Bewitching Hour

by Stuart, Anne

  In the end she almost crashed into him. Rounding a corner, she saw the taillights of the car, jammed into the wall of snow ahead of them, and she slammed on her brakes, skidding sideways, heading directly toward the driver’s seat of the Jaguar, directly toward Nick’s waiting figure.

  It took endless moments as she lifted her panicked foot off the brakes and began to pump them, gently, as she’d always been told to do and had never quite mastered. It would be a hell of a note, she thought, with her mind floating miles away, if she smashed into him and killed him while she was trying to save his life.

  The Subaru slowed, slowed, slowed, sliding like a graceful figure skater, crossing the last few feet and coming to a gentle, delicate stop against the door of the Jaguar with no more sound than the gentle kiss of metal on metal.

  Nick turned and glared at her as she sat there, dazed. With shaking hands she turned the key, only to find that the car hadn’t stalled out after all. The starter shrieked in protest, and she shifted it into reverse, backing away, slowly, carefully, taking green paint with her.

  It was a colorful gash down the side of the Jaguar, a rip in its elegant hide, but barely a dent to mar it. Nick moved, very tall, very angry in the moonlit darkness of the mountain, and stalked over toward her.

  She sat unmoving, not even opening the window. He yanked open the door and pulled her out. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “Wrecking your car?” she offered, her voice a nervous thread.

  “It’s not wrecked.” He didn’t even bother to give it a cursory glance. “Steve can tow it out tomorrow. I want to know how you knew I’d be up here.”

  “The Muller sisters said you were going to find Everett, and I didn’t think it was safe . . .” she faltered.

  “Leona said it would be.”

  “Leona hasn’t been up here in a while. Besides, I told her it would be passable until after Christmas, but then, I thought about it and realized it wouldn’t be, and when I heard you were coming up here I figured you might not make it . . .” She was stammering and stumbling as the lies bubbled forth, and it was all a waste of breath.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said flatly. “I think you found out Leona was trying to set me up and you came after me. I don’t know if you did it to save me or to keep Leona from making an even worse mistake.”

  “Leona didn’t realize—”

  “Why did you come, Sybil?” The anger was gone. His eyes were dark and glittering in the moonlight, his face silvered and dangerous.

  “I didn’t want you to freeze to death,” she said, shivering a little herself.

  He just looked at her. “Then come here and warm me up.”

  Her feet crossed the short space that separated them, and she went into his arms. She was right, he was wearing city clothes and city shoes, and he was cold, so cold. She opened her down coat to press her own warmth against him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him closer. It seemed only natural for her mouth to reach up for his, only natural to kiss him, breathe her warm, sweet breath into his mouth, rub her tongue against his, her hips against his, her legs against his.

  She found she was shivering, not with cold, but with another basic need that threatened to overpower her, and she wished it were a hot summer’s night instead of hovering around zero.

  Nick lifted his head, and his breath was frosty in the night air. “I think I’m warm,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I think I’m burning up. Let’s get out of here.”

  Sybil took a deep breath, looking around her. “We’re going to have to back all the way down the mountain.”

  “That’s all right,” he said with the ghost of a smile. “As long as you let me drive.”

  “I’ll let you drive,” she said. I’ll let you do anything, she thought. And moving away, she climbed into the passenger seat and waited.

  Chapter Eighteen

  IT WAS A LONG, slow drive back down the mountain. Sybil stayed silent, sitting there beside him as he maneuvered the treacherous twists and turns of the narrow roadway. The heater was on full blast, making a small dent in the rapidly chilling air, and she shivered slightly, pulling her unzipped coat closer around her. She hated to think of what might have happened, of Nick trying to walk the five or so miles down the mountain to the nearest farmhouse.

  Once he’d made it to the bottom of the hill he turned the Subaru deftly, heading onto the straightaway with his eyes trained outward. She spared a cautious glance at his profile. It looked cold and severe, grim and unyielding, and she shivered again.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

  He didn’t spare her a glance. “Do you? I thought you said your psychic abilities were extremely limited.”

  “A maple tree has enough psychic ability to guess what you’re thinking,” she snapped, flustered. “She made a mistake, Nick.”

  His disbelieving snort somehow sounded elegant.

  “I’m sure Leona had no idea the road was impassable. She doesn’t drive up this way; she wouldn’t know that it was already closed.”

  “Really?” His tone was unpromising.

  “I know that’s hard to believe when someone is as paranoid as you are, but it was entirely coincidental. Leona isn’t the monster you seem to think she is; I’m sure she just wanted to help you out.”

  “Help me out of this mortal coil, don’t you mean?”

  “Don’t be absurd. You wouldn’t have died, anyway. You’d have made it to a farmhouse before you froze to death.”

  “Unless I went off the cliff.”

  Sybil shivered again. “She doesn’t know the terrain. It’s just lucky the Mullers told me where you were heading. Leona will be beside herself when she finds out what happened.”

