Storiebook Charm (A Spellbound Novel 1)

by Melissa Bourbon

  Piper, who was a solid nine going on forty-five-year-old girl, stared up at Storie, her pudgy arms folded firmly across her chest, drawing her thoughts away from Buddy Garland and Randy Yocum. “It’s worse than the old junkyard near Daddy’s work,” she said in all her little-girl wisdom. “Have you and Mama lost your everlovin’ minds?”

  “Yeah, Storie.” Scarlett, Harper’s six-year-old, and Piper’s mini-me, stomped her red cowboy-booted foot. “Have you? Have you both lost ’em?”

  Storie laughed, putting her sunglasses back on to block out the glare of the still-bright sun before she looked down at the two of them. “Why, because it’s not done yet?”

  They nodded in unison.

  “We’ll get everything done,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears, “and here’s a little advice. First, if you’re gonna stomp your foot, you have to do it right. A double stomp is much more effective.” She demonstrated, and Scarlett mimicked, giggling until her dimple appeared in her cheek. “And second of all, your mama’s fine, but I most definitely have lost my everlovin’ mind.” She leaned in to whisper. “But between you and me, I kinda like it that way, and you should aspire to it.”

  Scarlett’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Really?” she said in an amazed whisper.

  “Really. And I know precisely where mine is, so don’t you fret.”

  Scarlett dropped her hands to her side and gazed up at her like she was Alice in Wonderland standing ten feet tall. “Where is it?” she asked. “I won’t tell.” She trailed one finger in an X across her chest. “Cross my heart.”

  Storie lowered her glasses to the end of her nose so Scarlett could see her eyes, then she darted her gaze at the gas station. “It’s in there,” she said. “Safe and sound.”

  Piper rolled her eyes. “Her mind is not in there, Scarlett,” she said with the inflated attitude of an angsty fifteen-year-old.

  “Oh yes it is. Come on, I’ll show you.” Storie dragged them both inside the front door and into what was now the main room of the bookstore/café (and what had been the convenience store), prattling on about the flowers and the swinging sign, but hoping she’d find Buddy Garland along the way. Without her contractor, all her promises would turn into lies.

  There was no sign of him.

  “Look at the bookshelves,” she said, gesturing at the long wall straight ahead. They were stained with a dark walnut finish and were already half-filled with books. “There’s going to be a sliding ladder and a window seat, too. Back there”—she pointed to what had been the service center of the gas station—“is the kitchen.” She listened for the tap-tap-tap of a hammer, or the sound of a drill. Nothing. “Tables and some cozy chairs for reading will go right in the center. They'll be here tomorrow. Your mama and I have been waiting to surprise you—”

  “But where’s your everlovin’ mind?” Scarlett wanted to know.

  Storie hid her smile as she reached toward the ceiling, fisted her hand around thin air, and then, with a notch of her finger to make a spark, flattened her palm against the top of her head. “Back, safe and sound.”

  Scarlett’s cornflower blue eyes grew bigger, but just for a moment. She was a wise little girl and couldn’t be fooled for long. “That wasn’t your mind,” she said.

  “Gee, really?” Piper shifted her weight onto one leg and arched an eyebrow up, a talent she inherited straight from Harper. She tucked the book she was reading under her arm.

  “Really,” Scarlett answered earnestly, not picking up on her sister’s sarcasm.

  Storie crouched and wrapped her arms around the girls, who were probably the closest things she’d ever have to her own children. “The Storiebook Café. Your mama and I dreamed up this place before either of you were born. It’ll be your legacy. It’s going to be magical. Just wait, you’ll see.”

  “I can’t see it,” Piper said.

  “Me, neither,” Scarlett added, stomping her foot twice.

  “Your imaginations are getting sketchy, I’m afraid.” Storie wagged her finger at the girls. “We may have to get your mama and play some dress-up to recharge them.”

  Scarlett stopped stomping and squealed. “Can I be a mermaid? I wanna be Ariel.”

  “Absolutely,” Storie said. “How about you, Piper? Who are you going to be?”

