by Tara Sheets
“What step?”
“The one that goes after ‘jumping in bed’ and before ‘sleep.’”
Emma grinned and began to comment, but the porch light flickered a warning.
The hair on the back of Hunter’s neck stood on end. Something was wrong.
Emma gave a choked gasp. “The window.”
The narrow glass window that ran parallel to the front door was smashed. A surge of adrenaline shot through him and he stepped in front of her.
“Wait here,” he commanded.
Emma shot him an incredulous look. “No freaking way.”
Of course she wouldn’t wait. This was Emma he was dealing with.
She ignored his scowl and set Buddy in the grass to roam the yard, where he’d be safe.
“At least let me go first,” he said.
Emma looked like she was going to protest, but—thank God for small mercies—she stepped aside and let him lead. A crash came from the kitchen, and when they reached the porch, the door swung silently open for them.
“Thanks, house,” Hunter whispered. So, yeah. He talked to houses now. What of it? They crept toward the kitchen, then stopped in the doorway and stared.
Rodney Winters was rifling through the cupboards, flinging dishes behind him and cursing as they crashed to the floor. He was stupid drunk; that much was clear. The scent of unwashed male, whiskey, and cigarettes permeated the air.
Hunter drew his phone and dailed 911, reflexively stepping in front of Emma to keep her safe.
One of the kitchen drawers flew open, clipping Rodney’s hip. He turned and ripped the drawer out, tossing it across the tiled floor. “Damned haunted house,” he muttered, then yelled, “Where’s the money?”
He yanked another drawer out and flung it across the tiles. The curtains in the kitchen window rustled and doors slammed throughout the house.
“Rodney, stop!” Emma pushed her way past Hunter.
Adrenaline spiked and Hunter reached for her, dropping the phone before he could answer the operator. He didn’t want Emma anywhere near the man. Over the years, Hunter had seen his fair share of people who had drunk too much and gone off the deep end. In this state, Rodney was dangerous.
Emma wiggled out of Hunter’s grasp as Rodney turned bloodshot eyes on them. His face contorted into a sneer, then darkened into something sharp and menacing. “Where’s the money, Emma? There’s nothing in the tin and I know you have some. You always have a stash.” His gaze darted around, jerking from her to Hunter and back again.
Hunter studied Rodney, noting the twitching limbs, the dilated eyes. He had to be on something stronger than just alcohol.
“I see you’ve brought your friend home with you,” Rodney sneered. “I had her first, asshole. Back when she used to be sweet. Isn’t that right, Angel? Tell him how good you used to be for me.”
Hunter felt his vision go dark around the edges. He took a step closer, hands clenched into fists.
“Shut up, Rodney,” Emma said.
“Where’s the money?” Rodney spat. He lurched forward, grabbing Emma roughly by the arms, shaking her.
She cried out.
A white-hot fury sliced through Hunter. He launched himself at Rodney, backing him against the kitchen cabinets. “Don’t touch her,” he said flatly. “Ever.”
Rodney shoved at him, but Hunter didn’t budge. He knew he had the upper hand, but he couldn’t afford to let his guard down. Rodney was a weaker man, but drugs made a person unpredictable. Hunter wrestled against Rodney’s flailing arms, pinning him to the counter.
With a frantic twist, Rodney whipped his arm out, catching Hunter on the side of the head with a plate.
A sharp pain seared across the side of Hunter’s head. He reeled backward as shattered porcelain rained over the kitchen floor.
“No!” Emma cried.
Rodney laughed, dropping the broken dish he had used as a weapon.
Hunter caught himself against the edge of the kitchen island as blood spilled from the gash on his head, filling his eyes.
Rodney yanked something from an upended drawer. The butcher knife flashed sharp and silver in his hand, then he launched himself at Hunter.
Hunter twisted sideways, but a hot, excruciating pain spiked through the side of his rib cage as Rodney shoved forward, slamming Hunter back against the countertop.
Emma screamed.
