Spellbound Falls [5] For the Love of Magic (10 page)

She eyed him suspiciously. “As a companion or a watchdog?”

He walked up to the edge of the blanket and grinned down at her. “I believe I used the term
companion
when I gave my permission.”

She dropped her gaze and patted the blanket beside her. “Come sit down and have some dinner. Well, what will have to pass for dinner, as I still haven’t fully stocked my cupboards. That is, what cupboards I can actually open.”

“I could open them for you,” he offered, sitting down and reclining back on his elbow. “Why would Averill Latimer put puzzle locks on his
interior
doors?”

She took a few more items out of the box. “He only put diabolical locks on the places he wanted to keep Zachary out of,” she said, “such as where he kept his liquor.” She suddenly frowned. “And also on the entrance to a small chamber under the stairs. Zach has no idea what might be in there.”

“I could get you inside that chamber.”

“Thank you,” she said, pulling a bottle of wine from the box, “but for now I’m enjoying the mystery of not knowing. You can open this for me, though,” she said with a cheeky grin, handing him the wine and then standing up.

Titus straightened and also started to stand when he realized she was going to the small woodpile. “I’ll feed the fire.”

“I’m the hostess and you’re my guest.” She gave him another cheeky smile. “Not that you’re a very good guest, as it appears you didn’t bring your hostess a gift.”

He began taking the foil off the top of the wine bottle. “So you don’t consider that car parked in your driveway an appropriate gift?”

She straightened while holding two pieces of wood. “You purchased that for me?”

“Not quite,” he admitted. “I would worry myself sick knowing you were traveling these roads in something that small. It was my intention for you to drive it when I’m with you, so neither of us will have to worry about your being crushed by a loaded logging truck.”

She tossed the wood on the fire. “Thank you—I think.” She then stood staring at the clothes being carried away on the outgoing tide. “Titus, did the world get a new god today?”

“It almost did,” he said, nodding when she turned to him. “But apparently the good people of the colony haven’t decided exactly what they need in a god. Maximilian found their first attempt dying in the forest and helped it back to Providence,” he explained as she sat down beside him again. “They’ll get it right eventually, although we’re likely going to experience more turbulent storms this summer.”

“And will this new god be good for mankind?”

He shrugged and leaned over to look in the box for a corkscrew. “It will be what it will be.” He looked up, then reached out and cupped her face, placing his thumb over her lips when she tried to speak. “Probably better than anyone, you know it’s not our place to judge mankind’s desires,” he said gently, “or interfere in their actions. As long as the Trees of Life are not threatened, we can only sit back and watch.”

“But why here?” she asked when he caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Why does this new god have to come to
this
peaceful corner of the world?”

He dropped his hand to the wine bottle. “Because Maximilian thinned the veil between reality and imagination when he brought the magic here.” He shrugged again. “We expected this to happen, so we’re not exactly surprised.”

“Do you know anything about the new god?”

“Only that I didn’t recognize his energy. Did you bring a corkscrew?”

“No.”

He arched a brow. “Is that why I’ve been invited to dinner? Because you had a thirst for wine but no corkscrew?”

“No,” she murmured as she tore open a package of crackers with her teeth. “You were invited because I believe
you
are in need of some wine after dealing with Murdoc all afternoon.” She set down the opened crackers and picked up a package of cheese. “I will make sure I have Scotch available the next time you come visit. So, do you think I could learn to drive your motorcycle?”

“No,” he said, despite knowing his answer might prevent there ever being a next time. “It’s not that you
couldn’t
learn, but that I probably wouldn’t survive teaching you. Have you spoken with Carolina lately?”

“As a matter of fact,
Jane
called me this morning,” she said, smiling smugly when she got her expected scowl from him. “Do you know
your
daughter is planning to spend the summer camping out at their building site?”

“Even after she has the baby?” he asked, only to flinch when the cork shot out the end of the wine bottle he realized he was squeezing.

“And before,” Rana said. “I don’t know if she truly is that naïve or if she’s simply determined to drive us both nuts.”

“Is
Alec
aware of her intentions?”

Rana shrugged. “Apparently the man is as clueless as our daughter about how much work a newborn is.” She suddenly laughed. “Carolina will change her mind the first time she finds herself washing dirty diapers in a pot of water over a campfire.”

He poured wine into the paper cup she was holding. “I don’t suppose you’ve talked her into moving up the wedding date to
before
her due date?”

That got him another laugh. “Don’t be so old-fashioned,” she said, nudging his shoulder with her own. “Carolina won’t be the first princess—in modern or ancient times—to walk down the aisle pregnant.”