  She slid the toe of her very practical brown boot across the sawdust-covered floor. “I guess I’ll be Belle.”

  “You’re always Belle,” Scarlett said.

  “So? I like Belle.”

  “You just like her because she’s the only princess who reads.”

  “She’s not even a princess—”

  A rattling sound from the garden room (formerly known as the repair bay) cut Piper off.

  “Whoa! What was that?”

  “Is there an evil queen back there?” Scarlett whispered, her chin quivering.

  “We don’t live in a storybook, Scar.” Piper’s deep frown said she didn’t believe in fairy magic anymore. “There’s no evil queen.”

  Storie could argue that point. In her opinion, a mother who abandoned her daughter was certainly evil, if not precisely a queen. “It’s just Buddy,” she said. Probably digging through his tools or collapsing his ladder. Thank God. As long as he was working, they’d finish in time for the grand opening.

  “Is it a king, then?”

  Piper rolled her eyes, but before she could dash her sister’s beliefs, Storie said, “Come on, let’s go check it out.”

  As they walked through the tearoom and into the garden room, Storie made mental notes of everything that still needed to be completed between now and the grand opening in a week and a half. From dusting the built-in bookshelf on the far wall of the tearoom to creating some semblance of order in her minuscule office at the far end of the kitchen, there had to be a hundred things, at least. The list felt endless. Or it would, to a non-magical person.

  Working her magic at night was an option, but reenergizing after using that much of her powers would drain her. Which meant getting work done during the day would suffer.

  Realizing her vision was no small task.

  Turning a rundown service station into a magical café that sold a few equally magical books might well fail before it ever really started. But no amount of magic could make people come in and spend their hard-earned cash. She couldn’t impose her spells on others against their free will.

  There was a lot it could do, but even magic had limits. They’d caught a glimpse of Buddy moving his ladder from one place to another and left him to his work, heading back to the front room.

  “When do the people come?” Scarlett asked, looking up at her with her big brown eyes.

  That was a good question, and another thing that gnawed at Storie’s gut. Aside from Harper, she hadn’t ever connected with anyone. So far, folks had stopped by to see what the new business on the corner of the town square was, but they poked their heads in warily, withdrawing again just as quickly, as if they were afraid she’d actually be able to cast some spell and turn them into monkeys or give them coiled pigs’ tails.

  From the big front window, she saw that mangy dog sitting across the street, staring straight at her. A silvery shiver worked its way up her spine, but it wasn’t from the dog, she realized. No. A man strode down the sidewalk, heading her way. He looked familiar, and then, just like that, she placed him.

  Reid Malone.

  “Good lord,” she muttered. She shooed the girls into the back, ducking into the kitchen to have a little time to think and where she could watch his progress.

  He looked good. Really good. He’d been grown up when she’d seen him last—finished with college—but eight years had aged him in all the right ways. He’d been a good-looking boy, if you were into the bad-boy cowboy thing, and he was an even better-looking man. Strong and settled and confident. The soul patch just under his lower lip was new. Or at least new to her. And damned hot.

  When had blue jeans, cowboy boots, a T-shirt, and a cowboy hat become
so sexy? She’d never gone for that good ol’ boy type, but Reid was like a tall drink of water.

  But she thought about the Carrie Underwood song. He’s the devil in disguise, she reminded herself. Kathy Newcastle had been abundantly clear about that. He’d do whatever it took to get what he wanted, and she was sure he’d want something from Storie. She remembered all too well how persuasive he could be. That night at the lake, all her senses had left her as he’d closed the distance between them and she’d actually considered succumbing to his charms on her last night in Whiskey Creek. If he wanted her now, it would only be in passing, since he had one foot out of town.

  “Not going to happen,” she muttered. She was here to stay. Putting down roots. A one-night stand wouldn’t fly in her book. “Pass on by.” She waved her hands above her head like an air traffic controller. Best to just steer clear of each other.