  “Beside herself that I didn’t go over the cliff.”

  “You’re going to believe what you want to believe,” she said wearily. “How can I convince you that she meant no harm?”

  Nick turned to look at her, his face illuminated by the bright winter moonlight reflecting off the snow. “I should take everything she told me at face value?” he countered softly.

  There was a trap, she knew it, but she was too overwrought to guess what it was. “Absolutely,” she said.

  “Then if what she told me was true, why did you leave me the message about Everett Kellogg?” he said in a silky voice. “According to Leona, you told her to tell me about him. It was your suggestion I visit him today, before the snows got worse. It was your suggestion that I take the Notch road, and not bother to wait until morning. What happened, Sybil? Did you change your mind, decide maybe it wasn’t time for me to meet my doom?”

  She was shocked into a profound, utter silence. “You don’t believe that,” she said finally, her voice rusty.

  “Give me an alternative. I’ll be interested to see how you do it without implicating your good buddy. Either Leona lied to me and did her best to get me killed or at least incapacitated, or you’re feeling a great deal more hostile than I imagined.”

  “Neither.”

  He glanced at her, and his thin mouth twisted in a smile that was only half cynical. “Okay. Let’s hear your explanation.”

  She took a deep breath. “It’s very simple,” she said. “Leona must have misunderstood.”

  “Sure she did.”

  “I . . . we talked about Everett this week,” she said, thanking heaven that much was true. “And we wondered whether it was too late for you to get up to see him. We were going to check with the people who live out this way, to see if the road was still open, before we told you. You’re so headstrong you’d have come up here anyway, even if I told you it was impassable.”

  “I would have done it in broad daylight, driving slowly, with the proper clothes on in case I got stuck. So you and Leona were going to check and se
e whether it was safe, were you?”

  “Yes,” she said, grateful he was swallowing it. Enough of it was true—Leona had to have misunderstood the dangers of the situation. Leona was so certain her dowsing was infallible; she really would be horrified when she found out the danger Nick had been in. Wouldn’t she?

  “You’re lying.”

  She swiveled around in the seat, staring at him as shock and hurt sliced deep within her. “How could you believe that I’d want to hurt you? I want you to go away and leave me alone, but I want you to go in one piece, of your own accord. How could you think . . . ?”

  “I don’t think you sent me up there, Sybil,” he said as he turned the Subaru down her driveway. “I think you’re covering up for Leona, and even worse, I think you’re still trying to convince yourself that she wasn’t trying to kill me.”

  “Nick . . .”

  “But right now I don’t give a shit. I should thank you for coming after me—you probably saved my life—but at the moment I’m too pissed. I’m taking your car, whether you like it or not. I’m going home and take a hot bath, and then I’ll call the garage and maybe, just maybe, the police.”

  “How can I convince you—”

  “You can’t.” He slammed the car to a stop, turned off the ignition and glared at her.

  She considered pleading with him, considered and then abandoned the idea. He’d do what he had to do; nothing she said would change his mind. She’d already come up with the best excuses, and none of them worked. Worst of all, she couldn’t rid herself of the suspicion that he might be right.

  “When will I get my car back? I have to work tomorrow.”

  “Call Leona,” he snapped.

  She unhooked her seat belt and slid out of the seat, shivering in the icy night air. She could hear the dogs howling and scrabbling at the front door in their desperation to get out and greet them properly. “Better get out of here fast,” she said in a subdued voice, “or the dogs will follow you halfway home.”

  There was no sound from the aging engine as she headed toward her front door. She could feel Nick’s eyes on her, but she didn’t look back. The back seat of the car was filled with the Christmas presents she’d bought that day in Burlington, and they could damned well stay there. The sooner he was out of there the better.

  The dogs swarmed over her, yipping a joyous greeting, wiggling and twirling in midair in their enthusiasm. They made so much noise she didn’t even realize that Nick had come up behind her.

  “You’re half frozen,” he said gruffly over the barking of the dogs. “And so am I.” He pushed her, gently enough, through the open door, and the dogs swarmed after them.

  At least the house was still relatively warm. The temperature had only just begun to plummet, the banked fire in the wood stove had kept the heat at a bearable level, and it took her no more than a few nudges with the poker and a couple of pieces of dry wood to get a satisfying blaze going. Closing the cast-iron door, she turned to look up at Nick.

  He was standing there, towering over her crouching body, tall and dark and menacing. He was dressed in black—black cords, black sweater, a long black topcoat better suited to city streets over everything. He’d unbuttoned the coat and was in the midst of shrugging it off when he caught her quizzical eye.

  “I thought you wanted a hot bath,” she said.

  “I could always take one here.”

  “No, you can’t,” she said.

  A faint smile creased the stern contours of his dark face. “Are you throwing me out?”

  She rose to her full height, her muscles and bones protesting the cold and her own weariness. “I’ll give you coffee and cognac to warm you,” she said grudgingly. “And then you can leave.”

