Sympathetic Magic (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 4) (9 page)

But since they set a brisk pace, she found it wasn’t so bad, and before long they were taking a shortcut down an alley to a sort of outdoor mall with shops and restaurants. Lucas led her into the first restaurant, which turned out to be a tapas place, one Margot thought she’d heard Angela mention once or twice. The food had sounded delicious, but Margot had certainly never thought she would get the opportunity to eat there.

It was a seat-yourself kind of establishment, so they chose a table by the window and sat down. At this time of day, after lunch but before happy hour, it was deserted except for the wait staff.

“It’s two o’clock on a weekday,” Lucas said, dark eyes twinkling at her over the top of his menu. “Is that late enough for drinking sangria or not?”

He really wasn’t ever going to let her live that remark down. “It’s afternoon,” she replied calmly, “so I think it’s safe. Although I do wonder why you’d want to drink something cold when it’s barely fifty degrees outside.”

A quick grin. “Once you’ve had a glass, you’ll know why.”

The waiter came over then, and Lucas ordered two glasses of sangria, along with some bacon-wrapped dates. “We’ll take it easy at first,” he told her, once the waiter had gone. “That’s the fun thing about tapas — you can just keep ordering different ones until you feel full.”

“I thought you said you had something special planned for dinner.”

“I do, so scratch the ‘full’ comment. Let’s go for ‘moderately satisfied.’”

She could only shake her head at that, and watch as he poured her some water from the carafe on the table. Since she’d forgotten to bring along any bottled water for the drive, she was fairly thirsty at this point, and gratefully accepted the glass from him when he handed it to her.

“I do appreciate you coming here, Margot,” he said then, his expression quite serious. “I know it’s a big step.”

Was it? She’d been trying to play it safe, think of this as…what, a fact-finding mission? A way to step outside the boundaries she’d set for herself all these years? Not because she wanted to spend time with him. The thing was, she knew she did. She liked talking to him, especially if they weren’t sparring over her refusal to admit that an elder couldn’t be allowed much of a personal life.

Oh, who was she kidding? Yes, she liked talking to him…but she also liked looking at him. Way, way more than she should. And she wasn’t going to let herself think about what it had been like to kiss him.

“It’s — ” She’d been about to say that it was nothing, but they both knew that was a lie, didn’t they? “Thank you for having me.”

In that moment, the gleam returned to his eyes, and she realized she’d stuck her foot in it with that comment. Yes, she was sure he would be more than glad to “have” her.

To her relief, the waiter came back with their glasses of sangria in that moment, and Margot was able to cover her embarrassment by taking a long sip of the drink through its straw. Lucas hadn’t been exaggerating; it was marvelous. Who cared that it was more hot chocolate weather outside?

“What do you think?” he asked.

I think I’ve been missing out my whole life.
Of course she would never say such a thing out loud, so she only replied, “It’s amazing.”

“I hope Flagstaff will continue to amaze you.”

She had a feeling it would, if Lucas Wilcox had anything to do about it.

T
here was
something slightly surreal about being here and realizing it was Margot Emory sitting opposite him, right in the middle of his hometown, smack in the center of Wilcox territory…and that she didn’t look out of place at all. He loved watching her, seeing the way her dark hair slipped over her shoulders, watching the way the little amulet at her throat — was that Angela’s work? — twinkled in the light.

She looked like she belonged here. And God, did he want her to belong here. Hadn’t Jerome had enough of her already?

“…around here?” she was saying, and Lucas blinked.

“Sorry, what?”

Her dark eyes narrowed slightly, and he wondered if she could guess what he had been thinking. He hoped not; he was trying the best he could to be casual and suave about all this, and let her form her own conclusions…make her own decisions. “I was asking if Connor’s gallery is around here.”

“Actually, it is.” Lucas pointed at the window in the direction of the alley. “That brick building there with the green door? The gallery is in the front half on the ground floor, and then his apartment was the one directly above on the right. The other apartment he used as his studio. It’s still empty because it needs a lot of renovation before it’s fit for actual occupation.”

“So he can rent it out to another cousin?”

“Probably,” he replied, somewhat surprised she knew that much of the arrangements they’d made. Then again, Margot was an elder, and so Angela must have consulted with her a good bit as to her plans.

“Makes sense,” Margot remarked. “I’m guessing you must have a goodly number of cousins who need lodging.”

