Daddy Warlock (6 page)

“We had a bit of luck,” Chance said.

“How much did this luck cost?”

“Nothing.”

She regarded him skeptically. “A tow truck just happened by and the driver volunteered to inflate my tires out of the goodness of his heart?”

“Trust me,” said Chance, “it was an act of pure goodwill.”

Harry hoped she wasn't going to argue, and to his delight, she didn't “Well, thank you,” she said, opening the trunk. “But you're being more than generous, giving us a place to live in addition to a salary. I won't take advantage of you.”

“I'm getting far more than my money's worth.” Chance lifted her suitcases into the car. “Having an assistant at my beck and call will be a tremendous help.”

Harry hoped the man would offer a ride in his sports car, and maybe he would have, but there was a tightness about Mom's mouth that warned she wasn't in the mood for any more favors. And maybe she wouldn't consider letting her son go for a high-speed whirl much of a favor, at that.

It didn't matter, Harry decided as he went back upstairs with his mom and Chance to collect the rest of their possessions. They were going to live with a real magician, and Harry was going to learn how to be one, too.

T
HERE WAS A CANYON
intersection on the way to Chance's house that Tara could have sworn she'd seen before. The Art Deco mailbox in front of one house and the unusual angle at which the roads came together rang a bell in her memory, too.

But in Los Angeles, almost any site might have been used for a shoot She supposed she could have seen this very intersection on television or in a film.

The blue sports car led the way, which was a good thing, because Tara doubted she could have followed Chance's written directions. The roads were so twisty, she hoped she wasn't going to get lost every time she tried to go back to his house.

As they drove, she realized this was the area in which she and Denise had taken such a disastrous wrong turn on that long ago Halloween. They'd figured later that, since they'd double-checked the street number, they must have been on the wrong road altogether. She could easily see how it must have happened.

Not for the first time, Tara wondered if she might be able to locate the castle again. But even if she found it, what would she do? Walk right up and introduce a total stranger to his son?

He probably moved out long ago. Or he's married.
In any event, contacting the man would mean opening a Pandora's box.

Maybe someday she would try to find him, but she planned to wait until Harry was in his teens. By that age, she doubted any judge would wrench the boy away from home even if the father did hire a fancy lawyer.

Tara hadn't wanted to lie to Harry, so she'd told him simply that some men weren't ready to be fathers. He had asked if some women weren't ready to be mothers, a question that gave her pause until she remembered a friend who was adopted, and explained that yes, some moms weren't ready, either.

A few blocks later, the sports car turned into a driveway that ran through a wooded lot Eucalyptus and pine trees filtered the sunlight and gave the air a shimmering clarity, as if they were entering the realm of fairy tales.

They emerged into a small glade with a house set at the far end. The scent of pine filled the car, and Harry bounced in his seat.

“It's like being in the mountains!” he crowed as she parked. “Are we really going to live here? Can I have a tree house?”

“That's up to Mr. Powers,” Tara said.

“He told me to call him Chance”.

“Well, don't get too familiar,” she warned, without much hope of success. “He's my boss.”

As soon as she killed the engine, Harry flung himself out. Dashing through pine needles, he ran around the clearing as if exorcising the demons of city living.

Chance emerged from a three-car garage, which also sheltered a black Lexus and a faded station wagon that probably belonged to the housekeeper. “What a bundle of energy.”

“He wears me out,” Tara admitted. “Is all this land yours?”

“Yes. It's a little over an acre.” From her trunk, he lifted the heaviest cases. She took two string-tied boxes and decided to leave the rest for later.

The lot was huge for this area, Tara thought, grateful that her son would have a chance to enjoy the open space. She hoped this job worked out.

At the front door, Chance addressed the house. “Today's password is Fennel.”

“You've got yesterday's password,” scoffed a nasal voice. “Again.”

“Garlic,” he said.

“Oh, all right.” The bolt unworked itself. “Did you get a dog?”

“A dog?” Chance said as he picked up the suitcases.

“My motion sensors tell me someone is dashing around the place. It's not my fault I don't have eyes. And there's a guest with you. Is she going to be dining in? Rajeev forgot to defrost anything.”