  “I can think of better ways to get warm.”

  “I’m sure you can,” she said. “But I’m not in the mood for a little slap and tickle right now.” She began unwinding her tattered scarf from around her neck. She’d left the Christmas tree lights on, and their glow was an unwanted romantic touch in the cluttered, cozy living room. With chilled fingers she began to unzip her down coat, ignoring the cloud of feathers that floated around her.

  He moved so quickly she had no time to duck, if she had even wanted to. His hands brushed her numb ones away, unfastening the coat and pushing it off her shoulders. It landed in a feathery pile at their feet, but they both ignored it.

  “What are you in the mood for, Saralee?” he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

  “To be left alone.”

  She didn’t sound terribly convincing, and he made no move to release her. “What if I said I don’t believe you?”

  “If I had any sense at all I’d mean it.” She pushed against him, a token protest. To her dismay he released her, moving across the room to stand looking at the Christmas tree.

  “Do you have any sense?” The question was idly spoken; he seemed more interested in the way the silver tinsel fluttered against the green spruce than in her answer.

  “Sometimes I doubt it. And sometimes I wonder if I wouldn’t have been far better off if you hadn’t started messing with potions, if Dulcy hadn’t decided to interfere, if I just weren’t so damned gullible,” she said, her voice raw with the effort her honesty cost her.

  He turned his face from the tree, and she could see the tiny white lights reflected in his golden eyes. “You think magic is to blame for this? You think spells and potions and Dulcy’s disputed powers are responsible for the attraction between us?” His voice mocked her. “You are too gullible.”

  “It certainly wasn’t common sense that made me fall in love with you,” she shot back, stung, too angry to catch the words before they flew.

  He was very still now, watching and waiting in the dimly lighted room. The fire in the wood stove crackled cheerfully; the Christmas lights danced around their motionless figures. “In love with me?” he echoed, startled. As if considering something new, she thought bitterly. “As in get married, have babies and live happily ever after fall in love?” he asked.

  Sybil was busy cursing her unruly tongue. “I never said anything about that.”

  “I did.”

  She stared at him, astonished. She shook her head, as if to clear away the mist of confusion, and sank down in the corner of the sofa, curling in on herself in an instinctive posture of defensiveness. “Don’t play games, Nick,” she said. She’d wanted her voice to be cool, sharp. It came out absurdly wistful.

  “I’m not playing games.” Still he moved no closer. “I’m asking you to define your terms. You just said you’re in love with me. What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m lonely and depressed and ready to fall for the first good-looking man who comes my way,” she said somewhat desperately.

  His eyes were alight with cynical amusement. “So at least I qualify as a good-looking man.”

  “But you’re the wrong man for me. We both know it. All my life I’ve been programmed for someone like you; I even married someone like you when I was too stupid to know what I was doing. But it didn’t work, and it wouldn’t work this time. I need someone gentle, supportive, undemanding, someone who shares my beliefs and interests, who loves the outdoors and winter and the simple life. I don’t need an upscale, cynical professor and a yuppie lifestyle.”

  “I don’t remember offering.”

  “You didn’t. I’m just making sure you don’t.”

  He nodded, the grin vanished. “So what you’re looking for is a cross between Mr. Rogers and Frosty the Snowman, maybe with a touch of Saint Francis on the side. And you think that will make you happy?”

  “It’s what I need.”

  “Bullshit.” He crossed the room in two long strides, and he was looming over her, all frustration and sexual menace. “I’m what you want, you idiot, but you think you don
’t need me. I’m what you need, but you tell yourself you don’t want me. You sit there and lie to yourself, telling yourself some mythical creature will solve all your problems when I’m right here, waiting for you.”

  His voice was clipped, furious, as he continued. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to grow up. Sooner or later you’re going to stop playing these mystical parlor games and accept the fact that what we think is true, what we want to be true, isn’t always the answer. You’d walk all over your dream lover, you’d get bored with him in a matter of days, if you ever found him at all, and as long as you keep looking for him, you’re safe from the demands of real life, you’re safe from me.”

  She didn’t move, didn’t say a word, just sat there, staring up at him, as the words lashed over her. “Well, lady,” he said, slowly straightening up, “I’ll give you what you think you want. And I’ll give you what you think you need. I’ll leave you alone.”

  She managed to pull herself out of her dazed stupor. “Good,” she said, her voice a whisper.

  His mouth twisted into a dour smile. “I’ll be waiting, Saralee. But I won’t wait forever.” Without another word he slammed out of the house.

  She sat there, listening to the sound of her Subaru as it sped up the shallow incline of her driveway, listened until it faded into the distance. The room was warm; it was time to damp down the stove. It was now just two days before Christmas, her tree was beautiful, and she had just gotten rid of a nuisance.

  He’d forgotten his coat-it was lying at her feet. Reaching down, she pulled it around her, wrapping the warmth and scent of it around her, and leaning her face against the sofa, she shut her eyes and wept.