Yesterday's Magic

by Beverly Long

  Jed had barely been able to eat for a month.

  Yeah, he remembered Becky. All she’d had to do was lift her skirt and he’d been a fool for her. And when his father had been a fool not once, but twice, for a woman, Jedidiah had thought of Becky more than once. He’d been on the same path. And perhaps that’s what had scared him the most.

  Maybe he was more like his father than he thought.

  “This one puts poor Becky to shame,” Yancy continued. “Keep a man busy all night running his hands through that hair.”

  So Yancy had seen Bella and felt inclined to want to discuss her. “My hands got enough to do,” Jed said. He didn’t need to be admitting that he’d been thinking about that wild hair of hers for most of his morning ride.

  “I’m sure,” Yancy said, his tone agreeable. “Well, she’ll have plenty of takers. Hell, I won two hands of cards ‘cause of her.”

  Jed was starting to get a feeling that this conversation, like most conversations he’d had lately with Yancy, was going from bad to worse. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about when she came into the saloon this morning. She’s got a way about her that makes a man take notice.”

  He didn’t have the strength to pretend to disagree. “What was she doing in the saloon?”

  “I don’t know. Seemed to me like she was looking for someone.”

  Just like she’d been looking for someone to get off the stage. Wasn’t that interesting? “She find ‘em?”

  “I don’t know. After a minute or so, she struck up a conversation with Delilah. Then she left. But not before I’d won four dollars. Thank her for me tonight, will you?”

  “Tonight?”

  “You’re taking her to the dance, right? That’s what Thomas Bean’s mother told Ed Hossmin’s wife.”

  Jed could feel his ears turn hot. They must have been turning red too, because Yancy, who’d been witness to his ears turning red more than once, started to laugh. He sounded about ten.

  “Yeah, Jedidiah. You got ‘em talking now.”

  ***

  Jed purposely walked into the Mercantile like he didn’t have a care in the world. He nodded at old Mrs. Hammersmitt who stood in front of the canned goods and then he nonchalantly ran his fingers across a stack of catalogs from stores back east. And he thought he was doing a fine job of pretending that everything was fine, until he came up short at the sight of the table where Freida kept her sewing things.

  It was orderly and arranged in such a manner that a person could easily find what they’d come looking for. He didn’t know much about colors and how they all went together, but it was pleasant to the eye. That was for sure.

  She’d done this. She of the wild hair and dangerous black eyes. And now she had the nerve to come up and stand next to him, like she hadn’t done a very odd thing just five minutes ago.

  “Morning, Sheriff,” she said, her voice low and slightly raspy. It pulled at his gut, making him forget about being hungry. For food, that is. “Can I help you with something?” she asked.

  Oh, yeah. Two or three times of something. That might take the edge off the wanting.

  He ground his back teeth together. He was his father’s son. But the son didn’t need to make the father’s mistakes. “Just looking,” he said.

  She frowned at him. “Well, then, there’s a lovely plaid there on the end that would look just great with your eyes.”

  She sure had a smart mouth. Full. Ripe. Probably sweet. Christ, what the hell was he doing? Thinking about her mouth was sending him in a direction that was only going to cause him trouble. Knowing the power her scent had over him, he took two steps to the left and turned slightly, so that he faced a pile of mops and brooms. He squatted down, as if his intent was to examine the straw bristles. “Been busy this morning?” he asked.

  “Steady.”

  He looked up, wanting to see her face when he asked the next question. “Did you manage to get out for your noon meal?”

  “Why Sheriff, are you concerned that I’m going to waste away to nothing?” she asked. “Or perhaps be too weak to dance?”

  She was something. “I just know that Freida has trouble getting away at times,” he said.

  “I didn’t need lunch. Aunt Freida fixed me a huge breakfast,” she added. “I did step out for some fresh air a few minutes ago.”

  Yancy had said she’d been inside the saloon. The air wasn’t usually all that fresh there. “I had my share of fresh air today,” he said. If he could get the conversation to continue, she’d eventually make a slip. Everybody did when they were edging around the truth.