“A fair number.” Actually, he’d never really stopped to count, but there were hundreds and hundreds of Wilcoxes in the Flagstaff area. Marie was the one who really kept track of that sort of thing. “I’d imagine those sorts of logistics would even be harder in Jerome.”

A rueful smile touched her mouth before she sipped some more sangria. “”That’s an understatement. There’s not a lot of real estate to go around, obviously. It’s led to people being pretty fanatical about their wills, just so there’s no confusion when it comes time for a property to be handed down.” She paused, her expression faraway and a little sad. Lucas wondered if she was thinking about her own single state, and who her own cottage might go to someday. But then she straightened in her chair and added, “We’ve managed, though. Our territory is nowhere big as yours, of course, but there’s still plenty of room for us to spread out in Cottonwood and Clarkdale and Camp Verde.”

“Or Prescott,” Lucas ventured, then wanted to kick himself. Wasn’t her asshole of an ex-fiancé from Prescott?

If he hadn’t been watching for it, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed the slight hesitation before she said, “Yes, there’s a small branch of the family over there, too.”

The waiter came by with the bacon-wrapped dates then, and Lucas tried to prevent himself from letting out a sigh of relief at the welcome interruption. He waited as Margot selected a date and put it on her own small plate, then took one for himself. Her reaction was all he could have hoped for; she carefully cut the morsel in half, then put one piece in her mouth. Almost at once, her dark lashes swept down over her eyes as she appeared to savor the bite.

“Good?”

“That’s — ” She broke off, seeming to consider the perfect word to use, and said, “Decadent.”

That sounded about right to him. “Yes, they are that.”

The two of them were quiet for a minute or two, demolishing the rest of the dates in short order. Margot’s glass of sangria was about three-quarters gone, while Lucas knew he was about to start making rude noises with his straw if he attempted to get any more out of the bottom of his glass.

“Another one?” he asked.

“I think I’m good,” she replied. “We’re going to be walking a good bit, so it’s probably better if I’m not completely tipsy.”

Actually, he thought the extra bit of muscle relaxant might do her some good, but he knew better than to tell her that. “Anything else you’d like to eat?”

She smiled at him. It was a genuine smile, one without any irony or sarcasm in it. “No, that was perfect. Just enough to take the edge off. Thank you.”

It definitely had taken the edge off. She seemed more relaxed now, not so worried about what he had planned or what was coming next. He took that as a good sign. So he signaled the waiter that they were ready for the check, and within a few minutes, they were back outside, the fresh breeze playing with the ends of Margot’s hair, making her push it back impatiently.

“We can cut down this alley,” Lucas said, leading her to the narrow lane that separated Connor’s building from the restaurant across from the tapas place.

She followed him, looking around with some interest, although truthfully, there wasn’t that much to see. It could be a little awkward in here if someone decided to come this way in their car, but luckily they made it through without incident, and veered to the left so they could enter the gallery.

Joelle was working, of course, and called out a “hi” to Lucas he came inside. Her gaze slid questioningly toward Margot, and he said hastily, “Joelle, this is Margot Emory. She’s a cousin of Angela’s.”

“Oh, hi — nice to meet you!” Joelle chirped. She tended to be cheery all the time, which made things easier for Connor, as he wasn’t exactly what you could call a good salesman. Although Joelle was a civilian, she knew there was something slightly different about the Wilcox family, although of course she didn’t have many details. But she knew enough to realize that Lucas Wilcox having a cousin of Angela’s as his companion was kind of a big deal.

“I’m just showing her around a bit,” he explained, hoping she would get the hint and not be too inquisitive.

“Oh, sure, take a look around. Connor’s not coming in today — I’m sure he’ll be sorry that he missed you.”

“It’s fine,” Lucas said hastily. The last thing he wanted was interruptions from any of his relatives, even one as hands-off as Connor. “I talked to him the day before yesterday.” Which was sort of a non sequitur, but it did seem to get Joelle to back off.

“Great,” she responded, and went back to knotting tiny price tags on threads, no doubt gearing up to prepare a new collection of local artisanal jewelry for the holiday buying season.

In the meantime, Margot had wandered a few paces away and was studying an abstract sculpture of dichroic glass and brazed brass tubing. From what he’d seen on the gallery walk with her, it didn’t seem to be her kind of thing. He approached her and said, “Like it?”

She tipped her head to one side, her attention seeming to be completely focused on the piece. “I’m not sure yet. I’m trying to decide whether I do or not. It’s interesting, though.”