Hunter blindly reached for something to use as a weapon. Anything. A small glass dome with a single cupcake on it. It was the only thing within reach. He grappled, knocking the lid to the floor in a shower of broken glass. His hand made contact with the platter, and he hurled it at Rodney with all the strength he had left.
The glass platter hit Rodney’s face with a solid crack.
Rodney roared and dropped the knife. He grabbed his nose, blood spurting between his fingers. “You broke my nose,” he bellowed in a hoarse voice that hitched on a gurgle. “I’ll kill you for that.”
Hunter kicked the knife across the tiles, just as the room tilted sideways and he slumped onto the floor. He was vaguely aware of Emma throwing herself over him. He wanted to shield her, to protect her, but his limbs were too heavy and he couldn’t get up.
“Don’t try to move,” Emma cried.
Through slitted eyes, Hunter watched Rodney wiping bits of frosting and cake from his face and mouth.
“This thing tastes like shit,” Rodney spat. “No wonder your business is going under.”
“Get out of my house.” Emma slowly stood, her voice shaking with the fury of a thousand storms. A swirling wind blew in through the open window and Hunter thought he heard whispers joining with the sound of Emma’s voice. “Leave and never return,” she said. “In this, my will be done.”
The wind grew louder and more frenzied until it seemed to spin around the kitchen like a vortex. Broken bits of dishes scattered on the floor and Hunter could feel the force of it as it swept through the room.
The sound of police cars pierced through the night outside.
Rodney didn’t try to run. He stayed frozen in place, licking at the bits of frosting and cake clinging to his mouth. He had a confused, stunned look on his face.
Hunter’s vision began to blur and everything grew colder. He blinked, focusing on Emma’s face above him. She was crying. He lifted one hand and tried to touch her hair.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. His eyelids felt heavy. He wanted to tell her so many things, but he couldn’t focus.
Police officers poured into the kitchen. Someone was reading Rodney his rights. The last thing Hunter saw was Emma’s face. She was leaning over him saying something over and over. He wanted to reply, but the room grew dark around the edges and then there was silence.
Chapter Thirty
Hunter floated in the space between wakefulness and sleep. Milestones of his life ebbed and flowed around him; snippets of faded memories. The scent of lemon oil on the polished hardwood floors of his house when he was very young. His father’s impatient smile as Hunter showed him he had learned to ride a bike. The nanny teaching him table manners. His mother’s pearls, yanked off in a drunken argument with his father, the white beads scattering and bouncing off the floor. The strawberry bubblegum taste of his first kiss in middle school and the squeaky sound of tennis shoes on the gymnasium floor.
Then there were other memories from when he grew older; the suntan lotion scent of a college girlfriend on a trip to the beach. The noisy, colorful jumble of patrons in pubs and restaurants. The sleek, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Puget Sound, and a woman standing in front of them, her lips pursed in judgment. Melinda, his ex-girlfriend. There was nothing warm or comforting about her. She had always been calculating, and cold. Hunter wondered how he had ever thought her desirable.
He struggled through the haze to the only memory that mattered: Emma.
Latching on to the thought of her, he willed her face to appear in his mind. Clear gray eyes, soft skin, a riot of golden hair. A
smile so genuine and true that everything else faded away. She was the only thing that mattered. When he saw Rodney grab and shake her, he had wanted to tear the man apart. The force of his emotions should have alarmed him, but it didn’t. Hunter realized in that moment what he should have admitted to himself sooner: He loved Emma Holloway. He hadn’t realized how much until the moment he thought he could truly lose her. And no matter what came next, he needed to let her know.
Hunter shifted on the bed, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. He could hear the soft whir of a machine near his head, and the rhythmic footsteps of someone pacing the room. With infuriating slowness, he focused on the light behind his eyelids, and willed himself to wake up.
* * *
Emma paced the tiny hospital room, glancing at Hunter as he lay sleeping on the bed. It had been a heart-wrenching several hours, but the doctor had assured her he was going to be okay. The knife had gone through his left side. He had lost a lot of blood, but thankfully, no serious damage to vital organs. She took the seat next to his hospital bed and softly stroked his forearm.
