And that wasn’t even counting the whole revelation about the hidden magical world, or the beast under his skin. He wanted to stalk her, then catch her and kiss her until they both forgot everything but each other. Adrenaline and desire flooded his system.
A cuckoo clock in the entryway chimed three times, reminding him that he was out of time. “I’ll leave you in Tinsel’s capable hands.” He stepped backward toward the door. “Good luck with everything.”
He opened the door and fled.
3
“More pumpkin bread, dearie?” asked Tinsel. She held out the basket of still-warm slices.
Tinsel’s house in the daylight was no less astonishing than it had been the night before. Eclectic ethnic decor from many cultures blended together to create a wonderland of a home. The open-space architecture saved it from feeling cluttered.
Moira shook her head. “No, I’m stuffed.” It was the first full meal she’d had in days. She’d been the only guest for the night, and she felt guilty eating enough for three, but Tinsel was a phenomenal cook. Moira decided that Tinsel was one of the world’s cheerful people, which was a delightful change from surly gas station attendants and suspicious convenience store clerks. And overnight, someone had thoughtfully dropped off her suitcase from her disabled car, so she’d had her whole wardrobe to choose from—four clean blouses and two pairs of jeans—to dress for job hunting.
Moira carefully folded the real linen napkin and placed it on the table. She’d been afraid to actually use it, so she’d surreptitiously wiped her fingers on her jeans. “Since you won’t let me pay you for a night in the Lost Princess room, could I at least wash the dishes or something?”
Tinsel patted her hand. “No need, dearie. The low-country elves come in and do for me every day.”
Moira smiled. “That’s a great name for a house-cleaning service.”
“No, they’re, er... yes, it is.” Tinsel turned and headed to a Victorian-style breakfront desk, where she riffled through one of the cubbyholes. “Here’s that map you asked for.”
“Thanks.” Moira stood and crossed to take it, rather than make the woman walk any more than was necessary. “I don’t know why my phone’s map only shows the one street on the edge of town.”
Tinsel waved plump fingers dismissively. “The town likes it that we’re not worth bothering with. I’ll be back in a minute.” She waddled off through the kitchen toward a door that Moira assumed led to her private space. A blast of cooler air blew in when the door opened and closed. She’d have thought living in a high mountain town would have made air-conditioning unnecessary, but maybe rich guests expected it.
Moira returned to the dining table and spread the map out. For a moment, the words and lines seemed to waver, but then settled down. She was probably still tired from three long days of traveling, having to baby her balky car along mountain roads, getting lost once, and shivering in the back of the wagon each night while trying to rest. Not to mention, last night’s vividly erotic dreams about the deliciously attractive handyman, Chance McKennie, in his faded black jeans and grass-green T-shirt that lovingly outlined every fascinating chest, shoulder, and arm muscle. He pushed buttons she hadn’t known she had.
She’d seen dozens of well-built, handsome men in the nude when she’d wrangled props and kittens at a photo shoot for a "Real Men With Cats" charity calendar four years ago. She wouldn’t have minded sexy-times with some of them, but they were candles in the wind compared to the blazing hot bonfire that was Chance.
She’d never felt anything like it, and certainly not within twenty seconds of laying eyes on a man. She wanted to run her fingers through his wavy red hair to see if she could feel the heat. She wanted to trace his proud cheekbones and chiseled jaw with butterfly kisses, and feel his short beard on her skin. She wanted to taste him, and memorize his biceps and thighs, and grab handfuls of his nude-sculpture-worthy ass. She wanted to explore all the sensuous, sensitive parts of him with her lips and tongue, and she wanted him to do the same to her. It had been all she could do to carry on light conversation with him during the walk from the diner, and not babble like she was tipsy or rub herself on him like a cat claiming ownership.