“We'll send out for pizza.” Chance sighed. “House, this is Tara Blayne and that ‘dog' is her son, Harry. They're going to be living here.”

“Well, don't forget to tell them the password every day,” grumped the voice.

To Tara, Chance said, “He's kind of snappish. I think he's frustrated because he and my car broke up.”

“Excuse me!” growled the house with sarcastic emphasis. “Are you going to stand there all day, or what?”

“Maybe he's annoyed because he doesn't have a name,” Tara teased. “House, would you like for us to think of one?”

“I like your name,” said the house. “Tara. Wasn't that the mansion in
Gone With the Wind?”

“I guess I
was
named after a house, wasn't I?”, she said as they walked inside, with Harry scampering behind. “I never thought about it”

“You can't both be Tara,” said Chance. “We'll have to give this some thought”

“How about Manderley?” said the house, citing the stately home from
Rebecca.

“It burned down,” Tara advised.

Inside, Chance punched some buttons on a pad. She wasn't sure whether he was resetting the alarm or turning off the computer voice, but it didn't propose any more names.

The living room might have been decorated by an Eastern potentate, with furnishings from southern and central Asia. Instinctively, Harry slowed his pace and, to Tara's relief, refrained from running his hands over the gleaming mahoganies and teaks.

As she identified the Cuban rhythms of a rumba issuing from within the house, she felt a moment's confusion. Why was she so certain they were about to enter a courtyard?

A few more steps and they stood in the arching entrance to a flagstone-paved space surrounded by the curving
wings of the house. Directly ahead rose a secondstory tower.

Recognition hit Tara like a stinging dust cloud, smashing full into her face. She could hardly breathe, her eyes burned and her throat ached.

She knew this place as if from a dream, but a dream that had recurred night after night. It was the kind of distant, emotion-filled memory that she associated with her parents' old home near Louisville, as if a vital part of her life had passed here.

She could have sworn she had ascended that staircase to the balcony. And another time, that she had watched a dark figure in a cloak descend it with imperious grace. But she also recalled the courtyard filled with people, gaily costumed and celebrating by lantern light.

There were so many fragmented images, jumbled together and overlaid with a heavy sense of nostalgia, that Tara wondered if she could have lived here in a previous life. Not that she believed in reincarnation, but what other explanation could there be?

“Do you ever let people shoot movies here?” she asked Chance. “I think I've seen this house before.”

“No, but the previous owner may have,” he said. “I bought it about nine years ago.”

He was watching her closely, and Tara realized her behavior must look peculiar. Shaking off her disorientation, she tried to focus on the Latin rhythms issuing from a boom box.

The tantalizing beat of maracas resounded through the open space. To one side, a man and woman in Spanishstyle costumes were executing the stylized movements of the dance with seductive grace. If she hadn't been so preoccupied with her sense of déjÿ vu, Tara would have noticed them at once.

Both were dark-skinned and had the handsome features she associated with people from India. But this dance was definitely Cuban.

The couple slid across the stones with sinuous precision, knees bent, legs almost liquid, but with scarcely any movement above the waist. They took small, flat steps, alternating quick and slow movements as the man whirled his partner.

There was something formal about their approach, not like two lovers sharing a dance. The pair kept their heads high, smiles plastered across their faces and their gazes sweeping their surroundings as if acknowledging an audience.

As the music stopped, the two stamped their feet and struck a pose. Harry began to applaud, and Tara and Chance joined in.

“Ah! So you are returned!” The man bent to switch off the boom box.

“Welcome to our household!” The woman came forward with hands outstretched, and Tara clasped them gladly. “You are Mrs. Blayne? I am Vareena Goreng and this is my brother Rajeev.”

“Are you guys magicians, too?” blurted Harry.

“Magicians?” Tara felt that whirling confusion again.
Magician.
How had her son known to associate that word with this place? If only she could remember the name of the film, she would feel a lot less uneasy.

“No, no.” The man hurried over. “I am the housekeeper and this is my sister.”

“I love children,” said Vareena. “But I am not ready to have any.”

“Not until we win many trophies,” explained her brother. “And she finds a husband.”

At least one thing clicked into place for Tara. “You were practicing ballroom dancing for a competition!”

