Storiebook Charm (A Spellbound Novel 1)

by Melissa Bourbon

  “That was quick, baby,” Jules said, trailing her finger up his arm. “Came to your senses, did you?”

  His good mood faded.

  “Never lost ’em, Jules,” he said, sidestepping her. He wished he hadn’t lost them six months ago when he’d spent the night with her. She’d been working him over the coals ever since, trying hard to get back into his bed. She was nice enough, and yeah, she’d made him happy for a night. But he wanted out of Whiskey Creek—not something else to keep him here, not that Jules was the person who could do that, anyway. But still, the fewer attachments he had, the easier it would be to leave one day.

  “Get what you were after?” she asked, going back to drying the tall bar glasses.

  “Not yet,” he said, “but I will.” Now that he’d seen Storie again, after however many years it had been—eight?—all his old desires had flooded to the surface again. No one compared to her. But she was back, and he was on his way out.

  Timing…and property ownership…were everything.

  He’d hardly had a chance to look around her shop, and the light had been dim. He’d had every intention of making nice, ingratiating himself to Storie so he could snoop more easily, but Christ almighty, the woman was stubborn and difficult. He needed a different plan if he was going to get back into the café to look around. Clearly, she hadn’t been taken with his charm.

  Or maybe he would always be persona non grata to her after their encounter at the lake, an event she probably wanted to pretend had never happened.

  “But it did happen,” he said under his breath as he plotted his next move. He’d get what he needed—and maybe what he wanted—and Storie Bell would never be the wiser.

  Reid Malone’s challenge and infuriating attitude had shaken her, and now not even the sound of Harper singing to herself in the kitchen gave Storie a bit of comfort. Outside, not a single leaf fluttered on the trees, and the humid air was stifling. But inside the café, Storie blasted the air conditioner and the music as she unpacked boxes, logged new inventory, and shelved books. She was trying hard to forget about her encounter with Reid the night before, but it wasn’t working.

  She didn’t trust him; that was the bottom line. She couldn’t put her finger on why.

  If he’d shown up a minute earlier than he had—or even thirty seconds sooner—he’d have seen her doing magic, but part of her wondered if he had seen and just wasn’t letting on.

  Of course he’d already seen it, although maybe he didn’t realize it.

  Harper rattled around in the kitchen, organizing the pots and pans, spices and herbs, and the nonperishables in the pantry. The books and the store itself were under Storie’s purview, and the kitchen belonged to Harper.

  “You girls go on out to play,” Harper said, shooing Scarlett and Piper out of the kitchen and through the front door. “Go on down to the creamery and get yourselves an ice cream.” She handed them a few dollars and they scampered away.

  There was no sign of the contractor, though there was evidence he’d been there working. A ladder was propped up against the built-in bookshelf behind them. A smattering of footprints tracked through the sawdust on the concrete floor. A circular saw lay smack in the middle of the garden room.

  Throw rugs. They needed throw rugs. Storie added them to her list. She’d need plenty of them until she and Harper could paint the floor in the outdoor room with the black-and-white diamond pattern they’d agreed on.

  All of which just reminded her of everything she had to do, which made her think of Buddy Garland and his handyman work, which brought up Reid again, and all she could think of was his insistence that they had unfinished business.

  She tried to keep perspective. No mortal men. A relationship with one would never work, assuming she’d even want it to. Which she didn’t. Add to that the fact that she didn’t know any warlocks or wizards, and her fate was sealed. There would be no merriment and love in her future.

  A few minutes later, she and Harper stood side by side. Storie finished telling her friend what Reid had said, and Harper stared at her as if she’d grown horns. “He said that?” she whispered. “That everything’s for sale?”

  Storie nodded grimly as she pulled her hair into a ponytail, winding a bright orange hair band around the mass. “But let me tell you, he’s got another thing coming. He wants something, but I am not for sale. He can’t waltz in here and think I’ll barter with him.” She scoffed. “He made it sound like he’d help get us ready for the grand opening if we finished that…business at the lake.”