“Connor’s trying to branch out, I think.” There wasn’t much more Lucas could say on the subject, as art — modern or otherwise — was not his field of expertise.

“It’s a very nice gallery,” she said. “Intimate, but not crowded. A good use of space.”

“I’ll pass your compliments on to Connor,” Lucas said with a wry smile.

Her eyebrows went up, and then she gave a small laugh. “Oh, I suppose that sounds as if I was critiquing it or something. I just meant that it’s very nice.”

“‘Nice’ works.”

They spent another five minutes or so poking around, and then he led her back outside, where the afternoon had started to look somewhat darker. Clouds were beginning to pile up to the northeast, moving their way.

“Is it going to rain?” Margot asked, following his gaze.

“I doubt it. Nothing’s been forecast. But I was thinking about taking you up to the observatory, so we might as well head straight there in case it gets too cloudy to see anything.”

She nodded, and followed him as he led her back to the parking structure. Normally he didn’t pay much attention to the weather, except to make sure he’d have a clear day for playing golf. Now, though, he cast a wary eye toward the sky, and wondered if Mother Nature had decided to throw a monkey wrench into his plans.

Then again, if the weather did get really bad, he could think of worse things than being trapped in his house with Margot Emory for a few days….

T
he whole time
they were at Lowell Observatory, the clouds moved in slowly, inexorably. It stayed dry, however, and since they were really there to tour the grounds and see a couple of the presentations, it didn’t matter much that the day had become so overcast. Lucas had told her the staff at Lowell did solar observations right at noon, but since they’d gotten to the site sometime after four, that didn’t affect Lucas and Margot’s plans.

Afterward, they drove back to his house. It was now past six-thirty, and the sun had already set. Margot was somewhat surprised that they hadn’t headed back downtown for dinner, but she decided to roll with it. After all, Lucas had told her he had something special planned for dinner, so he obviously knew what he was doing. Maybe he did expect her to change so they could go back out someplace that required a bit more dressing up than jeans and a sweater, although from what she’d seen so far today, the populace of Flagstaff rivaled Jerome’s in terms of utter casualness. She’d noticed that Lucas had sent a text right before they got in the car to leave the observatory parking lot; maybe he was confirming a reservation or something.

They pulled into the driveway, and she immediately saw the white van parked off to one side, where it wouldn’t block any of the garage bays. “Friend of yours?” she inquired, nodding toward the vehicle.

“Something like that,” he said easily. “You’ll see.”

He pulled into the garage and turned off the engine, and they both got out and headed into the house. When they entered the kitchen, Margot stopped dead in shock. A man and a woman were at work there, putting together what clearly looked like quite an elaborate dinner.

“Lucas?” she asked.

He grinned. “I said I had something special planned for dinner. I thought it would be more fun to eat in, but as I didn’t want to poison you, I had Jeff and Claire come in to do the heavy lifting.”

“Good call,” the man — Jeff — said. “Considering he can barely fry an egg.” He returned his attention to Lucas and added, “Give us about fifteen minutes.”

“No problem.”

Somewhat bemused, Margot followed Lucas out of the kitchen and past the dining room, where she saw the table had already been set with gleaming warm-toned china and glittering crystal. She looked up at him. “You do think of everything, don’t you?”

“I try to.” He didn’t wait for her to reply, but went on, “We have a little time. I don’t expect you to dress for dinner or anything, but if you want to freshen up a bit — ”

“I do.” Actually, she thought dressing for dinner sounded like a good idea. That table was far too elegant for jeans and a simple sweater. “I’ll be back down in few minutes.”

“Sounds good.”

As she went up the stairs, she wondered if changing would make it look as if she were trying too hard. After all, Lucas seemed to be fine with staying in his own jeans and sweater. But she’d packed those dresses, and she figured she might as well get some use out of them.

Fifteen minutes actually went by fairly quickly when you had to change your entire outfit, touch up your makeup, brush your hair, and give everything a once-over before heading back downstairs. Margot eyed herself quickly, hoping she didn’t look too “done.” But it wasn’t as if she’d put on a cocktail dress or something — she wore a black maxi dress with some color around the neck and hem, a necklace of coral and turquoise resting on her collarbone. Her boots did have heels, but they weren’t strappy sandals, and so she hoped Lucas would take her effort for what it was, which was wanting to look nice at dinner but not in anything overtly sexy.