“I haven’t attended a wedding with one
waddling
down the aisle,” he muttered, guzzling his wine and quickly refilling his cup. “The way my luck has been running lately,
your
daughter is liable to go into labor halfway through the vows.”

“Yes, well, about those vows,” Rana said, making him still with the cup halfway to his mouth. “I hope you realize they’re not exactly going to be . . . traditional.”

“Then what exactly are they going to be?”

“I’m not certain. But I hope you’re not expecting to hear Carolina promising to
obey
Alec.”

He downed the contents of his cup. “Just as long as I don’t hear Alec making that promise to her.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then reclined back on his elbow again. “Let’s talk about something besides you—our daughter. So,” he continued, taking the tiny cheese and cracker sandwich she handed him, “have you begun cutting and welding metal into beautiful works of art yet?”

“Zack is coming by after school tomorrow to give me my first lesson.” Rana looked at the large whale statue and softly sighed. “I’m not sure where I got the notion that I’m any sort of artist. Or why I chose to work with metal.” She gave him an endearingly shy glance, then looked down at the sandwich in her hand. “Watercolors and needle and thread are more feminine mediums.”

“But nowhere near as exciting,” he said after eating his sandwich in one bite. He began assembling a new one. “And you’ve already proven yourself in paint and needlework, and are smart enough to take advantage of having a master metal craftsman at your disposal.”

“Zack did an amazing job, didn’t he?”

“If I didn’t know better,” Titus said, also looking at the statue, “I might think Leviathan was his model.”

Rana’s musical laugh shot straight to his groin when the vainglorious old whale under discussion suddenly breached not two hundred yards past the statue, Leviathan’s body arching in exact mimic of his metal counterpart before splashing back into the water. Titus downed the last of his wine when he realized that if he didn’t leave now he might not leave at all, then stood up and walked around the blanket. He bent to one knee, cupped his wife’s face in both hands, and smiled into her big brown eyes. “Thank you for the lovely afternoon,” he whispered just before kissing her, being careful not to reveal how much he missed her.

Her response was immediate and far more encouraging than he expected, making Titus realize he hadn’t thought beyond tasting her sweetness again—although he did wonder if he might be better served to give her a taste of her own medicine and be the one running away. He reluctantly broke the kiss, then pressed a finger to her lips to keep her from speaking. “I wish you sweet dreams tonight, wife.”

He grabbed his jacket off the ground and stood, then headed up the lawn at a brisk pace, breaking into a broad grin when he heard a distinctly feminine voice mutter a very un-queenly curse.

Looking forward to a breakfast of more than just toast and tea before spending the day figuring out how to transform the church’s basement into a women’s clinic, Rana entered the Drunken Moose to find it was standing room only and that Vanetta was two waitresses short. Unable to simply watch her friend and one harried waitress struggle to keep up, she shed her long winter coat and donned an apron, grabbed a pad and pencil, and strode into the chaos.

Looking up from clearing dishes off a table half an hour and a few wrong orders later to see it was still standing room only, Rana was surprised at how much she was enjoying herself—likely because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so
useful
. Oh, she helped Titus when he needed feminine input on whatever project or disaster he happened to be working on, but serving mankind from a distance wasn’t nearly as exhilarating as rolling up her sleeves and getting physically involved. Nor was it as lucrative, Rana realized, staring down at the five-dollar bill in her hand.

“I know you know what a tip is,” Vanetta said, balancing a tray of dirty dishes on her shoulder as she stopped next to the table, “because you’re always generous with my girls when you come in.”

Rana leaned closer. “But I can’t take money from these hardworking people,” she said, trying to stuff the bill in Vanetta’s apron pocket.

The restaurateur stepped away with a laugh. “You keep giving the customers that winning smile, and maybe you’ll earn enough tips to pay for the massage you’re going to need about an hour from now.”

Rana stuffed the money in her own apron pocket with a sigh of defeat, gave the table a good scrubbing, and set out fresh utensils and napkins just as four of the waiting patrons rushed over and sat down.

“No need for menus, darlin’,” one of the men said. “Coffee for everyone and I’ll have a number five.”

Rana plucked her pencil out of her hair, flipped the pad to a blank page and drew a square on it, then wrote the number five on the right side of the square. She looked at the man sitting to his right. “And you?” she asked, her pencil posed to write as she gave him a winning smile.

“I’ll have a number two, but leave off the ham and double up the bacon.”

She wrote the number two on the top side of the square, made a note next to it about the meat, then looked at the gentleman on his right. “And you, sir?”