  “Well, I’d understand if you’re too tired to go tonight.”

  Was she hoping that he’d make the same offer? Was she concerned about having to spend the night watching her words, guarding her explanations? “I hope you’re not planning on backing out, Mrs. Wainwright?”

  “Of course not,” she said, her voice flat.

  He’d have laughed but nothing seemed all that funny to him right now. She was acting unusual. Maybe it was simply that she was odd. But he didn’t think so. Something wasn’t right. He’d just have to stick close to her until he found out what that was. “I’ll come round Freida’s shortly after five. There’s supper before the dancing begins and we don’t want to be late.”

  ***

  Aunt Freida closed the store at four. She checked the lock on the back door twice and then led Bella out the front door. She pulled it shut and turned the key to lock it. “Nobody expects me to be open late tonight. Not with the dance and all."

  It was like senior prom and everybody needed time to get an up-do. Bella smiled and pulled her hat lower onto her head. Even as a teenager, her hair had been too heavy for an up-do and she hadn’t had the patience to have that many pins put in. She’d been a rebel and worn her hair down.

  She was going to have to try harder tonight to conform, to not draw any unnecessary suspicion. She’d been stupid earlier when she’d gone into the saloon; it hadn’t dawned on her until she’d been inside that proper ladies probably didn’t drink in the afternoon. She wasn’t sorry though that she’d managed to connect with Delilah. The young woman was one of the key players in the crazy drama and meeting her had made Bella feel as if she was making some progress. She’d been in Mantosa for two days, which meant she had four left. Time was not her friend.

  Even so, now all she could do was follow Aunt Freida’s lead. The two of them walked briskly to the wagon that was waiting at the entrance of the livery. “Thank you kindly, Wymer,” Aunt Freida said. “Are you going to the dance tonight?”

  “I am. You know it’s been three years now since Miriam passed on. I didn’t go to the Harvest Social that first year. But since then I’ve tried to make it. It’s a good opportunity to see neighbors that I don’t get to see regularly.”

  “Yes, it is,” Aunt Freida said. She glanced at Bella and took a deep breath. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Wymer shuffled his feet. “Why, if you two ladies need an escort, I’d be much obliged to do the honor.”

  Aunt Freida shook her head. “Thank you kindly but I will be attending with Thomas Bean and my niece will be in the company of Jedidiah.”

  Wymer rubbed a hand across his weathered face. “You don’t say. I believe it’s going to be a right interesting evening.”

  They climbed into the wagon and Aunt Freida clicked her tongue. Once they were far enough that Wymer couldn’t hear the conversation, Bella turned to her aunt. “You deliberately told him about Thomas and that I’d be attending with the sheriff. Why?”

  “So the gossips could get a head start. Wymer loves to spread news. This way others won’t spend the night gawking at us. Neither Thomas nor Jedidiah would like that.”

  “I guess this Harvest Social must be quite the event. I’m glad you didn’t have to miss it on my account.”

  “People look forward to it. They’ve worked hard to get their crops in and they know that once winter hi
ts, it’ll be difficult to socialize. It gives couples a chance to have a night out and there are always a fair number of single men there, too.”

  “But not single women?”

  Her aunt frowned. “That would hardly be proper,” she said. “Does that happen back in Ohio?”

  She was from Ohio. Good to know. “Oh, no. Things are pretty much the same back there.”

  “You’ll have a good time with Jedidiah,” her aunt said.

  She wasn’t so sure. Not that the man wasn’t a piece of eye candy. And if Bart was right, he could dance, too. But he had an intensity about him that made her uncomfortable. And he’d acted so odd when he’d come by the store this afternoon. Of course, she’d been a little frazzled, too. When she’d seen the woman get off the stage, she’d been sure it was the real Merribelle. She’d been ready to intercept her and say—well, she had no idea what—but thankfully the woman’s children had piled off the stage at that exact moment.

