Eternally Yours (15 page)

I settled north of Sacramento in a shantytown called Hastings Bar. When I first got there, Hastings Bar consisted of ten canvas tents, four men to a tent. Within three months, it was a town of almost twelve thousand people, with hundreds more coming every day. I say “people,” but really, they were almost all men. There was no police force, no court, no law except what the locals organized themselves. Of the twelve thousand people, all but about five hundred lived in tents, winter and summer. The houses and buildings that were there had been thrown together in a hurry by men who thought only of gold with every board they sawed and every nail they sank. But my establishment was sturdy enough.

My name had been Charity Temple, and I told everyone I was a widow. I ran a combination hotel/brothel, and in eighteen months I made close to a million dollars. In 1850s currency.

That had been a successful project, larger than myself.

I was grinning a little, remembering how I’d pulled a rifle on a would-be thief—the look on his face had been priceless—when I realized that Joshua was still sitting across from me, his eyes boring holes in my forehead.

“What do you
want
?” I asked, irritated.

“I want you to leave my sister alone.” Heat and danger seemed to shimmer off him.

I frowned. “How about we all agree that River is a big girl and can decide for herself?”

“How about you leave here and never come back? How about you run back to your master and tell him he’s got a bigger fight on his hands than he could possibly imagine?”

If I were a regular person, I would probably find his threatening scowl and implied threat intimidating. But you go through enough wars, famines, attacks, etc., and it takes more than a mean look to make you quake in your boots.

“You know, one day your face will freeze like that,” I said, sounding bored and standing up. “Then, my friend, your career as a gigolo will be
over
.” I swept out of the room as he was still trying to find words.

I needed to move. The sun outside was trying to shine a little more brightly, but here at River’s Edge there was a frowny face wherever I turned. Without asking anyone, I grabbed the keys to one of the farm cars (the little car I’d bought had been totaled), and drove off toward town.

Like, our big, exciting town, right? The one street. The bright lights and madcap excitement. I parked in front of Early’s and rested my head in my hands on the steering wheel, trying hard not to feel pathetic, and failing. I mean, even failing at
this
. Just too sad.

Time for some candy.

Early’s was a big, old-fashioned general store, with the same wide plate-glass windows as Pitson’s on one side and then the smaller shops like MacIntyre’s Drugs on the other
side. Early’s stocked clothes (not cute clothes—practical clothes), animal feed, books, magazines (but no comfy place to sit and read them), candy, kayaks, shoes (not cute shoes), seeds, garden tools—most anything that anyone around here might need or want. Unless you were me.

I came in here regularly either on errands or for myself, to stock up on cheap tabloid magazines and candy.

As I perused Ye Olde Candy Aisle, I noticed all the hearts and cupids littering the place. What day was this? I wandered over to the newspaper stand and glanced at a date. February 7. So Valentine’s Day was rocketing toward us. But you know, all this stuff was really… cheap and typical. There was nothing interesting or crafty or homemade. Surely some people here would want something like that? There needed to be a little shop with craft supplies for ambitious knitters or scrapbookers or whatever things people did to keep themselves off the street.

As I checked out, I thought about Dray. I hadn’t seen her since before I’d gone to Boston. She’d been pissed at me. I’d been pissed at her, having seen her jacking stuff at Early’s when I’d been convinced that Saint Nastasya was helping her turn over a new leaf.

Anyway, I wondered if she was okay—if she was still living with her loser family, or if she’d managed to get out of this town like I’d told her to do.

And since I was down here, and Meriwether, at least, didn’t hate me, I decided to pop in and see her. I checked
my watch—it was after five; she should be at work. The bell over the door at MacIntyre’s jingled as I went in. I heard Old Mac talking in the back, but I walked quietly along the aisles until I saw Meriwether—who was talking to a boy. The boy’s back was to me, but from Meriwether’s face I could tell that he wasn’t asking her where the jock powder was. She was smiling and blushing, keeping her voice down.

When I caught her eye, I gave her a silent thumbs-up. Just then the boy looked down, and Meriwether quickly mouthed
Lowell
at me. Lowell was the boy she’d had a crush on, who had taken her to the Christmas Dance that Dray and her friends had crashed and ruined.