The news that Hunter was going to be okay made her cry all over again. She now knew there was no amount of magic that could ever make her stop feeling what she felt for him. Even if the stupid cupcake had succeeded, she would never love another person the way she loved him. Though the magic spell hadn’t worked out the way she planned, it did work to her advantage in the end. Rodney had been hauled off by the police, and he was being transferred to prison where he’d stay locked up for a very long time.
A nurse poked her head in the doorway. “Ms. Holloway? There’s someone here to see you.”
“Me?” Emma asked. Who would come to see her? Juliette, Gertie, and Molly had already visited with flowers and kisses and hugs of reassurance. There was no one else Emma knew who would come to the hospital. Hunter’s mother had been contacted, but she was somewhere in Europe, and his father hadn’t been available.
Emma glanced up as Bethany Andrews stepped into the room.
“Bethany.” Emma could barely hide her shock at seeing the other woman. “What are you doing here?”
Bethany jerked out her hand. She was holding a bouquet of carnations from the hospital gift shop downstairs. The tag was still on it but she had made an effort, which was mind-boggling.
Emma reached out and took them.
“I just came to say something, and then I’ll go,” Bethany said. She straightened the hem of her fuchsia top, yanking it down over her painted-on jeggings. “I came to apologize.”
Emma eyed her warily. A pig may have just flown past the window. “What?”
Bethany crossed her arms, her wrists jangling with charm bracelets. “I said some things to Rodney when we were drinking at O’Malley’s Pub the other night. It was the night he vandalized your shop. I think it may have been my fault.”
Emma shook her head, confused. “How was that your fault?”
Bethany pressed her lips together, then rushed on. “Look. I was angry because I wanted Hunter but he wasn’t interested, all right? Apparently, he wants”—her perfect forehead creased as she swept Emma up and down, clearly baffled—“you.”
Emma had no idea what to say. “I don’t understand.”
Bethany heaved a sigh. “Listen. I was at O’Malley’s that night, and Rodney showed up. We hung out and talked for a couple of hours, and we were drinking. Drinking a lot, okay?” She glared at Emma as if she wanted to make that part very clear. “Anyway, I said some things, and he said some things. And I mentioned something about how you put all your money into your stupid cupcake shop.”
Emma crossed her arms. If Bethany came to apologize, she was doing a crap job of it.
“I only meant that it was all you had,” Bethany rushed to add. “And you didn’t have much else going for you.” She didn’t seem to realize her explanation wasn’t helping.
“What are you getting at, Bethany? Just spit it out.”
Bethany looked taken aback by Emma’s tone. She scowled and tossed a lock of hair from her shoulders. “I’m trying to say I think I may have planted the idea in Rodney’s head. The idea that you kept all your money in your cupcake shop, or something. I never thought he’d go breaking in and ruining the place. And then what he did to Hunter after the festival . . .” She gestured to Hunter sleeping in the bed. “I’m just sorry it happened. And I wanted you to know I didn’t mean to say things that would make Rodney go and do that.”
Clearly, Bethany wasn’t used to apologizing. She was glaring and tapping her foot, as if she was annoyed with herself for stooping so low as to apologize to a Holloway.
Emma had to hand it to the woman. At least she was trying. “Rodney is responsible for his own actions. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I didn’t really think it was,” Bethany assured her. She cocked a hip and placed a manicured hand on her waist. “Anyway, there’s the flowers.” She pointed to the bouquet Emma was holding.
“Thanks,” Emma said. “I’ll make sure Hunter gets them.”
Bethany rolled her eyes again and gave her a look that said she was dumber than dirt. “They’re not for him.”
Emma’s mouth opened in a surprise.
