He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin)

by Susan Squires

  Hoping to God some way out of this whole dilemma would occur to her, she cleared her throat and started talking just to buy time. “Who was Alice?”

  He looked as though she’d just slapped him. “My wife,” he croaked.

  Oh, dear Lord. He might go berserk again. But she had to know. “So ... did you murder her?” Even now she couldn’t believe she’d asked that. He had no reason to tell her the truth, but she wanted to look him in the eyes as he answered. She’d at least know if he was lying.

  He shot her a look of such pain it was difficult to watch. His mouth wouldn’t behave as he tried to suppress emotion. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.” The self-loathing was unmistakable.

  “Why?” she asked, wrinkling her brow. He obviously loved the woman. Had to be infidelity. She swallowed. Too late to go back now. “You caught her cheating on you?”

  He gave her an incredulous look that turned angry. Here we go. She stepped back. But he seemed to master himself. “Alice didn’t cheat. And anyway, if she had found someone she wanted more, I’d have been hurt as hell but I would have let her go.”

  What man would do that? Drew crossed her arms. “Then why?”

  “Cancer. Ovaries.” He swallowed and his eyes went kind of dead. “She asked me to help her out. I had some contacts, so I got the drugs and gave her way too many. Doctor knew, but he let it slide. I didn’t even pay the price.”

  Yes, he had. “I ... I’m sorry.” So inadequate. Her eyes filled. Doing that for Alice had ruined Dowser’s life. He must have known it would. And he had done it for her anyway. He was a good man, or had been once. That kind of love didn’t come along every day.

  It was the kind of love she’d thought was her destiny. Though she’d never thought about the possibility that true love could go so horribly wrong. But she didn’t have that kind of love. And she’d never have it with this man, DNA or not, destiny or not. He was still in just that kind of love with his dead wife. It occurred to her that what had drawn her to this man across a continent might be the fact that he was capable of that kind of love.

  She felt her eyes spill over and brushed at them hastily. Then she reached down and unbuckled the leather cuff around his wrist. To her shame, she saw that it had left raw red marks where he’d pulled on it so hard. Without saying a word, she moved around to the others, unfastening them. Then she helped him sit up.

  “You won’t regret this,” he muttered as she pulled him to his feet. He was naked and that lovely muscled body with impressive genitals nested in their dark patch of hair did just what she thought it would do to her. But that wasn’t important now. She steadied him as he crept to the bathroom. His knee was less swollen today too. He was limping, but making it.

  She left the bathroom door open, so she could hear him if he fell or something, while she went to the dresser and got out some sweatpants. He was leaning against the doorway when she returned. “Put these on,” she said gruffly, looking at the floor. It didn’t help. Her mind was filled with images of what she was avoiding, and her mind was telling the other parts of her body what to think about that. So her breasts felt tender and her crotch swollen.

  He made it back to the bed and sat down to pull on the sweatpants. He crawled in and pushed himself back against the wall with difficulty. He was shaking again. She was ready with some anti-nausea medication. He obediently swallowed the two spoons’ full.

  “You ... you think you could manage some food?”

  He shook his head.

  “Maybe a little toast. You haven’t eaten at least since yesterday morning, and I suspect it’s been longer than that. You have to keep your strength up.”

  He looked about to protest, thought better of it. “Yeah. I guess.”

  She toasted bread over the gas burner on the stove, and made him some tea she’d bought for herself. When she brought them out, he hunched over them, and managed to eat about a slice and a half before he gave up.

  “Look,” he said, his brown eyes meeting hers for the first time since she’d brought the food. “I’m s-sorry about last night. The names I called you and all.”

  “I did tie you up. That wasn’t exactly fair.” She gave him a rueful half smile.

  “No,” he agreed as he scooted down into the bed. “But I wouldn’t have tried to q-quit any other way. And it still wasn’t okay to y-yell obscenities at you.”