Amazing smells were drifting up from the kitchen as she descended the stairs once more, and she entered the dining room to find Lucas opening a bottle of wine. As he looked up from the wine, she could see his dark eyes glow with admiration. So much for being low-key about dressing up.

He didn’t say anything at first, however, as if sensing that a compliment was not something she’d welcome in that moment. Once he had the cork extricated from the bottle, he did remark, “Perfect timing. Claire and Jeff are just about ready. Why don’t you go ahead and take a seat?” He pointed at the chair immediately to the right of the one at the head of the table.

“They’re not going to serve us, are they?” she asked, thinking that was expecting a bit much.

“No, we’re not,” Claire said smartly as she brought in a bowl of mixed field greens. “Just bringing everything out and letting you sort it from there.”

Margot summoned a faint smile as Claire returned to the kitchen, passing Jeff, who had another bowl in his hands, this one of what smelled like garlic mashed potatoes. He set it down, and they did their little dance once again, this time with her carrying a very large bowl of some kind of beef dish, judging by the savory aroma, and Jeff bringing out a basket of bread, carefully covered with a brick-red napkin.

“That’s it, then,” he said to Lucas. “Everything’s cleaned up. We want to hit the road — that storm coming in looks bad.”

“It does?” Lucas said, apparently taken off guard by this revelation.

“Well, according to the alert I just got on my weather app, it does. Have a great dinner —
bon appetít!
”

With that he ducked back into the kitchen, and Lucas, after a short pause, went ahead and took his seat next to her. He picked up the bottle of wine and poured a measure into her glass, then his.

“Is the storm going to be a problem?” she asked.

At once he smiled and shook his head. “I doubt it. I didn’t see much on the news this morning, and besides, even if it does do something crazy and actually snow — which generally doesn’t happen this early in November — I’m sure it’ll be melted by morning.”

“And if it doesn’t melt?” She wasn’t sure she believed him. What would happen if they really did get snowed in here? Sure, they had food for tonight — well, the next several days, judging by the size of the meal Claire and Jeff had prepared — but it didn’t sound as if Lucas was the type to keep much in the way of supplies around.

He seemed to recognize her concern, replying, “If it doesn’t…well, I wasn’t sure if you were much of a ‘going out to breakfast’ person, based on the way you shot down my suggestion about having brunch that one time, so I did get a few things. It’ll be fine.”

His reply did allow her to relax…a little. It was one thing to be up here in Flagstaff, running around town and doing things in public. What was she supposed to do if she really did get trapped in Lucas’ house for several days because they were snowed in?

Relax
, she told herself.
It’s Flagstaff in the twenty-first century, not something out of
Little House on the Prairie.
Even if we do get a heavy snowstorm, I’m sure the roads will be plowed in no time.

“Okay,” she allowed, and he raised his glass to her. Uncertainly, she did the same.

He said, “To trying new things.”

She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond to that particular toast, but she knew it would be rude if she didn’t chime in. And really, just being here in Flagstaff, in Wilcox territory, was a new enough thing for her. She wouldn’t worry about what Lucas might or might not have meant.

“To trying new things.”

They clinked glasses and then drank. It was a Rhone-style blend, she thought, although she knew there was no way she’d be able to tell if it was a true Rhone wine or one of the blends whipped up by the mad geniuses at one of the Verde Valley’s various wineries. Either way, it was marvelous, rich and nuanced, yet not too heavy on the tannins.

She set her glass down. “That’s excellent.”

“I’m glad you like it — it’s one of your own.”

“Mine?”

A smile. “From Burning Tree Cellars. They’re in McAllister territory, right? So I guess I think of the winery as being yours.”

Margot supposed that was true, if you stopped to think about it. “I had no idea you’d been coming down there and shopping regularly.”

“Oh, I haven’t. Connor picked this up for me the last time he was there, told me he was really impressed with their blends and that he thought I’d appreciate them, too.”

“And do you?”

The dark eyes surveyed her over the rim of his wine glass. “Oh, yes. Definitely.”

Once again she got the feeling he was discussing something entirely different from what she had asked, but she decided to let it go.

He seemed to as well, setting down his glass so he could hand her the bowl of salad. She took some, waited for him to help himself, then took a bite. The dressing was a light vinaigrette, expertly balanced.

“So do Jeff and Claire run a restaurant, or do they just do freelance cooking around town for men trying to impress their dates?” Damn. Why had she said “date”? That was going to sound all wrong.