Bethany glanced around the room, avoiding Emma’s gaze. “I just thought, you know. I’m sorry about what Rodney did, and what happened to Hunter. Anyway, I’m glad he’s going to be okay and I hope you guys are . . . happy.” She grimaced. “Or, whatever.” She let out a frustrated breath. “Look, I have to go. Enjoy the flowers, all right?” She turned to leave.
“Wait,” Emma said.
Bethany spun around, scowling. “What?”
Yeah, they weren’t going to be BFFs anytime soon. “Thank you for letting me know,” Emma said quietly. “And none of it was your fault.”
After Bethany left, Emma walked over to the bed and glanced down at Hunter.
The sight of him, so vulnerable with the IV tube in his arm, made the reality of what had happened come crashing back. She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. Whatever happened next didn’t matter. All that mattered was he was alive.
Her head throbbed and her eyes felt raw from crying. There was no getting around it. She loved him so much, it hurt. Seeing him lying on her kitchen floor, his torso covered in blood, had been the most terrifying thing she had ever witnessed. The thought of losing him made it hard to breathe. It wasn’t right. No one should have this much power over a person, but he had it over her. He mattered more to her than anything else in the world. And she had almost lost him.
“When you wake up,” she said shakily, “I’m going to kill you.”
A choked cough.
Startled, Emma’s gaze flew to his face. Bright green eyes were fixed on her, and he was laughing.
Emma jumped up from the chair and leaned over him.
“This is what I have to look forward to?” he wheezed.
She bent and kissed his face. Kissed it again. “You scared me to death. I thought you weren’t going to make it.”
He reached a hand up and settled it lightly on her head. “I’m okay,” he whispered. “I’m still here.”
A tidal wave of guilt washed over her. “But you almost died. You could have! And it would have all been my fault.”
“How is any of this your fault?” He softly stroked her head.
Emma took a shaky breath. “Listen to me. There’s something you need to know. I haven’t been honest with you. Juliette and I combined our magic to create that chocolate cupcake you smashed into Rodney’s face. It was meant for you. It was supposed to make you leave town and never come back. Because I never meant . . .” Emma pulled away from him, wringing her hands. She had to tell him the truth. “I never meant to fall in love with you.”
She couldn’t look at him, too afraid to see disappointment or anger or indifference on his face. Instead, she stared at the wall on the other side of his bed. “I was hurt when you asked me to manage your bakery. And then when you said you were going to liv
e in Seattle, and visit occasionally, I realized you didn’t feel the same about me. And that’s okay,” she rushed to add. “It’s totally fair. You never promised anything and I never thought I would want more. But I did.”
Emma hugged herself and continued. She still couldn’t look at him. “So I planned to make you go away forever, so I’d never have to see you again. I thought if you were out of sight, it would hurt less. But that’s where I was so wrong. It wouldn’t matter where you went. My feelings for you wouldn’t change. Not in this world, or the next.” She finally dared to glance at him, expecting condemnation in his eyes.
Instead she saw what looked like . . . resolve. What was he thinking? She went back to the chair next to his bed and sat down. “I’m so, so sorry. I will never try to spell you again. Your choices are your own, and I was wrong to try to control that.” She stared down at her hands, her cheeks burning. At least now she had finally told him the truth.
“Emma.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “You have bespelled me. And it has nothing to do with herbs and potions. Nothing to do with your recipe book or Juliette’s garden plants. I don’t care about any of that. What I feel . . .” He paused as though searching for the right words. “I’ve never felt it before and to be perfectly honest, I never believed it was possible for me. But what I feel for you . . .”
He tried to sit up, wincing.
“Stop,” she cried. “You need to lie down.”
“No,” he said through a clenched jaw. “This is important.”
“If you don’t lie down right now, Hunter Kane, I will kill you for real,” Emma said.
He started laughing, though it obviously pained him. “Come here.”
She carefully climbed up and lay beside him.
He lowered his forehead to hers and whispered, “I love you, dammit.”
Emma sucked in air. “What?”
“You heard me. I love you. Forget all that idiotic crap I said before about not believing in it. I didn’t know what it could be like, but then you made it all real.”