  “You mean the sex you almost had, but didn’t,” Harper said, winking.

  “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

  “I might,” Harper said. “He’s hot.”

  Storie flung the back of her hand against Harper’s arm. “That’s not the point.”

  “Could be.”

  Storie shook her head. “He may be gorgeous, but that’s not enough,” she said.

  “To you,” Harper said with a laugh. “For me, it’s more than enough.”

  Buddy Garland appeared, interrupting their conversation. The long strands of his sparse iron-gray hair flew toward the ceiling, his leathery skin covered with a fine layer of dust.

  “Ladies,” he said.

  A little dog trotted in behind him, looking up at them with big, round eyes.

  Behind her, Miranda hissed.

  “Where’d he come from?” Harper asked. But Storie’s skin pricked. It was the same dog she’d seen across the road at the courthouse square.

  Buddy shrugged. “Followed me in this mornin’. He’s a friendly thing.”

  Harper crouched and held out her hand. “Come here, boy.” The dog barked, but scampered toward her. She peeked under the terrier’s back leg. “I mean girl,” she amended with a laugh.

  They turned their attention back to Buddy as he cleared his throat.

  “The fence out back is finished,” he proclaimed, as if that was the final repair job and they were ready to open. Which they definitely were not.

  Storie pulled her list out of her back pocket and peered at it. “What about the shelves in the tearoom and fixing the motor on the garage door opener?”

  Buddy shrugged, bending down to pick up the circular saw. “Didn’t get to ’em yet,” he said, “and I got another job I gotta start up now.”

  Storie gaped at him. “What do you mean, you have another job? You’re still on this job.”

  Buddy shrugged and went about his business, gathering up the rest of his tools. “Money talks, little lady, and I been paid real handsomely to take another job.”

  “Buddy,” she said, working to slow her manic pulse, “we have a grand opening coming next week.”

  “Bad timing,” he admitted.

  She and Harper stared. “Are you kidding? Bad timing?” Storie’s fists clenched, all the energy inside of her swirling into an uncontrollable frenzy. “You can’t leave.”

  “You can’t stop me,” he said, but he wouldn’t make eye contact. Her senses went on high alert. Something wasn’t right.

  “Oh yes, I can stop you,” she ground out. “We have a contract.”

  “This other job’s a biggie.”

  Harper threw out one hip and propped her arms on it. “What exactly are you telling us, Buddy Garland? You have a biggie job right here.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but this new one’s bigger.”

  Storie wagged her finger at him. “Oh no, Buddy. We were just telling Kathy Newcastle what a find you were. You can’t leave us high and dry and make us all liars.”

  “I can’t help it if somethin’ has come up,” he said, still not meeting her eyes.

  Storie suddenly thought of Reid and Jiggs Malone trying to buy this place from her dad, of Reid showing up and trying to barter work for sex, and then she remembered Kathy telling her that Buddy parked himself at The Speakeasy when he wasn’t working. Oh God. Surely Reid wouldn’t… Would he? Could he possibly be that duplicitous? She kept her voice calm, but her blood surg
ed like a hurricane in her ears. “Did Reid Malone put you up to this?”

  Buddy stuttered, speechless, and that was all she needed to know.

  The reality of what it meant set in. For a moment, she couldn’t see straight. Couldn’t think. Kathy had been right. The man couldn’t be trusted, but if he thought stealing Buddy Garland away from them would stop anything, he was dead wrong.

  She hadn’t fallen into rapture at seeing him again, hadn’t succumbed to his so-called charm—so he was going to sabotage her business. Maybe he didn’t want the actual business. Maybe this was payback for eight-year-old sexual frustration, ridiculous as that was.

  Buddy brushed down the wayward strands of his hair, looking a touch uncomfortable. “Don’t fret none, Ms. Bell. I got you covered. My word is gold. Your list’ll get done in time for your opening by the end of this week.”

  “How can it, if you’re leaving?” she asked, wondering how, if she used magic, she was going to explain the work being done to Harper.

  He stopped at the archway leading back to the front of the store. “My word is gold,” he said again. “Everythin’ will get done.”