Judging by the way one corner of his mouth quirked, she guessed Lucas had picked up on the word right away. “They own a restaurant. But Tuesday’s a slow night, so I wooed them away for a few hours while their
sous
chefs
handled things.”

Margot didn’t want to think what that had cost. But it was pretty obvious that Lucas had enough money to do just about anything he wanted, so she wouldn’t even bother to protest that he shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for her.

“Very impressive,” she said, returning to her salad, keeping her eyes on her food so she wouldn’t have to meet his.

He made a noncommittal sound and applied himself to his own salad. When they were both done, he rose and took her empty plate, then his, and disappeared briefly into the kitchen. She hadn’t really planned it that way, but she was staring in the direction he’d gone, so when he came back to the dining room, their eyes met for the briefest second. Warmth flooded through her at that gaze, and at once she looked back down, pretending to be rearranging the napkin on her lap.

Why the hell did he have such an effect on her? The way Lucas made her feel seemed worlds away from the way she had reacted to Clay.

But no, she wouldn’t think about that. She managed to smile as Lucas asked for her plate so he could dish up some potatoes and beef bourgignon for her, murmur a polite thank-you, and then wait while he got some for himself.

“I figured this was safe, since you had the venison at Rene’s,” he ventured, and she blinked, then realized he was talking about the food.

“Oh, yes. It’s fine. I mean, it smells marvelous.”

He nodded, and they both ate in silence for a minute or two. At last he said, “You seem sort of tense, Margot.”

Well, of course she was. She was sitting here with him at his dining room table, by candlelight. Most women would have been thrilled to have a man take so much trouble to create a memorable evening like this. But she didn’t know how to react to it. Should she remain coolly polite, letting him know that candles and Rhone wine and meals home-cooked by five-star chefs were all well and good, but that she had more backbone than to fall for something like that?

Or should she acknowledge that his efforts made some part of her feel all warm and melting, because it had been forever and a day since someone had paid this kind of attention to her?

No, that wasn’t true. Not really. No one had
ever
done anything like this for her before. Certainly not Clay.

“I suppose it’s all a lot to take in.” From somewhere she summoned a smile, along with the courage to meet his gaze directly. “I do appreciate all this. Really.”

“Okay.” After that, he seemed to let the matter drop, and moved on to talking about what they would do if it really did snow, how maybe he could take her up to the Snow Bowl and they could watch people playing in the snow, and then to a restaurant he knew of on the way there that wasn’t pretentious at all, but had some amazing soups and sandwiches.

She nodded and said that sounded like it would be fun, but her response felt tinny in her ears, as if she were saying the things she thought she should be saying, and not the one that lay in the very depths of her soul, of her heart.

No, I want to stay here. I want to stand with you in the garden and have you kiss me and keep me warm while the snow falls all around us.

Of course she would never tell him such a thing.

I
t really wasn’t
fair that she should be so beautiful. In a way, her dress was almost prim, with its high collar, but the way it opened in front to reveal a glimpse of the heavy Navajo necklace she wore underneath, and a fainter glimpse still of the shadow between her breasts, seemed far more enticing than something that showed a lot more flesh would be.

Somehow Lucas managed to keep himself from staring at her, at the all too solid reality of her just a few feet away at his dining room table, but it wasn’t easy. His mouth kept moving, uttering the sort of easy banter he could probably manage in his sleep if necessary, and all the while his brain kept thinking,
I want you. I want you. I want you.

All right, it wasn’t just his brain thinking that.

He had to force himself not to dwell on the curves of her body as revealed in the slim-fitting dress, because otherwise he’d have to force back an arousal for which there was no cure. Well, of course, there
was
a cure, but he didn’t think Margot seemed too interested in providing it.

Or…was she? The signals he kept getting from her were so mixed that he honestly didn’t know what to think. One minute she’d be polite, but only that, and in the next, her gaze would catch his, and he’d see a flicker of the same heat he knew rushed over his body every time he recalled that one sweet time he’d kissed her.

They talked of inconsequential things, of the possibility of snow, of how quickly the roads would be plowed, of the arrangements Connor and Angela had made in case the weather was not cooperating whenever the twins decided to make their entrance into the world. In that case, Darrell Wilcox, currently a junior at Northern Pines, would come out to make the trip with them. His talent, such as it was, involved making an area in front of him extremely hot. In most cases, it wasn’t a lot of use — although Lucas suspected his cousin had given his siblings a hot foot a time or two — but Darrell did make an excellent impromptu snow plow.