Love Spell (30 page)

During a stop for fuel and something to drink, Lindsay made a quick restroom break. The morning sunlight felt wonderful as Clint stretched and yawned. The nostalgic smell of gasoline hung in the air, and the taste of triumph was on his lips. He smiled at the way the day was shaping up, only to gag on the exhaust from an old, white pickup that sputtered past him, and halted at a gas pump.

Clint set his energy drink down, not bothering to spare the pickup truck even a glare, and pulled out the complimentary city map they’d gotten from the hotel. Small X’s dotted the map, marking locations that had no record of Fey or her bizarre vehicle. Lindsay had been up front about the fact that she couldn’t make any guarantees. Still, the hope he saw in her eyes echoed what he felt inside. Even if they couldn’t find her, Clint hoped that he could still make something work with Lindsay notwithstanding his issues. At the very least, she hadn’t ripped his head off yet. He grabbed his drink again and took a swig.

“Clint!”

A mouthful of liquid alertness got spewed all over his map, and a few ounces of the beverage slipped down his throat the wrong way. He doubled over in a coughing fit, and Lindsay bustled up to him.

“Clint! I think I found her!”

Still clutching his throat, he held up his free hand to forestall an inquiry.

“Quit with the theatrics. Get in the car!” She scrambled in and fired up the engine.

Clint awkwardly gathered his drink and the wet map, and climbed in beside her. Minutes later, they were screaming down the freeway.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Lindsay knew she was certifiably insane. For starters, she was murdering her skyrocketing career by going AWOL when she was supposed to be grooming a vital client. She confirmed her insanity when she’d grabbed Clint’s hand and dragged him off to Vegas. But now, here she was, verging (again) on closing the only case she ever had as a private investigator. Better late than never, right?

The morning had been a whirlwind of emotion after a night of no sleep. She’d ridden the slanty elevators up and down for about an hour, talking to anyone else who got on, and talking to herself when no one was there. Security finally asked her to leave when several other guests expressed their concern. Breakfast passed with only a few funny looks from people she assumed she’d discussed Clint with the night before, and then… Clint had dropped the bomb on her.

He really did care.

That knowledge had invigorated her desire to finally nail down the elusive wish-granting witch, and force her to break Clint’s curse. After all, Fey owed her
something
for the abuse. Lindsay dusted off the old investigative habits and tricks, and went to work posing as a “friend” of Fey; she shuddered to think of how many people gave out so much personal information without bothering to verify who it was they were talking to.

The first lead came an hour into searching. They’d dashed across Vegas only to get lost, and then disappointed when they finally found the site, and realized the lead was false. Hitting a nearby gas station stop, however, turned up some serendipity.

While waiting in line to purchase a quick snack, Lindsay overheard an ad playing on a tablet held by the man in line ahead of her. Without meaning to be nosy, she glanced at the ad—it was for the Clark County Fair. It looked fun, but Lindsay wished a second clerk would help the poor woman who was manning the till alone, with a small, but growing line of customers. As she waited to be rung up, Lindsay chewed on her lip and bounced on the balls of her feet. She took another quick look at the ad—now ending—and froze.

“Could you play that again?” she asked the tablet owner, tapping his shoulder.

He looked back at her. “Huh?”

“That ad,” she said, pointing at the tablet. “It… looked fun.”

The man gave her an appreciative once over, and a lopsided grin. “Sure, I guess. Knock yourself out.” He handed her the device, and she reloaded the screen. A different ad came up. She refreshed again, and again, but with no success. At last, the ad flared to life. Lindsay watched images of rides, games, and junk food play over a cheerful narration about the joys of the annual event. And then, as the happy chatter wound down, she spotted it. That unmistakable vehicle of messed up dreams crouched like a lounging lion behind a small row of booths. It was almost too good to be true.

She decided to go anyway.

Clint was waiting outside, diligently studying the map, and so engrossed that she had to almost shout at him to break his reverie and get him into the car.

She threw the car into gear and, without waiting for Clint to strap in, gunned the little engine and pulled out into the road as soon as it was clear. Never before had she been
this
excited about going to a fair.

“Clint—what’s the quickest way to Logandale?”

