.” Disgusted, Ripley straightened. “One minute he’s a nice guy, and the next he’s trying to wheedle data out of you over your own pot roast. He’s got no business coming here as a guest and pressuring you and Zack.”

  “I didn’t feel pressured.” Nell took a Boston cream pie out of the refrigerator. “I’m sorry it upsets you, Ripley, but I’ve already decided to talk to Mac. I’m interested in his work, and I’m interested in contributing to it.”

  “You want to be one of his lab rats?”

  “I don’t feel that way. I’m not ashamed of what I am, and I’m not afraid of what I’ve been given. Not anymore.”

  “You think I’m afraid?” Ripley’s temper flared. “That’s bullshit. As big a pile of bullshit as this idiotic project of his. I don’t want anything to do with it. I’ve got to get out of here.”

  She turned on her heel and shoved out the back door.

  She couldn’t think, but she knew she needed to walk off the anger before she said or did anything regrettable. Nell’s business was Nell’s business, she tried to tell herself as she jogged down the beach steps in the pearl glow of moonlight. And if Nell wanted to make an exhibition of herself, expose herself to gossip, to ridicule, to God knew what, she was entitled to do so.

  “In a pig’s eye,” Ripley called out, kicking at sand as she hit the beach.

  What Nell said or did had a direct link to her. There was no avoiding it. Not only because they were related by marriage, but because they were connected.

  And that son of a bitch MacAllister Booke knew it.

  He was using her to get to Nell, using Nell to get to her. She’d been stupid to let her guard down these past few weeks. Stupid. And there was little she hated more than realizing she’d been a fool.

  At the barking behind her she turned, just as the big black shape leaped out of the dark. Lucy’s exuberance knocked Ripley on her butt.

  “Damn it, Lucy!”

  “Are you hurt? Are you okay?” Mac rushed up behind the dog, started to lift Ripley to her feet.

  “Get off me.”

  “You’re freezing. What the hell’s wrong with you, running out without a coat? Here.” Even as she slapped at his hands, he bundled her into the jacket Nell had given him.

  “Fine. You’ve done your good deed. Now beat it.”

  “Your brother and Nell are probably used to your spontaneous displays of rudeness.” He heard the scolding tone of his own voice, but the closed and stubborn look on her face told him that she deserved it. “However, I’d like an explanation.”

  “Rude?” She used both hands to shove him back two full steps. “You’ve got the nerve to call me rude after that interrogation at dinner?”

  “I recall a conversation at dinner, not an interrogation. Just hold on.” He grabbed her arms as Lucy, wanting to play, wiggled between them. “You don’t want to talk to me about my work, and I haven’t pressed you. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to talk to anybody else.”

  “You hook Nell, and you know it’s going to involve me. You talked to Lulu, and you damn well asked her questions about me.”

  “Ripley.” Patience, he warned himself. She wasn’t just angry, she was scared. “I never said I wouldn’t ask questions. I’m just not asking you. If you want control of what involves you, then talk to me. Otherwise, I have to use what I get secondhand.”

  “All of this was just to corner me.”

  He was a patient man by nature, but that patience had its limits. “You know better, just as you know saying that is an insult to both of us. So just can it.”

  “Just—”

  “I have feelings for you. It makes it complicated, but I’m dealing with it. And that aside, Ripley, you’re not the center of this. You’re only part of it. I’ll work around you or with you. It’s your choice.”

  “I won’t be used.”

  “Neither will I, as a target for your emotional storms.”

  He was right, bull’s-eye right, and she wavered. “I won’t be ogled like a sideshow.”

  “Ripley.” His voice gentled. “You’re not a freak. You’re a miracle.”

  “I don’t want to be either. Can’t you understand that?”

  “Yeah, I can. I know exactly what it’s like to be looked at as one or the other, or both at the same time. What can I tell you? All you can be is who and what you are.”

  Temper was gone. She couldn’t even find the pieces of it. He’d talked her down not because he wanted something but because he got it. At the core, he got it.

  “Maybe I didn’t think y
ou’d understand, you’d know. Maybe I should have. I guess being the big brain is a kind of magic, and it’s not always comfortable. How do you do it?” she demanded. “How do you stay so goddamn balanced?”

  “I’m not . . . Cut it out, Lucy.” Still gripping Ripley’s arms, he shifted as the dog barked and vibrated between them. Then he saw what had caught Lucy’s attention.

  She stood on the beach, as she had before. And she watched them. Her face was pale in the moonlight, her hair dark as the wind teased it. Her eyes seemed to glow against the night. Deeply green, deeply sad.

  The surf foamed up, spilled over her feet and ankles, but she made no sign of feeling the cold or wet. She simply stood, watched, and wept.

  “You see her,” Mac whispered.

  “I’ve seen her all my life.” Tired now, Ripley stepped away from him because it would be too easy, frighteningly easy, to step toward him. “I’ll let you know what I decide when I decide it. And I want to apologize for being rude and swiping at you, for mucking things up. But right now . . . I need to be by myself.”

  “I’ll walk you back.”

  “No. Thanks, but no. Come on, Lucy.”

  Mac stayed where he was, between two women. Both of them pulled at him.

  Ten

  Nell found it strange to knock on the door of a house where she’d once lived. Part of her still thought of the yellow cottage as hers.

  She had lived much longer in the white palace in California, and had never considered it hers. Unless it was to think of it as her prison, one she’d risked her own life to escape.

  But the little cottage by the wood had been hers for only a few months, and had given her some of the happiest moments of her life.

  Her first home, the place where she had begun to feel safe, and strong. The place where she and Zack had fallen in love.

  Even the terror she’d known there, the spilled blood, couldn’t spoil the sense of belonging that the little yellow cottage with its dollhouse rooms gave her.

  Still, she knocked, and waited politely on the front stoop until Mac opened the door.