  They rode along in silence and within a few minutes, Aunt Freida was pulling the wagon into the yard. She pulled tight on the reins and the horses stopped. They tossed their heads and white steam rose in the air.

  “I’ll put the rig away,” her aunt said. She folded back the blanket that they’d used to cover their legs and Bella felt the chill run all the way up her spine.

  Her aunt stepped off the wagon and turned to offer a hand to Bella. “On my way in, I’ll get us some water. I figure you might want to wash up before you go.”

  Wash up? What she really wanted was a long, hot shower, an electric blanket, and a really good glass of white wine. “That sounds great,” Bella said, trying hard to put a little enthusiasm in her voice. “But I’ll get the water. You don’t need to wait on me.”

  “I don’t mind, Bella.”

  “I know. But please, just go on inside. I can’t wait to see this dress you were telling Elizabeth about.”

  Aunt Freida took a step toward the barn door but then stopped. She looked over her shoulder. “You don’t think I’m an old fool, do you?” she asked, her tone suddenly serious. “I mean, I’ve been married and had children. And here I am, acting like a young girl on her first date.”

  Bella shook her head and wished desperately that Averil was here. She was the one who could always find the right words, could always say just the thing to make someone feel better. “I’m no expert on these things but here’s how I see it. You’ve got a new man, a pretty dress, and a place to wear it. Don’t think too much about it. Just enjoy it. There will be plenty of time to worry tomorrow.”

  It maybe wasn’t exactly right but it seemed to satisfy her aunt. The woman smiled. “Bella, you’re just what this old woman needed. I’m awfully glad your mother sent you in my direction.”

  Bella felt a pain in her chest and tried to dismiss it as cold air searing her lungs. But she knew it was really guilt bruising her heart. “I am too. Go take care of the horses. I’ll meet you inside in just a few minutes.”

  Bella pulled her scarf tighter and started off toward the pump. Her eyes watered, her nose ran, and the snow got into her shoes, causing her toes to feel even colder. Jedidiah McNeil was right—her shoes weren’t much use.

  She grabbed the handle of the tin bucket that hung from the pole near the pump. The cold burned through her gloves and maybe it was because she’d already been thinking about Averil, that she had a sudden memory of her and Averil, as children, playing on the monkey bars at school. She’d felt that same kind of cold that day through her gloves. Then Tommy Wottmer had double-dared her to put her tongue on the ice cold metal. She’d done it. Her tongue had, of course, gotten stuck and she’d been terrified. She yanked it off, leaving the top layer behind. She could still remember spitting out blood onto the fresh snow and the horrible taste it left in her mouth.

  However, before Bella could turn Tommy Wottmer into a snowflake, Averil had put her arm around her and led her back inside the school. “Don’t do it, Bella,” she warned, under her breath. “It was his dare but your mistake.”

  Sheriff McNeil had sort of dared her today. I hope you’re not planning on backing out?

  She wasn’t smooth like her father and she never knew exactly the right thing to say like her sister, but the one thing she wasn’t, was a coward.

  She pulled up the handle and with a few sharp pumps, water flowed into the bucket. Nope. Nobody dared Bella Fantini.

  Once the bucket was full, she grabbed the handle and lugged it to the house. She met up with her aunt just as the woman pulled the door shut on the barn. “Is it getting colder or is it just my imagination?” Bella asked.

  Aunt Freida nodded, opened the cabin door, and motioned Bella inside. “Make sure you take a couple extra blankets with you tonight. Jed can tuck you in and you’ll be warm enough.”

  The vision the words evoked came so swiftly, so intensely, that Bella almost dropped her bucket. There were blankets, all right. But no wagon. Just her, curled up on a thick quilt, in her Victoria Secret matching bra and panties. Candles burned on a nearby table and a roaring blaze in the fireplace warmed the room. She could smell the scent of fresh coffee. She was safe. And it was because of him.