Seeing the Wishouse again so soon almost made Lindsay cry. Sure enough, it was right where the online video had shown it. A fine layer of red dust gave the bus an antiquated look, and it seemed to emanate a tired aura of “Okay, you found me. So now what?”

Behind her the carnival went on. Diligent moms counted noses while smiling dads hauled stuffed animals the size of their children. Cotton candy stuck to kids like fluffy face paint. The sounds of games and a rodeo announcer buzzed behind her, and cowboys that would normally have made her heart drum faded into the background of her mind. For a moment, she pictured Clint in a Stetson and a pair of jeans—no plaid shirt required. She blushed at the thought, but then smiled naughtily to herself.

“Unbelievable,” Clint drawled. He stepped up to the bus, and ran his hand almost reverently along its painted side, making small trails in the dust. “Un-frickin-believable.”

Lindsay noticed he had the beginnings of a tear in his eye. “I guess we could stand here gawking in disbelief all day,” she replied, “or we could knock and get this over with. What do you think?”

Clint’s jaw hung open, as he walked slowly around the RV. He turned to Lindsay, and a smile slowly replaced his astonishment. “Do you know what this means?”

She smiled in return. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

Clint stepped closer, and she knew the Nevada sun wasn’t the only thing to blame for the heat that rose in her chest. “I want to go somewhere with this, Sully. Lindsay. You know what I mean.”

She nodded. The old dragon she’d once fought was purring with satiation. The prospect of being alone with Clint later was a staggering pleasure. Once again she found herself struggling to avoid seizing him on the spot and losing herself to the curse’s bidding, but she pushed the unnatural lust aside with her will, and on the promise that soon this twisted dream would be over. Clint would finally be where he belonged.

“Let’s go inside,” he said, nodding toward the door. She bobbed her head in agreement, and then locked up as his fingers slipped between hers. She closed her eyes against the feeling of fire in her veins—a feeling she once thought she’d banished from her memory forever, but found to be as fresh as the very first time she’d touched him—and focused on stopping herself from hyperventilating. When he tugged at her hand she responded automatically.

“Hello?”

When no one had answered on his third knock, Clint decided he might as well invite himself in. Fey would almost certainly be peeved, but his one experience with her suggested that she probably always had some kind of a bee in her bonnet. He chose not to worry about it. The place looked the same way it had when he’d made his own wish, and the pungent air conveyed him back in time to that fateful encounter almost half a decade ago. Had it really been that long? He’d stopped counting the days shortly after Lindsay had left him in Seattle.

The strangled lighting of the bus, combined with the eerie silence, set Clint on edge, and he wondered where Fey was. Fey wasn’t large, but the wishouse wasn’t fraught with many hidey holes, as best he knew. A noise at the back of the bus startled him. Lindsay yelped and Clint felt her grip tighten immensely. A short, dark figure tottered out of the deep shadows, and then plopped down on the faded linoleum with a bleat.

Clint laughed in relief, and Lindsay let out a breath.

“Hey, Altimus,” she said.

The goat answered almost conversationally.

“Where’s Fey?” The creature merely blinked, and then rose to nuzzle Clint and Lindsay in turn, before plodding back to the rear of the coach.

“That’s odd,” Lindsay said, as she began searching the place. “I wonder where she went.”

Clint shrugged. “Knowing her, she’s probably riding a bull over in the arena.”

He liked the way she laughed at the remark—it was so real, unlike most of the girls he’d once crushed on.

“Actually,” Lindsay replied, “she’s probably hitting on the cowboys.”

It was Clint’s turn to laugh. “Oh—before I forget. She’s going to ask us to pay for our wish. She had this rule—”

“I know, Clint. I just did this.”

Clint felt his heart sink at the reminder. “Oh, yeah. That’s right. I was about to say that you could maybe wish this all away. Stupid one-wish-only rule. But maybe we could… make a wish together? As a pair?”

That brought a huge smile to her face. “I like that idea. After all—I’m a lawyer. I pay my bills by finding loopholes, right?”

He smiled. “Maybe. But even if she lets us, how are we going to pay?”

Lindsay’s shoulder rose and fell. “We’ll think of something.”

“What did she charge you?”