The man seated beside her suddenly snorted. “Sir?” he repeated, leaning back on the rear legs of his chair and grinning up at her. “You gotta be new here, ’cause everyone knows the only thing Cecil ever hears calling him
sir
is the handle end of a shovel. You can give me a number six.” He gave her a wink and reached over and patted her backside, catching Rana so off guard that she froze. “And then you can give me your phone number, Brown Eyes, and I’ll give you a—”

Whatever the lech was about to offer changed to a shout of surprise when his chair suddenly skidded out from under him, making Rana scramble away from his windmilling arms as he landed on the floor hard enough to shake the building. “And you, sir?” she asked Cecil again, lowering her voice in the sudden silence. Well, it was silent but for the curses coming from the man standing up and righting his chair.

“I’ll have a number two,” Cecil said, his grin broader than his puffed-out chest.

Rana nodded, writing both breakfast numbers on the pad as she headed behind the counter. She rewrote the orders on a sales slip and handed it to the cook’s helper, then started to reach for the coffeepot, only to be stopped by a hand on her arm. “Well played,” Vanetta said, a gleam in her eyes as she nodded toward the table Rana had just left. “I don’t suppose I could interest you in a job?” She leaned closer, that gleam intensifying. “If not as a waitress, I could use a bouncer at the Bottoms Up.”

Rana blinked in surprise. “I didn’t kick his chair out from under him.”

“Yeah, okay,” Vanetta drawled. She nodded toward the kitchen just as the cook slid several plates teeming with food onto the serving shelf. “I have to go next door and take the book club’s orders, so could you run those to the table in the corner for me?” Her gleam returned. “Try not to knock any of those men on their butts, okay? They’re really big tippers,” she said as she rushed off, only to stop and turn back. “Oh, if any more people come in holding Nooks or Kindles, send them over to the Bottoms Up.”

“Nooks or Kindles?”

“Digital book readers,” Vanetta explained, only to laugh at Rana’s quizzical look. “When I noticed women standing on the town dock day after day, even when it was below freezing, I finally went out and asked what they were doing. And when they told me they have to drive into town to get a reliable cell tower signal to download books and magazines, I installed Wi-Fi in the restaurant and bar, started a book club, and offered a group discount on breakfast if they meet here Wednesday mornings.” She started backing away. “We’re up to sixteen men and women in only two months, with more joining every week as word spreads.”

Rana frowned at the astute entrepreneur rushing off to tend to her latest community service, then grabbed a tray from under the counter and began loading it with the waiting food. Spellbound had monthly visits from a traveling bookmobile, and she knew Ezra sold a small assortment of magazines at the Trading Post, but now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen a bookstore in either Spellbound Falls or Turtleback Station. So that meant if anyone living in the wilderness wanted to read, they had to ask the bookmobile to bring them specific titles, make the three-hour drive to Bangor, or download digital books over the Internet and cell phone towers.

Seeing there were more plates than she could safely carry in one load, Rana stopped at three and a couple of side dishes, then headed around the counter. Maybe she should suggest the grange ladies raise funds for a library instead of a museum this summer or find some way to combine the two.

Rana stopped beside the hall leading to the restrooms, realizing why Vanetta had gotten a gleam in her eye when she’d told her not to knock any of the big-tipping men on their backsides. She took a fortifying breath, plastered a winning smile on her face, and brought her husband and son, Nicholas, Duncan, and Niall MacKeage their breakfasts. None of whom appeared surprised to see her wearing an apron and carrying a tray of food, which meant they had been watching her running around like a harried woman for the past half hour. Which also explained someone’s chair mysteriously—or rather, magically—being kicked out from under him.

Niall immediately stood up when he saw her approaching. “Your high— Mrs. Oceanus,” he said as he looked around to see if anyone had heard him. He took the tray from her, clearly uncomfortable to have her serving him. “This is too heavy for ye. Here, let me go get the rest of the food.”

Rana had to forcibly pull him to a stop. “Are you trying to get me fired?” she said, glancing over her shoulder as if looking for Vanetta and surprising Niall enough that it took very little effort to push him down in his chair. “I’ve already messed up two orders, and my boss thinks
I’m
the one who kicked that chair out from under that poor man,” she continued, darting Titus a glare for good measure. “Now I’ll probably get stiffed on my tip, and I’m trying to save up to buy a motorcycle.” But upon seeing the highlander’s stricken expression change to horror when she mentioned the motorcycle, Rana laughed and patted his shoulder. “I’m teasing, Niall. I’m helping Vanetta this morning because two of her waitresses called in sick.” She began handing out plates, not really caring which of the grinning fools got which breakfast. “And I’ve already purchased a vehicle. It might not be pretty, but I was told it has a solid frame.”

“Does that mean you don’t want the electric cart we brought you?” Nicholas asked as he swapped plates with Duncan.

Rana held the tray to her chest, moving her gaze to Maximilian, then to Titus, then back to Nicholas. “Why would you bring me a cart? I can’t drive it on public roads.”