“We are new to the field,” said Rajeev. “But rising rapidly! Oh, dear. I have forgotten to defrost anything for dinner. But the house has told you this already, eh?”

“We're ordering pizza!” Harry sang out with glee. Fast food, a staple in most households, was a rare treat for the Blaynes. Tara's budget hadn't often been able to cover anything fancier than the kind of pizza she made at home with tortillas.

“Please allow me to carry these.” Rajeev scooped up the suitcases and Vareena insisted on taking the boxes from Tara.

They led the way into one wing, peppering Harry with questions and explaining everything from how often they fed the tropical fish in a huge indoor tank to how the courtyard was engineered so that rainwater ran into a drain and not into the house.

Chance brought up the rear. When Tara glanced at him, he was watching her intently.

But she didn't feel uncomfortable anymore. It was impossible not to relax with the exuberant Gorengs.

She'd never had to share her son before, Tara thought with a pang. He'd always been exclusively hers to love and comfort, with no other family members involved.

But she didn't mind sharing him, not if it made her son happy. Besides, he would still belong to her. These were only borrowed quarters, and someday these people would fade into memory, like everything else in Tara's past.

Having a family around, even one he couldn't officially acknowledge, was throwing Chance's life into turmoil.

No more eating leftovers in front of the television. Friday night's pizza was followed on Saturday by an elaborate meal, cooked by Rajeev with help from his sister and featuring three kinds of rice, eggplant in peanut sauce, roasted vegetables and, for Harry, vegetarian hot dogs.

Late that night, when Chance wandered into the kitchen in search of orange juice, he found Tara sitting at the table reading a novel. Draped across a chair, long shapely legs showing through a slit in her sleep shirt, she was mussing her hair with one hand, feeding herself bits of leftover vegetables with the other and holding her book open with one elbow.

The small, modern chandelier bathed her in a soft glow. Standing in the doorway, viewing her from the side, Chance found himself longing to stroke her hair into place and touch the velvety curve of her cheek.

He knew that he could enter her mind again. He had felt the vibrations between them from the moment she walked into his office.

More than anyone he had ever met, Tara was susceptible
to his wizardry. It would take only a moment for their eyes to meet and her breathing to quicken. Then Chance could lift her in his arms and carry her into his room.

They could experience again that amazing sense of oneness. He would fuse with her thoughts, and she with his. They would become a single being, complete and harmonious and capable of incredible pleasure.

But matters would never be that simple. They hadn't been simple the last time. Just look at the surprise their actions had produced.

A wave of guilt, a most unfamiliar sentiment, ran through Chance. He had gained an incredible son, and so had Tara, but it was she who'd borne the burden of altering her life, sacrificing her independence, facing the hardships of raising a child alone.

He hadn't intended to manipulate her that night. He'd been young, brash, self-absorbed. But he knew better now.

He had no right to play games with Tara Blayne's heart It was not up to him to judge whether the joy they could share would be worth any pain that might follow.

If they were to have a future, she would have to come to Chance of her own accord, without magic. Living with her, seeing her vulnerable and unaware like this, meant that he must exercise great restraint. To do otherwise would be to betray her trust, and to prove himself unworthy of his son.

Quietly he withdrew, leaving Tara alone with her book. Chance made a mental note to stock her suite with a refrigerator and microwave so she wouldn't need to venture into this wing again at night. His will might be forged of steel, but even steel could melt at high temperatures.

On Sunday afternoon, while Harry devoted himself to playing video games, Chance escaped into his office in the rear wing of the house. It ran the width of the structure, with a large window overlooking a rear slope filled with wildflowers and succulents. Farther off, he could see the tile roof of his neighbor's house.

Logging onto the Internet, Chance downloaded stock market data and began running a program he had customized. Absorbed in his work, he scarcely noticed when Tara entered.

She waited until he came up for air, then asked, “Do you have time to show me what you're doing?”

“It's Sunday,” he. said automatically. “You're off duty.”

“I thought the point of my living here was so I could work odd hours.”

Swiveling in his chair, Chance tried to suppress his reaction to her slim shape in a cotton sweater and figurehugging jeans. He was achingly aware of the small, round breasts that had once molded themselves to his mouth, and the natural feminine scent of flowers and desire.