  “You weren’t yourself.” As close to saying she forgave him as she thought he’d allow. Even his good eye had a muddy half circle under it. He looked incredibly tired. “I really hope you don’t get scary again, though.”

  A ghost of a smile fluttered around his lips. “I’ll try to keep the monsters to a minimum.” His eyes blinked shut.

  “Rest now.” He rolled onto his side away from her. She pulled the blanket up over him then ran her hand over his back, to soothe the shakes. The ridges of scars were startling. It was some time before he quieted and she felt him finally fall asleep.

  *****

  Kemble Tremaine chewed his lip as his hands hovered over the keyboard. He’d promised his mother he wouldn’t track what Drew was doing, but damn it, neither he nor his father liked the idea of her being away for a week. Jane was sensible enough to keep her from running away with some jerk, but these days someone was hunting Tremaines. You couldn’t just let your sister go off without checking up on her.

  He heard steps behind him.

  “It isn’t like she’s in Tibet, you know.”

  His mother had the nasty habit of seeming to read minds. Kemble swiveled in his desk chair, trying hard not to look like he was five and she’d caught him with his hands in the cookie jar. “Somebody could get to her there. Just because it’s only half an hour away....”

  She half chuckled. “You’re a day late and a dollar short. Your father has already contacted the head of hotel security and warned them to be extra vigilant. I only got him to call off his plan to put his own men in the hotel by threatening to take Lanyon and Tammy skiing at Whistler if he didn’t let Drew have a week without direct surveillance.”

  “You’re ruthless,” Kemble said, half-envious, half-depressed. Where his father was concerned he was always a day late and a dollar short. How would he ever take the reins of Tremaine Enterprises? That is, if his father ever retired. But that was what was expected of him. Had been since he was five. He sighed.

  “Oh, all right,” his mother said, sympathy in her aqua-blue eyes. “If you want to feel better, take a look at her credit card activity. But you’d better not tell anyone you did it.”

  “Like I’d tell the Brood. They are the absolute worst keepers of secrets in the world.” And he’d never admit to his father that he needed reassurance about Drew, even after his father had made “arrangements” for her safety. Come to think of it, he bet his father had his own security there anyway, no matter what he told his wife. Kemble spun the chair around to his computer and clicked through a few windows. “Okay, massages, dinner at the restaurant. Poolside service. Four hundred dollars at some boutique. Drew is exercising restraint.”

  “Satisfied?”

  “I guess I have to be.” There was something wrong here, he just knew it.

  “Well, you can check on her once a day, credit cards only.”

  “And location of her phone?” He felt like a child asking his mother’s permission.

  “Okay.” She turned to go. “But that’s it.”

  *****

  Drew knew that when Dowser woke up, the symptoms would be back. Only now he wasn’t tied up. For some reason she had stopped worrying that he’d hurt her. Alice was in her corner. And she had a feeling that Alice was stronger than she was. Dowser too.

  Depressing. She might as well start trying to see Dowser as a brotherly figure.

  That would be tough. Pathetic. That’s what she was. She was so sure she could find the one man who could be the love of her life, and that love would bring out the magic powers in both of them. It sounded like lunacy. Even crazier, she had lied to her family and
traipsed across a continent to track down a man who was not only a raging alcoholic, but one who could never love her. She must have imagined being able see the future.

  Really pathetic.

  But now she was here. She couldn’t walk out on Dowser just because he wasn’t a party to her cockeyed plan. So she had to carry on with helping him beat the booze. He hadn’t wanted that at first, but apparently he did now, because of Alice. Was his love of Alice stronger than his love for liquor? Sooner or later his resolve would fail and then where were they? She didn’t want all his suffering to be for nothing. How to keep Dowser from just going into Sugarloaf and buying half gallons of rum? He had no transportation other than her car. But an alcoholic would take her car in a second if that was what stood between him and booze.