I gave a big smile back and silently edged away and left the store. My heart was lightened by Meriwether’s budding romance. I was such a softy. Not really. But this was still fun. I was opening the car door when my eyes fell once again on the abandoned shops. I dropped the candy bag on the front seat and headed across the street.

Y
ou… what?” River’s eyes were wide with surprise.

I slid into a place at the dining table—dinner was almost over, since I’d gotten held up in town. Rachel passed me the bread, and Asher ladled some soup into a bowl.

“I bought those abandoned shops on Main Street,” I repeated, gulping down some tea. My nose was still cold, and the warm mug felt good in my chilled fingers.

“What do you mean, bought?” Brynne asked.

“I mean I called the agent and bought the shops,” I said,
dunking the bread into the chicken matzo-ball soup. Oh, God, it was so good. Hot, chickeny—yum.

“You couldn’t have gotten a mortgage so quickly.” Ottavio’s eyes were—wait for it—suspicious. About my dangerous, property-buying ways.

“I don’t need a mortgage. I wrote them a check. I have lots of money.” I gave Daniel a meaningful look, like, keep your stinking hundred million dollars.

“Lots of money?” Ottavio seized that information. “And where did you get this money?”

Even I was startled when Amy pelted Ott with a piece of bread. Don’t get me wrong, I was loving the hard time she was giving him, but it was like throwing rocks at a land mine. Sooner or later there would be an ugly explosion.

Ott’s face turned purple, and he opened his mouth, but River sighed. “Please, Ottavio.”

I cut up my matzo ball with my spoon. “Weirdest thing. Some guy named the master transferred millions into my account.” I stopped cutting and looked up. “Wait—is that bad?”

“What are you planning to do with the shops?” Charles asked before Ottavio could reply.

“I confess I was thinking more along the lines of you taking up watercolors,” said River.

Watercolors. Because I’m so good at sitting still, right?

“I was thinking that I would throw money at the shops
until they become cute, and then open this town’s sorely needed cozy coffee emporium,” I said, and poured myself more tea from the insulated pitcher. “There will be three shops left. I can’t help but notice—and don’t take this the wrong way, I know you love it here—but West Lowing desperately needs a source of fashionable footwear. And where is the local craft nook, with Tuesday night Stitch ’n’ Bitch sessions? Again, a distinct lack thereof.”

I inhaled more soup and took another piece of bread. All of this real-estate mogulry had made me starving. “And a good consignment shop, or perhaps an ice-cream parlor, would not come awry.” I tilted my head and assumed a dreamy expression. “That’s my big project: to save West Lowing. As I myself am being saved.”

Reyn swallowed something wrong and coughed.

I shot River a glance. “I’m still being saved, right?”

“Still giving it the old Girl Scout try,” she said wryly.

“I think it sounds superfun,” said Brynne. “And of course you would do anything to get out of painting the barn.” She grinned at me, and I shrugged cheerfully.

“I’d like to point out that this is a totally nonevil thing for me to do,” I told the brothers with sickening earnestness. “It’s creating something, making jobs for people, helping the town’s economy.” I batted my eyes innocently.

Ottavio looked like he’d swallowed a frog, but he didn’t need Heimliching this time, so that was good. Daniel’s face was a mask of irritation, probably from finding out that I
didn’t need his money. Joshua’s weary, cynical eyes looked at me with steady speculation.

“It’s a great idea,” said Anne. “I’ve often wished someone would do something with those shops. River, remember when we would always go to Schwalbach’s for their lunch special? And the watch-repair shop was right next door. Who was it who kept breaking all his watches?”

River thought. “Ted.”

“Oh, right, Ted. The man with the cursed wrist.” Anne shook her head. “Anyway, Nastasya, it’s a very ambitious project. Good for you.”

“Thank you. Is there dessert?”

“Pear cobbler,” said Asher. “And then you, Reyn, and Anne are on cleanup duty.”

Someday, grasshopper,
someday
, you too may experience the heart-pounding, burning frustration and excitement that arises from washing dishes with your crush. Maybe it’s the soapy, sudsy warmth, or the splishy-splashiness of the—okay, I’m making even myself ill. What I mean to say is Reyn up to his elbows in suds, doing dishes, was a huge turn-on. Of course, Reyn walking around covered in muck was a huge turn-on, too.