  Harper jammed her hands on her hips, staring him down with a look so intense, Storie thought that if she had magic in her, Mr. Garland would have been turned into a rat by now. “How can it be?” she hollered after him. “There’s still this room to finish, the cupboards in the kitchen, and you haven’t even started working on the apartment upstairs—”

  Storie waved that task away. The upstairs loft was truly the last priority, but in the meantime, she was living in squalor. Magic was not an option for that. Harper, the girls, Buddy, and Kathy Newcastle had all seen it, and they’d ask too many questions if it was suddenly fixed up, so she’d have to continue living out of boxes for as long as it took.

  Buddy gave them a curt nod as he headed out the front door. “It’ll get done,” he said again, but Storie had lost faith. So far, being in Whiskey Creek didn’t feel like happily ever after. And seeing Reid again had made everything take a turn for the worse. Her father’s words circled in her mind again. Mortals and witches didn’t mix.

  Before they could argue another word with the wayward contractor, he was gone.

  Only the little dog stayed behind.

  Chapter 5

  Reid would bet his life that bootleggers and moonshiners were not what Storie’d had in mind when she dreamed up The Storiebook Café. He’d also bet that his arrangement with Buddy Garland to bail on the job next door had her blowing steam out of her ears. He’d timed it just right—wait long enough to make her and Harper sweat, but not so long that they’d go off and hire another contractor to do the work.

  Deceiving Storie might not be honorable, but it was fun. And truthfully, he was trying to protect her and Harper. Probable deniability. What they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. Or get them tossed in prison.

  Twenty-four hours. He figured that was enough.

  “You gotta hang the cupboard doors in the kitchen,” Buddy said. He dug his hand into a wooden bowl of peanuts and popped a few into his mouth. “Then there’re the built-in bookshelves. They’re in the tearoom for the little ’uns. A few of the shelves are warped, is all. I’d leave that for last. The upstairs needs a lot of work. Ms. Bell can’t move in fully till it’s done, but she said that can wait till last. Floor needs refinishing. Needs new countertops in the kitchenette and new drywall.”

  Why he even bothered making notes of everything Buddy mentioned, he didn’t know. He had no intention of actually doing the bulk of the repairs. Some of them, sure. He needed access to search, and that was it. Get in, get out. It was as simple as that.

  And if he could loosen those springs wound up inside Storie and taste her again, all the better.

  He nodded his thanks to Buddy for taking the fall, handed over an ancient bottle of Jiggs’s moonshine, gathered up his tools, and five minutes later he pushed through the front door of the bookshop ready for a throwdown with Storie.

  But instead of Storie, the two little girls he’d seen flitting around the square and darting in and out of the shop stared up at him. Harper’s daughters. They both hung back. He waved at them, giving them a friendly smile.

  The younger girl folded her arms and stared him down, but eventually she spoke. “Are you Prince Charming or a bandit?”

  He set down the toolbox he’d lugged over. Kids. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them; he just didn’t know how to relate to them. At least it was an easy question. The corner of his mouth crept up. “Probably closer to a bandit.”

  “Well then, you shouldn’t be here.” The older girl spoke this time, hands on her hips. He bit back a chuckle. She was the spitting image of her mama, and she’d definitely have the boys lining up for her one day.

  “I’m a good bandit,” he said, and it was the truth. He was only trying to do right by Jiggs. But he was also a stranger to them, he realized. A mad rush of grumbling drowned out the music streaming from the cutout in the wall leading to the kitchen. “Can I talk to your mama?” He knew it wouldn’t be easy to convince Storie that he was there to help. Since she didn’t appear to be here, he’d work on Harper. They had no history, so maybe she’d see that his motives were true.

  The older girl tipped her chin down and peered up at him. Without taking her eyes off him, she called out. “Mama!” She shoved the little girl toward the kitchen. “Scarlett, go get Mama.”