  She tried not to think about the last time they’d seen each other at the lake when she’d been twenty, but her breath hitched as she watched Reid amble toward the café. He had to be thirty now, maybe even thirty-one. He lived in a cowboy state, and while he might not be a rancher, he had that rugged look to him, all hat and swagger.

  His last memory of her had to be that same night at the lake. It had taken every last bit of courage for her to do it, but if she was leaving Whiskey Creek, she was leaving on her terms, not all worked up over her mother, or over Reid Malone. She’d mustered up all of her gumption and had slowly turned around to face him, dripping wet.

  Her cheeks heated, even now, remembering how she’d taunted him. “You take yourself a good long look, because this has been a crap day. I’m leaving Whiskey Creek in the morning, and this is the last you’ll ever see of me.”

  He’d taken a long, lingering look, and then he’d moved toward her. “Maybe I can help you forget.”

  “Impossible,” she’d said, but she’d looked into his eyes and wondered if, just maybe, he really could help her dull the pain.

  Her skin rippled at the memory. When she thought about it, she could still feel the heat of his eyes on her, taking in every inch from the top of her head to the tips of her hot pink toenails.

  She acted without even thinking, reaching her hand up, cupping her palm against his face. The next instant, he gripped her hips and sat her on the hood of her daddy’s truck, tugging her forward again.

  And then he’d dipped his head to her neck, sucking and nipping as her back swayed, the wet cotton of her shirt plastered against her skin…and against his chest.

  Slowly, he picked at the knotted fabric, finally undoing the tie and peeling the T-shirt from her damp skin. Then his thumb hitched over the waist of her soaked denim shorts before it broke free, moving down her hip and settling on her thigh.

  Lord have mercy. Dull the pain. Her mind lost the ability to think rationally. Instead, she let go, losing herself in the moment. She’d never see this man again. Succumbing to an hour of pleasure and then leaving would be easy.

  It felt so naughty. She didn’t know Reid, although she’d seen him around town a few times. Never imagined that he’d be touching her like this.

  Oh God. Just thinking about it now, and how she’d barely been able to stop herself before the lightning struck and the thunder rolled and the lake water churned. He hadn’t noticed any of it, thankfully, but the moment—and what had almost happened between them—had kept her awake nights ever since.

  There was something about Reid Malone, mortal or not, that was magnetic. She’d been drawn to him that night, and she was drawn to him now. Thank goodness she’d become smarter over the years. She wore a bra, for one thing, and she had no plans to ever lose control again the way she had that night.

  Through the window, she saw him tip his cowboy hat back, just a touch, before letting it settle on his head. There wasn’t much breeze today, and the humidity had to be at 80 percent, but he looked fresher than he had a right to be, and she…she was a mess after working all day.

  “Keep walking,” she muttered again.

  No such luck. Being a witch had its drawbacks. He just breezed through the front door like he owned the place, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do to stop him. He had to think she was just a common hussy. After all, what kind of woman would let a man touch her as she had? Her cheeks heated just thinking about how she’d let him kiss her neck and then dipped his head…

  Oh God. Her mind fogged.

  And if he didn’t have sore feelings over how she’d dismissed him so thoroughly that night, he sure would when she rejected him flat. Because if he’d come to finish what they’d started at the lake that night, well, he could rest assured that it wasn’t happening.

  No matter how charming he tried to be, with that smile, or the faintest dimple on one side, or the swagger he carried, or that damn cowboy hat and the tuft of hair under his lower lip, she knew he was not her friend. Kathy’s warning came back to her. “He’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants.”

  She spied on him as he looked around the front room of the shop and she dragged in a few breaths. He was a hell of a lot more handsome than she remembered. A little bit of his hair peeked out from under his black suede hat. Darker than she remembered. Not quite black, but a deep mahogany that was like a bold cup of Sumatra coffee. His eyes were just as intense, and full of secrets. Deep, fathomless eyes that couldn’t be trusted.

  She couldn’t stay in the kitchen and stare at him all day, no matter how appealing he looked. And how safe she felt with a wall between them. She was a witch, but if he was relentless in his pursuit of things, he just might be able to wear her down. And that would end in heartache.