  Not if she removed the distributor cap. Thank God she’d gotten an older Toyota. It must have a distributor cap. She grinned as she dashed out into the morning heat. She’d seen her brother Tris take the distributor cap off his classic Mustang to make sure Lanyon wouldn’t use it to practice for his driving test. How hard could it be?

  *****

  Dowser woke up, head throbbing, his veins on fire. Light stabbed him as he opened his eyes. It must be afternoon. He couldn’t help but groan.

  “You awake?”

  He grabbed the pillow and put it over his face. God, but she was cheerful. That should be a capital offense. “No,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow. He was drenched in sweat. But he was better than yesterday. How long had it been since he’d had a drink? Days? Weeks?

  “Yes you are,” she said.

  This must be the third day. His stomach started to rebel. That feeling of inevitability came over him. Damn it. He wasn’t puking all over himself again. He pushed himself up and scrambled for the bathroom. He saw her in the kitchen out of the corner of his eye, but he had to focus on only one thing. He slammed the door and leaned over the toilet, since he couldn’t get down on his knees.

  When he finally thought he was done, he slammed the lid and sat down . His hand was shaking as he ran it through his sweaty hair to get it out of his eyes. He was weak as a rusted-through bolt. A knock at the door was followed immediately by it opening.

  “Don’t you wait for an answer?” he croaked. “I could’ve been peeing.”

  “You weren’t,” she said, holding out a damp towel.

  He grabbed it. It was cool. He ran it over his face and neck. That felt good. He wiped his chest. She was watching him. Fine. Let her watch. He just sat there, knowing he had to gather his strength or he’d collapse right in front of her.

  “Let me help you up.”

  He waved her away. “I’m fine.” His mouth felt like the local dump.

  “Oh, yeah. You’re great. Don’t be stupid.” She flushed the toilet then leaned down and caught his arm and heaved. “It’s not like we haven’t been through this before.”

  That was the bitch of it. They had. Three days of it. It had only been three days since he’d had a drink. Alice, I hope you know what you’re doing. The thought of Alice made him cringe. Failure. Loss. No reason left to care. He stumbled back to bed, the girl supporting one elbow.

  “You look a little better,” she said as he eased into the bed he’d come to hate. She brought him some mouthwash and a bowl. She was always so damned sure of herself.

  “What do you want from me?” he asked sullenly.

  “Fresher breath.” She waggled the bottle of mouthwash. “It’ll make you feel better, too.”

  He looked away. Childish, but he wanted to punish her. “I’m tired.”

  “I know,” she said softly. “And you’re really sick of me. But you do look like you feel a little better.”

  “Maybe,” he admitted. He glared at her, but he took the mouthwash. Remember what Alice said. Be nice to her.

  Whoever she was. He rinsed and spit into the bowl. Now his mouth felt like the local dump covered up with minty freshness. He squinted up at her. Damn, but his head ached. “So, what’s your name?” It was sort of embarrassing that he’d never asked.

  “Drew.” She took the bowl into the kitchen. “Drew Tremaine.”

  He looked her over. She was a looker, if you liked them slim and cultured. Her black hair was shiny and long, but in the heat she’d wound it up on her head, leaving her graceful neck bare. Her cheek was bruised, but it wasn’t swollen any more. She had delicate features. She was wearing jeans that cut off at mid-calf and wedged sandals and a loose red linen shirt. He wondered for a second what that shirt would reveal if it was wet before he pushed that thought down. His cock was stirring again. Guess he actually was alive. And contemptible.

  “I thought Drew was a guy’s name.” That was as nice as he could be, he thought defensively. Especially when he might actually be getting a hard-on he definitely didn’t want.

  “Can be. Not always. It’s Celtic. It means ‘brave one.’ Not that I’m fearless, of course.” She looked over at him like he would know that.

  Oh, yeah. He’d scared her that first night when he was screaming at her and generally acting like an asshole. “Sorry I was a jerk.”