  Scarlett obeyed, scampering off, and three seconds later, Harper appeared, wiping her hands on a ruffled apron tied around her waist. She peered at him, her gaze snapping to the toolbox he’d set down, then back to him. Maybe she wouldn’t be any easier to convince. “Reid Malone, if I’m not mistaken,” she said.

  He touched the bill of his Rangers cap. “At your service.”

  “And what can I do for you?”

  “Cut to the chase. I like that.” He smiled, rocking back on his heels. “I thought Buddy told you—”

  “Told me what?” she said, throwing one leg out and propping a hand on her hip. One eye narrowed, her eyebrows arching into a V. He looked down at the girls and stifled a laugh. They were three peas in a pod, each of them in the exact same position, staring at him with the exact same expression.

  “That I’d be filling in. Said you had to have the place finished by the opening.”

  “Right. That’s Friday.”

  He spread his arms wide. “So here I am. Just wanted to do my part to help. Couldn’t leave you high and dry.”

  “Is that right?” she asked, her lips drawing into a tight bow. “We got the feeling he left because of you.”

  “Me?” So maybe his plan wasn’t as foolproof as he’d hoped. “No, he just took another job.”

  She hesitated. “Well, he did say his word was gold, but—”

  “Yep, that’s right. Buddy’s as good as they come,” he said. And that was the truth. This wasn’t like a pro ball player throwing the championship game. Moonshine went a long way toward convincing a man like Buddy to give up a job. Not that he’d tell Harper that.

  She hesitated for a second, looking over her shoulder. Was she hoping Storie would show up? He wouldn’t mind seeing her again, too, stubbornness and all. He needed to strategize on where to start his work here, but having her in his sights would be a bonus, as long as he could search without her being the wiser.

  Then again, if she was pissed off at him, he could search without her being a distraction. He honestly didn’t know which scenario he preferred.

  Finally, Harper nodded. “Okay then,” she said. “There’s a list around here somewhere. It’s about as long as my arm.” She scurried off to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a yellow legal pad. Neat, straight-up-and-down script filled sheet after sheet. “Storie’s a list-maker,” she explained. “She has it all written down, in multiple places. You can start at the top and work your way down. The air conditioner just went kaput, too, so that’ll be added on.”

  He took the pad, s
canning the to-do tasks.

  Fix the clog in the kitchen sink

  Warped shelving in tearoom

  Bent paneling in garage

  Broken light fixture in front

  Railings on garage doors

  Paint cupboards in kitchen

  Pantry light

  The list went on and on, ending with a second page detailing what needed to be done in the apartment upstairs. The thing was at least four times as long as Buddy had led him to believe. Good God, he had his own list of things to do at The Speakeasy. Best he get on with his search and get the hell out of here.

  But where to start? Hell, it might help if he knew exactly what he was looking for. The best Jiggs could tell him was that the secret ingredient was an oil, and vital to the moonshine recipe that Gemstone wanted to buy. Problem was, only Ted Bell knew what it was, and he was dead. But Reid had been in and out of here enough times to know that nothing was hidden in plain sight, and now he was desperate. The deal had to be inked or Jiggs wouldn’t make his millions and find his peace of mind.

  Whatever kind of receptacle the oil was in, he was determined to find it. If only the building weren’t so old. There was no telling where Storie’s father might have hidden the special stuff. If there was any more of it. That’s what worried Reid most of all. What if Ted had given Jiggs the last of the elixir? It had a distinct flavor and they hadn’t been able to replicate it. Without it, Jiggs’s moonshine was nothing special, but with it, the stuff was a gold mine.

  “Don’t need to bother with upstairs right now,” Harper said. “All the downstairs stuff is the priority.”

  He picked up his tools, a sliver of remorse slicing into his thinking. He wasn’t a Boy Scout, but he wasn’t dishonest, yet here he was trying to find and steal something that didn’t belong to him.

  “How long did Storie’s dad own this place?”

  “Ever since I’ve known her. Since she was a senior in high school, I reckon. Can’t believe he never fixed it up,” she said, “but it’s been a clean slate for us, which is good. This is the town they lived in when her parents first split up. It’s like he knew she’d end up here.”