  She raced into the tearoom, deciding whether to go upstairs or not. Harper hurried out of the garden room, her arms loaded down with bags of groceries, one of them torn and haphazardly held together. Storie grabbed the bags and set them on the table, yanking Harper behind the door of the stairwell, batting the bundles of astrids she’d conjured and hung upside down to dry out of the way.

  Harper stared at her, wide-eyed. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” she whispered. She thought about muttering a spell under her breath, something along the lines of a giant hook that could drag Reid back outside and far, far away from her. But, number one, she didn’t happen to know that spell off the top of her head, and number two, even if she did, using an enchantment on him meant outing herself. A giant hook was sure to be a dead giveaway.

  “Hiding in the stairwell isn’t nothing. Are Piper and Scarlett—?”

  She patted the air. “They’re fine. It’s Reid Malone,” she said quickly. “He’s in the front and I—”

  Harper grinned. “The Reid Malone? The one you told me about? You’re afraid to see him?”

  Storie made a face. She pressed her ear to the door, listening.

  “What are we waiting for?” Harper whispered. “You’re not going to be able to avoid him forever, you know. Kathy Newcastle told me he pretty much runs the bar next door.”

  “I know, but I can avoid him right now.” She held her finger to her lips and cracked the door open. She edged forward, Harper on her heels. The heavy clap of Reid’s boots against the floor sounded as he ambled through the shop, nosing around as if he were looking for something. He pulled a few books off the shelves. She imagined he glanced at the front, the back, flipping them open to the front page, before sliding them back into place and moving on. It’s what people did, after all. A quick perusal that decided if they’d give the book a shot.

  “I knew he didn’t read,” she murmured.

  She held her breath, waiting for what seemed an eternity. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. Her unsummoned magic had stopped her from making a mistake with him once. This time, she was going to use it to get what she wanted. She might not be able to make him turn and leave against his will, but she could force the issue.

  He had to have a cell phone. She made sure Harper wasn’t looking at her and concentrated on it, picturing it in h
er mind, and then circled her wrist and whispered a spell that would send Reid a text message.

  Something pinged and a second later his boots clicked against the floor as he headed for the door. “You can’t get rid of me so easily twice. I’ll be back, Storiebook,” he called into the empty room.

  Goose bumps rose on her skin. He wasn’t even going to pretend. He wanted something from her, and she feared this was all-out war. The shop? A do-over of the night at the lake? Both?

  He might be back, but she wasn’t the same torn-up girl she’d been. “Bring it on, Reid.” Next time she saw him, she’d be prepared.

  Chapter 3

  That night, after yet another run to the hardware store in the neighboring town, Storie parked her Jeep in front of The Storiebook Café. A chill wound through her. Ten o’clock in the evening, and still a scorching 97 degrees, but she shuddered as if someone had just walked across her grave.

  Except, of course, that she wasn’t dead and was nowhere near a cemetery, and sensing ghostly spirits was not one of her abilities.

  She peered up at the cheese moon, shadowed and pockmarked in the velvety sky. She caught a movement from the corner of her eye and searched the dark shadows of the square. Nothing was there, but another tremor danced over her skin. She shook it off, stuffed her keys in the pocket of her jeans, and headed to the café.

  Those barren flowerbeds pulled her up short. This was what she’d come for. She’d promised Scarlett and Piper that she’d plant the astrids, but had to do it when no one was around. The veil of night made her feel safer. Peering over her shoulder, looking this way and that, she made sure no one was out and about on the square. Utterly deserted.

  Perfect.

  She skirted deeper into the shadows, imprinting in her mind the flowerbeds as she wanted them to be, rather than as they were. She concentrated all of her energy on the image in her head and closed her eyes. Time came to a standstill for her, but she knew it all really happened in a brief moment. The tingling started in her core. She felt a swirling, could see the colors of the rainbow blurring together as they spiraled inside of her. The sensation spread from her solar plexus outward, twining around her nerves and muscles, twisting like a coil of energy until her toes and fingertips burned.