  And him, the very sexy Sheriff McNeil, his hair tousled, his face looking weary, sat in a chair, hunched over, his forearms resting on his legs. He wore a plain tan shirt, open at the neck. His pants were dark and his gray socks had a small hole in the toe. His boots sat next to his chair.

  He was studying her and wanting was written all over his face.

  “Bella. Bella,” her aunt repeated, drawing Bella back. She struggled to hang on to the vision, to understand it better, but it was gone.

  “I said I’m going to light the stove and heat that water up a little,” Aunt Freida said. “Can you hand me the bucket?”

  “Uh…yes. Of course.” Bella’s movements were jerky but she managed to hand off the pail without spilling it. “I’m going to go…uh…try to do something with my hair,” she said, desperately needing to get to her room.

  He might have had need written on his face but she could feel her own need burning all the way to her core.

  She realized Aunt Freida was examining her with a look of concern. “I’ve never had much of a fair hand with doing up hair, Bella, but I’ll try to help as best as I can,” she offered.

  Good grief. Her aunt thought she was whacked-out because of a few stray hairs. “No problem,” Bella assured her. She opened the door of the small bedroom, shut it behind her, and collapsed on the bed.

  What would have caused her to have that vision? Her gift of sight had never been finely tuned, not like some other witches who followed good magic. But yet, this had been as clear as day.

  She’d been almost naked.

  She didn’t have any intention of getting naked with the sheriff.

  Did she?

  Oh, hell.

  She lay flat on her back, counting slowly, making herself take even, steady breaths. In. Out. In. Out.

  And the burning in her body turned into an ache between her legs. And she knew, quite suddenly, that the thoughts those two simple words—in, out—evoked, when she tied them with the vision of her lying on Jedidiah McNeils’s rug, would make her aunt’s hair turn absolutely gray. Overnight.

  She pushed herself up onto her elbows. Get a grip, Bella. Her father, Averil, untold others, were counting on her. She could not lose focus. She could not fail.

  She would not.

  Filled with fresh resolve, she sat up and leaned over to reach the small suitcase at the end of the bed. She opened the lid and pulled out the rose-colored dress on top. She stood, shook out the dress, and while her newly-found confidence didn’t crumble, it did start to peel at the edges.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It wasn’t that the dress wasn’t pretty. It was. The underskirt was a deep rose-colored satin or some similar material and it had layers of lighter-colored rose silk over it. It had a definite waist, a wide-scooped neckline, and when she turned it over, there was a
row of tiny pearl buttons up the back.

  She hadn’t paid any attention to the clothes her sister had whipped up. This, too, was no doubt a replica of a dress from one of her sister’s romance novels. Given the fact that Averil favored regency-set historicals, the dresses were a whole lot fancier than Bella might have picked if she was doing the designing.

  She favored jeans and jackets and the occasional mid-calf skirt with boots and a sweater.

  She dropped the garment. She had a closet full of clothes at home but here, things were significantly more limited. She hadn’t wanted to hassle with a big suitcase. She had the tan blouse and brown skirt that she’d arrived in. She had the yellow dress she’d worn earlier today. And she had this. And given that she’d told her aunt that she had a dress for the dance, she was pretty much stuck wearing this one.

  Whatever. She tossed her hair, in much the same way she’d done when she was fourteen and she’d felt that she had to do something totally ridiculous.

  She unbuttoned the dress she had on, let it slip to the floor, and with very efficient movements, tugged the rose silk over her head. She adjusted it around her body and managed to get all the buttons done.

  When she looked at her refection in the small mirror near the water pitcher, she realized that if she was very, very careful, and didn’t lean over too much, she might manage to keep her breasts inside her dress.

  Evidently the heroine of Averil’s romance novel had been an A-cup.

  She was just about to take off the dress when she heard a knock on the front door. Damn. Jedidiah McNeil hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he wanted to get there in time for dinner. She’d have understood his impatience if he’d said there was happy hour first.

  She grabbed her hairbrush, yanked it through her hair a few times, and called it a night. At least with her hair down, it offered some additional coverage to her barely-covered breasts.