Seven years hadn't dimmed his memory of her. Sometimes he wished that his brain, like Tara's, had shifted the experience into the realm of dreams. Only years of training had given Chance full access to parts of his consciousness that most people kept shielded.

Right now, a masculine ache reminded him that such knowledge was not always a good thing. It took considerable effort to continue the conversation on an ordinary plane. “I don't want to take advantage of you.”

“You aren't.” Pulling up a chair, Tara sat beside him. “But if I'm intruding, feel free to throw me out.”

Chance didn't want to do that, even though it would probably help his concentration. “This is a program that
analyzes ups and downs in the stock market and compares them with the performance of our timing service.”

“Timing service?”

“It monitors our mutual funds.” He explained that he advised his clients to put part of their capital in mutuals, which invested in a variety of stocks, thus spreading the risk. Traditionally, mutual funds grew much faster than inflation and, over a period of years, provided a healthy return.

However, they still took a hit when the market suffered a dip. The function of a timing service was to analyze conditions, predict when the market was likely to drop and move the clients' money from the mutual funds into a money market account, then buy back into the funds later to take advantage when prices rose again.

“Kind of like what I would do if I paid close attention to the stock market and did a lot of buying and selling at the right time?” Tara said.

“More or less.” Explaining the complicated business helped keep Chance's body from hardening every time she leaned over him to look at the computer. “Of course, nobody's right all the time. The stock market can be unpredictable, even when the timer's system is basically valid. Just because they guess wrong once in a while, that doesn't mean I want to switch to a new timing service.”

She studied him with respect. “But you want to make sure they aren't wrong too often, for your clients' sakes.”

“Just as they keep on top of the stock market, I keep on top of the timing service,” Chance agreed. “Now, here's how the program works….”

Tara was a quick study, as fast as any employee he'd had, particularly considering she'd never worked with
stocks before. Before Chance realized it, twilight had fallen and Rajeev was calling them to dinner.

He hoped that her mental agility indicated that she would soon be able to grasp the concept that magical powers existed. Maybe, in a purely objective context, she would have been able to accept it now.

But the subject was tied up with his paternity and with Harry's future. It was too much to expect her to take more than one small step at a time.

Chance hoped he could determine what those steps ought to be and guide her smoothly. These days, he had to be an expert on timing in his personal life too, except that, unlike in business, he had no previous experience to draw on.

T
ARA WAS GLAD
she'd worked on Sunday, because she had to take a half day off on Monday to enroll Harry in his new school.

The building had fresher paint and a newer playground than his old one, and the children looked better scrubbed. A couple of kids, she noticed, wore expensive outfits, and she hoped they weren't snobbish about clothing.

Harry's new teacher seemed cheerfully capable, and the class wasn't far ahead of where his old class had been. With only a couple of months left in the school year, she didn't want her son to get frustrated.

Driving back to Chance's house, she followed his hand-drawn map with care. Tara could almost have sworn the streets shifted a little and that some of the landmarks had changed since this morning.

With relief, she turned into the driveway and parked to one side. Chase had mentioned something yesterday about installing a carport for her, but she couldn't imagine that he would go to such lengths for an employee.

As she got out, Tara allowed herself a moment to breathe the fragrant air and enjoy the quiet. Since leaving' Kentucky, she'd missed the sounds and scents of nature.

There was something special about this glade. The light had a sepia tone, as if it came from long ago. She could imagine magical things happening here.

The only magic Tara believed in, she reminded herself, was the kind that came from within the human heart. In a searing flash, as if her thoughts had been illuminated by lightning from a clear sky, she saw that Chance Powers might indeed be that kind of magician. He tempted her more than any man she had ever met

Even when dealing with mundane matters, she never lost her awareness of his physical presence. His resonant voice reached within her like a challenge, or an invitation. Sometimes she felt as if she could reach inside him, too.

Tara could picture him clearly: the dark hair and gray eyes, the strong-boned face and provocative smile, the body taut with restrained power. In only a few days, he had become a dominant part of her mental landscape.

But she must resist him. If not, she risked losing her job and this wonderful place to live.