  “Extenuating circumstances,” she said lightly, coming over with some of the anti-nausea medicine. He took the spoon from her this time and took it himself. His fingers brushed hers, and a strange little electrical charge shot up his arm. Not like the kind you get from scuffing carpet.

  “Not really,” he said. God, that stuff tasted awful. Like cherry cough syrup. Except no alcoholic content. “Uh, you wouldn’t want to trot out a little more of the hair of the dog, just to take the edge off, would you?”

  “Gone.” She shrugged. “And before you think about taking my car into town and getting more, which would be a very bad idea, I took the distributor cap and hid it.”

  He gave a weary chuckle. “Like that would stop me.” She raised those perfectly arched brows at him. “I’m a good finder,” he explained. She couldn’t know how good, of course.

  “You’d never find this,” she said. Her half grin was more than a little smug.

  “Oh, yeah?” His head might be aching, but surely he was in good enough shape to do such a simple one. He flicked his mind over the image of a distributor cap and took a breath, then closed his eyes, just briefly. “Under the skiff by the prow. Not very original.”

  Her look of outrage was funny. “It was so original.” Her eyes narrowed. “How did you do that? I thought you were asleep when I hid it. Did you see me put it there?”

  “I told you,” he said. “I’m a good finder.” He could see she wasn’t buying it. “Just logical you’d put it there.”

  She harumphed. She didn’t believe him? “Isn’t that why you wanted to hire my boat? So I could find you some buried treasure?” Surely his reputation for finding things was what had brought her here in the first place.

  To his surprise, she blushed furiously. He could see her thinking as fast as she could go. “Yes. Of course. But you had another job.”

  St. Claire. Shit. He’d missed the job. And he needed that money. He remembered the anguish that morning as he’d realized it was Alice’s birthday. He’d killed a bottle on the boat and staggered up to O’Toole’s for more. An echo of that misery washed over him.

  “Hey. Don’t worry,” Drew said, hurrying over as she saw his expression. “St. Claire stopped by The Purgatory while I was there looking for you, and told the older gentleman he’d be back on Thursday. You haven’t lost the job.”

  Like that was important now. Even though he needed the money. But he couldn’t let her know what the real problem was. “Good. I should be ready by then.”

  “Yeah. You’ve got all tomorrow.” She smiled at him. It was a warm smile. Like she cared about him. That just reminded him of Alice, who had really cared about him. He’d never know that kind of connection again. Her expression turned mock-severe. “If you can stay sober, Mr. I-Can-Find-the-Distributor-Cap.”

  “I just didn’t want you to think you could hold out on
me,” he said, closing his eyes. All this thinking about Alice and what Alice would want was taking its toll. The slosh of clear vodka in the little pint bottle over the last couple of days repeated in his head like waves on the shore.

  “Why don’t you take a shower? Take your mind off it?”

  She knew he was thinking about booze? Or maybe she knew he was thinking about Alice. You promised thinking about you wouldn’t hurt.

  He seemed to hear her voice in his mind.

  Sooner or later it won’t.

  Just wishful thinking. He’d never really hear her voice again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  She had to think of something to take his mind off the booze. Or Alice. Whatever was causing that expression of regret and self-hatred.

  But what? The TV didn’t work. She’d tried that first day when he was out cold. He wouldn’t feel like reading with the headache he must have. No video game in sight.

  He came out of the shower looking a hundred percent better than he had yesterday. Which made him very dangerous indeed. His beard looked like more than just stubble. The swelling in his eye was down, though it was about six colors, from purple through green to yellow at the edges. His lip had scabbed over and his cheeks as well.

  And then of course, there was the killer body.

  This was not good. She looked away, pretending to work on dinner, which tonight was going to be some local pompano, steamed, with a Chinese sauce along with some rice and a salad. He’d at least be able to keep down the rice. She kept glancing up at him surreptitiously. He was over looking at the Bowflex. Yeah. That was a great idea.

  “That might take your mind off the booze,” she suggested.

  “I’d just need another shower.”