It would have been easier to ignore her out-of-control hormones if he hadn’t been such a down-to-earth man. He clearly had no idea that he could have as many lovers as he wanted, and probably wait-listed a few more for emergencies. Which put him completely out of her league. She was toned but fleshy, her face was more lively than pretty, and grand romantic gestures made her laugh. Men never lined up at her door, unless she counted Witzer’s minions. Even if she were the type to have an exciting erotic affair with a near stranger who would probably soon be leaving, she might have to leave even sooner, or he’d become collateral damage in Witzer’s crazy quest to gain command of her "magic.”
It was just as well that Chance had taken off immediately after delivering her to Tinsel’s doorstep, or she might have been tempted to ask him for a date, or if he wanted to practice water conservation and shower with her that evening. Which reminded her of last night’s embarrassing discovery that she’d been wearing engine grease on her face like it was camouflage paint, her hair was filthy, and her clothes smelled like gasoline and stale hay. No wonder the man had run away.
She shook her head and refocused on the map, tracing the route from the diner to Tinsel’s, and from Tinsel’s to the job-lead address that Aurelio had given her last night. Knight’s Garage, where Shepherd had promised to take her car, was only two blocks to the north. The town felt bigger than it looked on the map, but she hadn’t seen much before Frankie’s engine had exploded so dramatically. It was a small miracle that no one had taken it for a gunshot and returned fire.
She pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and took a quick photo of the area of the map she needed. The camera’s flash made the map seem to sparkle for a moment. Well, it was a promotional-style map, so it’d be in keeping with the town’s theme to add a little micro glitter to the printing ink. She refolded the map and left it on the table. The town’s marketing committee deserved a national award for attention to detail.
Moira pulled on her hoodie against the morning chill, checked that she had her phone charger, then zipped up her backpack.
“Oh good, you haven’t left yet.” Tinsel waddled over to Moira and handed her two cards. “This one is for the front door’s card reader. Just like the rooms at the casino.”
Moira handed it back. “Thank you, but to be perfectly frank, I saw your rate card on the door this morning, and I can’t afford to stay here even one night.” She’d enjoyed most of her odd jobs, even some of the underground ones she’d had while on the run, but none of them paid anything close to what it would take to stay in Tinsel’s bed and breakfast.
“Hush, dearie.” Tinsel put the card back in Moira’s hand. “That’s just the rate I charge the tourists and the gamblers so they think they’re special.” She patted Moira’s hand. “I’ll take whatever you can pay.”
Moira didn’t want to be ungracious, so she gave up the fight, but vowed to find some way to pay or trade for what the room was worth. She looked at the other card. “Er, this is a get-out-of-jail free card, signed by ‘Sheriff Stands On Rock.’"
Tinsel laughed. “Isn’t it great? The town sheriff gave them out as Christmas gifts last year. I ran out of business cards, and it’s all I could find to write my phone number in case you need it. I also gave you Chance McKennie’s cell number.” Tinsel waggled her silvery eyebrows suggestively. “In case you need a man who’s good with his hands.”
Moira chuckled and fought off a blush. “Thanks, but I don’t think he’s interested.”
Tinsel laughed again. “He’s a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but he’ll come around.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You might need to civilize him a little.”
Moira smiled, thinking that was the last thing she’d want to do to him. He struck her as someone who could use the freedom that a lit
tle wildness brought. She slid both cards in her shirt pocket and patted it. “Thank you for these. I’m off to seek my fortune. Well, minimum wage, at any rate. Wish me luck.”
Tinsel put her finger alongside her nose. “May you find your magic and luck when you need them most.” An errant breeze animated Tinsel’s hair, and then Moira’s.
She smiled at the sentiment, and accepted the wish in the spirit it was given. Maybe everyone in the town of Kotoyeesinay was a little nuts.
She stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk when she saw the name of the business Aurelio had sent her to, Turn of the Cards. Moira didn’t believe in signs and portents, but considering that turning tarot cards put her on the runaway train that was her life, it gave her pause.