Lindsay smiled at the floor. “It only cost me my pride and pig-headedness. What was your price?”

“Two cans of sardines.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“Kidding. I gave up my favorite art portfolio. That sketch I gave you is from my new one.”

Her cheeks reddened. “That was so sweet, by the way.”

“That’s me. But you never told me.”

“Told you what?”

Clint sat on the hide-a-bed next to the kitchenette, and nodded for Lindsay to sit as well. She settled into his lap, and he hadn’t the slightest of objections. “You never told me what you wished for.”

Lindsay giggled a bit, and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear before gazing out the window for a while. At last she said, “Let me back up.”

She burned time filling him in on everything that had transpired in her life since the morning she’d first believed she had lost it all. Just before Clint arrived in Phoenix, life had finally seemed set. And yet, it was still meaningless. “And so,” she said, “I decided to do something silly for a change.”

“You dyed your hair five different colors and ran through a public place in nothing but a trench coat?”

Lindsay half-gasped, half-laughed, and drilled a fist into his shoulder. He was impressed at how hard she could hit. “No, silly. I wished on a star. Geez. What kind of girl do you think I am?”

“I’ve got an idea, but I’m certain I’d love to find out more.”

Right answer. She blushed and giggled enough for him to know he’d chalked up some points.

“And,” he continued, “Fey came to answer that wish, I presume. I did the same thing, and nearly got killed by flaming poultry. So…?”

“So,” she said slowly, “I wished I would finally know what I needed to change to find true happiness.”

This was interesting. “And?”

She looked directly at him, and he suddenly had to swallow past a large lump in his throat. “And two days later, you came back for me.”

Clint pulled her into a close embrace, and held her until his arms startled to fall asleep. At last, he released her, and stood to stretch. “Well,” he said, picking a random deck of cards from the counter, and showing them to Lindsay, “I guess we’ve got a bit of time to kill. You ever played ‘War’?”

The card game turned into a trip to the fair with frequent stops at Fey’s Wishouse to check on whether the old lady was in. When night fell, Clint found he was beginning to get a bit worried. Unquestionably, his time with Lindsay had been wonderful, but he felt he was starting to understand the fabled life of Tantalus. Did that make Fey the wind that kept blowing the fruit of love just out of his reach?

By the time the fair started tucking itself in for the night, the old woman still hadn’t shown. At Clint’s suggestion, he and Lindsay had retired to the Wishouse for a final time, determined to simply wait it out, rather than leave and risk losing her. They opened every window they could to make their wait bearable, and Clint rummaged through Fey’s surprisingly large collection of music until he found something that suited the mood. They danced, played cards, and fed the goat until, finally, Clint found himself beginning to doze. Lindsay was already leaning on his chest, her killer eyes closed peacefully. She looked really good asleep, too. Even better than when she was irritated. He took a mental picture, the first of, he hoped, many of the kind.

A rumbling noise outside, and the sound of tires stopping on the unpaved parking lot, roused him from his near-sleep. Clint craned his neck to look through a window, and noticed a late model Ford quad-cab idling outside the wishouse. Truck doors opened, and the laughter of several men spilled into the night. Cab lighting silhouetted a handful of cowboys, and a smaller, hunched shadow. One buckaroo stepped quickly out of the truck, and helped the crumpled shadow down.

“Goodnight, boys!” a voice from the past called. Clint’s heart skipped a beat.

“I told you I was a lucky charm in heels!” the hunched woman said cheerily. “Thanks for hitting the tables with me! We’ll do Caesar’s Palace tomorrow night!”

A chorus of “Goodnights” and “Ma’ams” met the remarks. The cowboy jumped back into his ride, and the Ford rolled away into the darkness. Boots crunched, and Clint shook Lindsay awake.

“Lindsay. She’s here.”

“Wha… huh? Clint?” Lindsay blinked groggily a few times and looked up at him. A smile lit her face at once, and he gently kissed her forehead.

“Fey,” he said. “She just pulled up. It’s time.”

Lindsay snuggled her head under his neck, and then rose to stretch luxuriously.

Clint smiled. “Are you ready?”

He’d never seen her smile bigger. It was decided: all the looks he’d seen from her, that smile was the single, most attractive one.