“It was Peg’s suggestion,” Duncan said, drawing her attention. “She thought you could use it on the camp road to come to town.”

“But it’s only a two-mile walk.”

“It will seem like six if you’re carrying groceries,” Nicholas said, “or it’s raining.” One side of his mouth lifted in a grin. “It’s already parked behind the church.”

“Hey, brown eyes! How’s that coffee coming?”

Niall stood up again, and Rana stepped into his path when he started toward her backside-patting patron, only to gasp when she heard a shout and turned in time to see the falling man’s windmilling arms catch the tray of the waitress scrambling out of his way, which brought the entire load of dirty dishes down on top of him.

“There goes my motorcycle,” she said, darting a glare over her shoulder at her innocently grinning husband as she headed back into the chaos.

• • •

“So, Niall,” Titus said when he realized the highlander was thinking of helping Rana’s obnoxious customer leave
without
opening the door first, “how has the twenty-first century been treating you?”

The twelfth-century warrior turned back to the table and sat down. “I can’t complain,” he said with a shrug. “Although I could do with fewer rules. Society has come up with a bloody lot of laws in nine hundred years.”

“It’s going to be your job to
enforce
those laws,” Duncan growled, driving his fork into his plate of food, “not bend them to suit
your
sense of right and wrong.”

Niall returned Duncan’s glare. “You expect me to arrest a man simply for asking a bonnie lass to have dinner with him?”

“You will if he’s thirty and she’s
sixteen
.”

Niall looked at Titus. “Another thing I find confounding in this century is how young men and women are treated like children long into their teens, their parents coddling them and making excuses for why they’re roaming the streets at all hours of the day and night instead of working. Just last week I stopped to help a woman I saw dragging large bins of trash out to the road, only to discover she had a teenage son sitting in the car waiting to be driven to school.”

“Blame the mother,” Mac interjected. “Children are what they’ve been taught.”

“I was tempted to teach that particular boy a lesson on respecting his mum.”

“Thank you,” Titus said when Vanetta brought their two missing breakfasts.

Only instead of leaving, the restaurant owner eyed Niall, then suddenly grabbed a chair from a nearby table, sat down with them, and looked at Duncan. “Peg mentioned you were bringing back one of your cousins from Pine Creek to be our chief of police. Would that be you?” she asked, looking at Niall and then thrusting out her hand when he nodded. “Vanetta Quintana—I mean Thurber,” she corrected with a laugh. “I’m still getting used to being married.”

“Niall MacKeage,” the highlander said, shaking her hand.

“So, Niall, where do you plan to live?” She looked at Duncan again. “Because if he stays with you across the fiord, it’ll take him just as long to respond to a call as it does the sheriff. And finding a rental anywhere near town is all but impossible.”

Duncan leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. “Are ye wanting to rent him a room upstairs, Netta, to get yourself a little added security for your bar and restaurant?”

Vanetta straightened in surprise. “Hey, I like that idea. Maybe I will remodel the upstairs for one of our new deputies.” She shook her head. “But that’s not what I had in mind for Niall here,” she said, giving him a warm smile before looking at Duncan again. “I don’t know if Peg told you, but I’ve donated my house for the women’s crisis shelter. It’s less than a mile down the road Rana lives on, and there happens to be a bunkhouse on the property that could easily be turned into an apartment for our new chief of police.”

Titus filled his mouth with a forkful of egg to hide his grin. He’d thought Olivia’s father, Sam Waters, had been an idiot to let Vanetta get away, and here was another example of why. The sharp restaurant and bar owner definitely wanted a little extra security, but for the women’s shelter rather than her businesses.

“Talk is you were planning to put an apartment over the police station,” Vanetta continued before Duncan could respond. “Only now the councilmen have decided we need a new municipal building to house a full-time fire station as well as the town offices and police station. But at the speed they operate, it’ll take them a month of Sundays just to buy that land beside the post office they’ve been eyeing, and nearly a year to get the place built.” She stood up, pushed her chair back to the nearby table, and looked at Niall. “Not only would you be living right on the shore of Bottomless if you take my offer, you’d also be within rock-throwing distance of a house full of women who probably bake better pies than I do. I bet they wouldn’t mind earning a few bucks taking in laundry and doing some housekeeping, either.” She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of a ruckus in the kitchen, then looked at Duncan again. “Will you think about it?”

Duncan nodded. “Is the bunkhouse unlocked, so we can go take a look?”

“Yes. Everest should be there moving the last of my stuff,” she said as she started backing away. “And I already told him you’d be stopping by today,” she added, shooting a smug smile over her shoulder as she rushed off.