On the other hand, a job was a job, and she needed the money for immediate transportation out of town if, or more depressingly likely, when Witzer found her. She took consolation in the fact that on the walk from Tinsel’s, she’d seen a dozen businesses advertising everything from psychic readings and séances, to a Hobgoblin Accounting Service, all in keeping with the town’s tourist theme. Maybe Kotoyeesinay was the summer home for psychics and magical entertainers, sort of like Florida used to be for circus performers. If Witzer did track her to Kotoyeesinay, with luck, he’d be slowed down by the distraction of shiny new psychics to try.
She shook off her doubts, squared her shoulders, and made herself go up the steps to the tall, two-story, Swiss-style chalet with a steep, decorated roof, and red-and-white detailing. It was well kept, with classic 1920s construction details, which made her wonder how old the town was. It had the most eclectic mix of architectural styles she’d ever seen.
Turn of the Cards turned out to be a bookstore and gift shop that specialized in all things psychic, with an emphasis on divination cards. Shelves, tables, and antique display cases showed off crystals, wands, and pyramids, plus a dazzling array of jewelry. The store carried at least twenty different tarot decks, from the classic Rider-Waite to modern, limited-edition decks by modern fantasy artists. She admired the skill and patience it must have taken to create seventy-eight steampunk paintings to make up a deck. The orderly display arrangements drew the eye but didn’t overwhelm. The impressive book section had a couple of soft chairs to make it cozier. The store was neither too hot nor too cold. It took her a few minutes to realize it was deserted.
She threaded her way to the antique-glass sales counter with the modern digital pay station. A thick curtain of beads hung in the frame of a doorway behind it. “Hello?”
“Coming,” shouted a man’s voice from within.
She heard footsteps on stairs. Suddenly, a little white kitten burst through the beads and ran at light speed toward the store’s front door. Fortunately, she’d closed it after letting herself in, or the kitten would have been halfway to the highway by the time an elderly man with round glasses and a shock of white hair made it to the counter. “Pandora! Come here at once.”
The kitten pawed a couple of times at the door, scampered sideways, then made a beeline for Moira’s feet. Instead of diverting at the last second, Pandora launched herself up Moira’s pant leg and used her needle-sharp claws to climb higher. “Oh no you don’t.” Moira caught the little terror before her hoodie or her favorite red-paisley blouse got permanently ventilated. The kitten mewed twice, then relaxed when Moira nestled its soft, warm body into the crook of her arm. She tickled the kitten’s belly, and was rewarded with play bites.
“Please accept my apologies, madam.” His British accent went well with his maroon damask smoking jacket and brown velvet pants. “Mr. Houdini would envy her escape-artist talents.”
Moira laughed. “She’s precious.” She tickled Pandora’s belly again and let her gnaw on the tip of her little finger. “I think kittens only have three speeds. Sleep, eat, and warp factor ten.”
“You’re familiar with the species, then,” he said indulgently. “How may I help you?”
“Are you Mr. Maxen? Aurelio at the Blue Fairy Diner said you might have a job opening.”
He nodded. “You must be Ms. Graham. I am indeed in need of help with the shop.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “And kittens.”
Moira was touched to realize Aurelio had gone to all that effort for her, a perfect stranger. “I’m a good worker and reliable, and I know something about the tarot decks, but I have to be honest with you, I don’t believe in any of the supernatural stuff in this shop.” Moira lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “I’m not sure I’d be a good salesperson.”
Mr. Maxen gave her an amused look. “I don’t believe in it, either.”
“Huh,” she said, nonplussed.
“Fortunately, the customers don’t seem to notice. They usually already know what they want.” He fixed her with a direct gaze. “And what do you want, Ms. Graham?” A glint from his glasses dazzled her momentarily.
She considered giving him a vaguely pleasant answer, but she had the feeling it would annoy him. “To make enough cash to buy a new engine for my car, so I can leave.”
“Nothing permanent, then.” He frowned.