A
T LUNCH,
most of the kids bought the cafeteria food. There was a choice between a hamburger and a burrito. This school had a special lunchroom, instead of using the auditorium like his old school, and there was a salad bar, plus a yogurt machine.

Harry had let Rajeev pack an eggplant sandwich, which tasted good, but the other kids were giving him pained expressions. They had fancy clothes with names written across the front that Harry had seen on television commercials. And they wore the kind of sneakers that
famous basketball players endorsed. It was like going to a whole school full of John Abernathys.

One other boy was sitting by himself at the end of the table. He was thin with short hair and thick glasses. Like the others, he wore big-name clothes and had bought his lunch, but nobody was talking to him.

“Hi,” said Harry. “What's your name?”

“Al.”

“I never met a kid named Al before.”

“It's short for Alcindor but the other kids make fun of that.”

“They shouldn't act mean.”

The boy smiled. “What's your name?”

“Harry. Like Houdini.”

“Who's Houdini? I mean—Who Dini?”

They both laughed.

“He's a guy who used to work magic tricks, just like—” Harry remembered his promise to Chance about keeping a secret. “Like at the circus.”

“Wanna play tetherball?”

Harry didn't like knocking a ball around a pole, but who cared what they did, as long as he had a friend? “Sure.”

They ran out of the lunchroom together, ignoring the looks from a couple of their classmates. Harry hoped there weren't any bullies who would pester him and Al.

That might make it hard to keep his word. He didn't want to let Chance down.

B
Y THURSDAY,
Tara had begun to feel comfortable with Chance's computer programs and to learn how he worked with his clients. Some of them were famous and most were rich, but he treated the modest investors with the same care.

That afternoon, she rode to the office with him and began getting acquainted with his staff. To her relief, the others expressed delight in having someone to share the workload.

“Chance is a perfectionist” explained his executive secretary. “He works twice as hard as anyone else, and we feel like we're letting him down when we don't stay late. Having you here takes a burden off us.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” Tara gazed around the expansive office with its fresh-cut flowers on the desks. “It's worked out well for me, too.”

She and Chance stayed after the other staff left Rajeev and Vareena had arranged to pick up Harry and take him to their dance class, then out for fast food. Her son had been looking forward to the outing, including Rajeev's offer to tell him a bedtime story from Indian folklore.

“It's almost too good to be true,” Denise said with a sigh when Tara called her during a coffee break. In the whirl of moving into a new home, she hadn't phoned her friend all week.

“Don't say that. It might be bad luck.”

“I thought you didn't believe in luck”, her friend teased.

“I don't. But I don't want to tempt fate in case I'm wrong.”

After hearing the latest gossip from the salon and promising to call again soon, Tara went back to finish familiarizing herself with the computer files. Chance sent out for submarine sandwiches, and they ate dinner at their desks.

Being part of such a high-speed business made the adrenaline sing through her bloodstream. In a way, Chance was part of the excitement, she admitted silently.

He certainly affected her. Whenever she came near,
she felt as if she'd been magnetized and he were a rod of iron. Tara could almost feel the hairs on her arms standing on end.

She supposed it would have been safer to work for an unattractive man, or one who was married. Yet the current of electricity between them added a note of danger that kept her both alert and intrigued.

It was late by the time they knocked off, but Tara didn't feel tired. How could she when her body was buzzing and sparks kept lighting up her brain?

They rode down in the elevator and emerged into a balmy spring night. A gardener must have spent the afternoon working on the planters, because the leggy begonias had been replaced by pansies and snapdragons. The bright colors stood out even in the light of a street lamp.

Chance reached over and plucked a.dozen of the tall blooms. Pulling out a handkerchief, he soaked it in water from a nearby sprinkler and wrapped it around the lower stems.

The man had flowers on every desk in the office. What on earth was he doing picking blooms out of the planters?

Distracted, Chance didn't notice her reaction at first, and then he glanced with amusement at the bouquet in his hand. “I suppose that must have looked odd.”

“I don't know,” she admitted. “Maybe you do it all the time.”

“No, I—” For the first time since she'd known him, he appeared at a loss for words. “It was just, as we were coming down the elevator, I got the feeling—I mean—”