Anne had slithered out of cleanup duty by offering to make cookies. True, they were healthy cookies made with tofu and sesame seeds and whole-wheat flour, but they were still good enough to bribe me with.

“The more magick I do, the more I crave sugar,” Anne said, scraping dough off a spoon with her finger. “I noticed that maybe a hundred years ago. I wonder why that is?”

“I read that in a fantasy book,” I said, wiping a plate dry. I’d casually mentioned the efficiency of a commercial dishwasher several times to River, who had pretended not to hear me each time. “They kept eating muffins and honey.”

“I haven’t noticed it,” said Reyn, and Anne and I made faces at each other behind his back.

Anne slid one cookie sheet into the oven and started filling another. The kitchen windows were still boarded up, and thin streams of late-winter air whispered in around their edges. But with the oven going and all this hard physical labor I was doing, the kitchen was warm and cozy. This place, River’s Edge, seemed warm and cozy to me. (Okay, except for the three ancient Italians muttering grumpily in the dining room.)

I stopped drying for a second when I realized how much it felt like home, a real home. My home. Would I still be here three years from now? Would I be here long enough to see what happened with my shops? Buying them had been a commitment.

Not that I haven’t walked away from a thousand commitments, big and small, all over the place for hundreds of years. But time had yet to reveal whether I would walk away from this one. It would be interesting if I didn’t.

“So,” I said to Reyn, “are you up for helping me with the
shops?” He’d been stiff and distant, or, I should say, stiffer and more distant ever since Joshua had arrived. During dinner he’d said not a word, and even here in this sudsy wonderland, he wasn’t getting into all the comforting domesticity of the scene.

“Why?” Reyn’s voice was, yes, stiff and distant. “You want me to be a creator, instead of a destroyer? Is that it?”

Anne and I exchanged a quick glance, and she raised her brows.

I rolled my eyes and took a plate from him. “Yes. Because helping me with these shops will make up for everything else you’ve ever done.” The plate joined its friends on the table, and I flicked Reyn’s arm with my dish towel. “What’s wrong with you?”

In that endearing way he had, he didn’t answer me, just washed plates and glasses with a bit more force than necessary. I let out a deep breath, kept drying, and directed all of my conversation to Anne. Gosh, he was a heartthrob.

I stood at my bedroom door, listening. I’d left it cracked just a bit and so far had heard Lorenz, then Rachel and Amy, then Solis, then Charles come up the stairs and pass my door. Finally I heard it. Or rather, I almost didn’t hear it: the faintest of footsteps. I got ready to put my plan into action, and then prayed this was Reyn, because I’m guessing Joshua would sound exactly the same.

I closed my eyes and held my breath for just a few
moments, opening up my senses. Yep, it was Reyn. And… Dúfa. Every person (and apparently every dog) has a unique energy pattern, and when I concentrated, I could feel it.

Just as they were passing my door, I opened it, lunged, and grabbed Reyn’s arm. Of course he reacted instinctively, already snaring my wrist to break my hold even as I tried to drag him inside my room. Dúfa yipped and jumped around my feet as we fell clumsily through the doorway. I kicked the door shut behind us.

“What are you doing?” He sounded angry. “I could have killed you!” Dúfa gave a couple more yips, like,
Yeah! We could have
killed
you!

Keep in mind this was a very young puppy that was probably still nursing.

“I know, you big bad warrior you. But I thought if I just asked you in, you might ignore me and stalk past.”

Golden eyes narrowed.

Now that I had him here, I had no idea what I’d been thinking when I concocted this stupid plan. I hadn’t really thought it through—just, oh, get Reyn somewhere private so you can talk. Now I was faced with actually having him in my room, and all coherent thoughts were running for cover. He made my room seem so much smaller.

Plus, you know, we were alone and there was a bed, right there. I’m just saying.

Long-legged, skinny Dúfa started sniffing around my room, and I cleared my throat. Time to pull out the gentle, caring
sensitivity I’m not widely known for. “You seem even more uptight and angry than usual. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Muscles tightened in his jaw, and perhaps this was a bit late, but I quickly reviewed my most recent actions, weighing them for rage-worthiness.