She sighed and shook her head. So much for this job. “No, sorry. I’m just passing through.” She needed a couple more random stops like Kotoyeesinay to throw off her pursuers. Too bad, because she liked Mr. Maxen, even though she’d just met him, and thought she’d have enjoyed working for him. For some reason, she felt like she owed him an explanation. “The last time I got mixed up with fortune-telling, it brought me a load of trouble. I need to keep moving.” Little Pandora had become a boneless, snoozy fluffball in her arm. “What should I do with your kitten?”
“Would you mind terribly if I asked you to come in the back with me and put her in her bed? She behaves far better with you than me.”
“Sure.” She walked slowly around the counter, taking care not to knock anything over with her backpack. Mr. Maxen pushed aside the beads for her, then pointed to a mahogany 1930s Art Moderne desk with a round hatbox on top that contained a cushion covered with a leopard-print blanket. She gently slid the kitten from her arm onto the soft blanket. Pandora stretched her tiny pink toes and claws out, then relaxed into slumber.
The office area looked like it might have been the house’s original central hallway, with stairs leading up. She touched the edge of the warm brown wood of a stair tread, admiring the matching baluster and handrail above it. She imagined the front sales floor had once been the living room, dining room, and parlor. With the bedrooms upstairs, it would have been a cozy house for a young family, back in its day. If she’d had a more normal life, or at least, didn’t have an obsessed billionaire chasing her around the country, she could see herself lovingly restoring an old house like this one. Maybe she could hire a hot handyman to help her. She laughed at her fancy.
She turned to go, only to find Mr. Maxen giving her a speculative look. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by a ringing phone, a buzzer, and a tinkling of bells that meant the store’s front door had opened. Laughter and voices suggested the retail area now had multiple customers.
Mr. Maxen looked both exasperated and slightly overwhelmed.
Moira needed to keep looking for a paying job, but she could stay for a little longer. “I know you don’t know me, but would you like me to go out front, just to keep an eye on things until you get there?”
He sighed. “Yes, if you would.”
She started for the doorway, then stopped long enough to drop her backpack under a tall mirror with a gilded frame. The hallway felt safe enough, and customers would think it strange if she wore a backpack while minding the store. At least her mirror-embroidered hoodie fit right in with the decor. Mr. Maxen picked up the phone and answered it as she pushed her way through the curtain of beads.
She used crossing to the entrance to make sure the front door was closed as a cover for taking a quick headcount of the three adults and two children who were now wandering the store. The balding man with glasses made a be
eline for the bookshelves, once he saw them. The two round-faced, plump women looked enough alike to be sisters, and they chatted easily as they stopped at anything shiny. The two boys, who were maybe ten and twelve years old, looked disgruntled, as if they’d hoped for cheesy puffs and had gotten carrots instead. They needed entertainment, or they’d make their own, at the expense of the store’s beautiful displays.
“Hi,” she said to the two women as she walked back toward the counter. “Could I enlist your children to help look for a kitten? She might be hiding in here somewhere, and she’ll cause trouble if we don’t find her.”
The woman in a robin’s-egg blue summer dress turned to the boys. “Ethan, Noah, help the lady find her kitten.” She gave them a warning look. “Look with your eyes, not your hands.”
Moira smiled at the boys. “I really appreciate it. She likes to hide in low spots. She’s small and fluffy white.” She cupped her hands together to indicate the kitten’s size. “Her name is Pandora, and she might come to you if you call softly. Loud noises scare her.”
“What do kittens smell like?” asked the younger boy earnestly.
Moira blinked. “Er, like fur and cream, I think.” She’d seen a small saucer on the desk in the back.
The older boy turned to his brother. “Let’s crawl. We have to think like cats, like Amnon and Nasir.” The boys dropped to their hands and knees and started looking in low shelves.
“She can’t eat us, can she?” asked the younger boy.
“Nah, we’re too big,” the older boy said.
Moira smiled at the whimsical conversation.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” said the other woman in a day-glow pink top and yellow shorts, "but do you have any geodes?”
Shift of Destiny Page 3
