Charmed (22 page)

To be his wife, she thought. Bound to him by handfast. She could think of nothing more precious than that kind of belonging.

She had to tell him, so that he would have the choice of accepting or backing away. “You’ve been much more honest with me than I with you.”

“About?”

“About what you are.” Her eyes closed on a sigh. “I’m a coward. So easily devastated by bad feelings, afraid, pathetically afraid, of pain—physical and emotional. So hatefully vulnerable to what others can be indifferent to.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ana.”

“No, you don’t.” She pressed her lips together. “Can you understand that there are some who are more sensitive than others to strong feelings? Some who have to develop a defense against absorbing too much of the swirl of emotion that goes on around them? Who have to, Boone, because they couldn’t survive otherwise?”

He pushed back his impatience and tried to smile. “Are you getting mystical on me?”

She laughed, pressing a hand to her eyes. “You don’t know the half of it. I need to explain, and don’t know how. If I could—” She started to turn back, determined to tell him everything, and the sketch pad on his desk slid off at the movement. Automatically she bent to pick it up.

Perhaps it was fate that it had fallen faceup, showing a recently completed sketch. An excellent one, Ana thought on a long breath as she studied it. The fierce and wicked lines of the black-caped witch glared up at her. Evil, she thought. He had captured evil perfectly.

“Don’t worry about that.” He started to take it from her, but she shook her head.

“Is this for your story?”

“
The Silver Castle
, yes. Let’s not change the subject.”

“Not as much as you think,” she murmured. “Indulge me a minute,” she said with a careful smile. “Tell me about the sketch.”

“Damn it, Ana.”

“Please.”

Frustrated, he dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s just what it looks like. The evil witch who put the spell on the princess and the castle. I had to figure there was a spell that kept anyone from getting in or out.”

“So you chose a witch.”

“I know it’s obvious. But the story seemed to call for it. The vindictive, jealous witch, furious with the princess’s goodness and beauty, casts the spell, so the princess stays trapped inside, cut off from love and life and happiness. Then, when true love conquers, the spell’s broken and the witch is vanquished. And they live happily ever after.”

“I suppose witches are, to you, evil and calculating.” Calculating, she remembered. It was one of the words Robert had tossed at her. That, and much, much worse.

“Goes with the territory. Power corrupts, right?”

She set the sketch aside. “There are those who think it.” It was only a drawing, she told herself. Only part of a story he’d created. Yet it served to remind her how large a span they needed to cross. “Boone, I’ll ask you
for something tonight.”

“I guess you could ask me for anything tonight.”

“Time,” she said. “And faith. I love you, Boone, and there’s no one else I’d want to spend my life with. But I need time, and so do you. A week,” she said before he could protest. “Only a week. Until the full moon. Then there are things I’ll tell you. After I do, I hope you’ll ask me again to be your wife. If you do, if you can, then I’ll say yes.”

“Say yes now.” He caught her close, capturing her mouth, hoping he could persuade her by his will alone. “What difference will a week make?”

“All,” she whispered, clinging tight. “Or none.”

*  *  *

He didn’t care to wait. It made him nervous and impatient that the days seemed to crawl by. One, then two, finally three. To comfort himself, he thought about the turn his life would take once the interminable week was over.

No more nights alone. Soon, when he turned restlessly in the dark, she would be there. The house would be full of her, her scent, the fragrances of her herbs and oils. On those long, quiet evenings, they could sit together on the deck and talk about the day, about tomorrows.

Or perhaps she would want them to move into her house. It wouldn’t matter. They could walk through her gardens, under her arbors, and she could try to teach him the names of all of her flowers.

They could take a trip to Ireland, and she could show him all the important places of her childhood. There would be stories she could tell him, like the one about the witch and the frog, and he could write about them.

One day there would be more children, and he would see her holding their baby the way she had held Morgana and Nash’s.

More children. That thought brought him up short and had him staring at the framed picture of Jessie
smiling out at him from his desktop.

His baby. Only his, and his only, for so long now. He did want more children. He’d never realized until now how much he wanted more. How much he enjoyed being a father. It was simply something he was, something he did.

Now, as his mind began to play with the idea, he could see himself soothing an infant in the night as he had once soothed Jessie. Holding out his arms as a toddler took those first shaky steps. Tossing a ball in the yard, holding on to the back of an unsteady bike.

A son. Wouldn’t it be incredible to have a son? Or another daughter. Brothers and sisters for Jessie. She’d love that, he thought, and found himself grinning like an idiot. He’d love it.

Of course, he hadn’t even asked Ana how she felt about adding to the family. That was certainly something they’d have to discuss. Maybe it would be rushing her again to bring it up now.

Then he remembered how she’d looked with her arm cuddling Jessie in his bed. The way her face had glowed when she held two tiny infants up so that his daughter could see and touch.

No, he decided. He knew her. She would be as anxious as he to turn their love into life.

By the end of the week, he thought, they would start making plans for their future together.

*  *  *

For Ana, the days passed much too quickly. She spent hours going over the right way to tell Boone everything. Then she would change her mind and struggle to think of another way.

There was the brash way.

She imagined herself sitting him down in her kitchen with a pot of tea between them. “Boone,” she would say, “I’m a witch. If that doesn’t bother you, we can start planning the wedding.”

There was the subtle way.

They would sit out on her patio, near the arbor of morning glories. While they sipped wine and watched the
sunset, they would talk about their childhoods.

“Growing up in Ireland is a little different than growing up in Indiana, I suppose,” she would tell him. “But the Irish usually take having witches in the neighborhood pretty much for granted.” Then she’d smile. “More wine, love?”

Or the intellectual way.

“I’m sure you’d agree most legends have some basis in fact.” This conversation would take place on the beach, with the sound of the surf and the cry of gulls. “Your books show a great depth of understanding and respect for what most consider myth or folklore. Being a witch myself, I appreciate your positive slant on fairies and magic. Particularly the way you handled the enchantress in
A Third Wish for Miranda.
”

Ana only wished she had enough humor left to laugh at each pitiful scenario. She was certainly going to have to think of something, now that she had less than twenty-four hours to go.

Boone had already been more patient than she had a right to ask. There was no excuse for keeping him waiting any longer.

At least she would have some moral support this evening. Morgana and Sebastian and their spouses were on their way over for the monthly Friday-night cookout. If that didn’t buck her up for her confrontation with Boone the following day, nothing would. As she stepped onto the patio, she fingered the diamond-clear zircon she wore around her neck.

Obviously Jessie had been keeping an eagle eye out, for she zipped through the hedge, with Daisy yipping behind her. To show his indifference to the pup, Quigley sat down and began to wash his hindquarters.

“We’re coming to your house for a cookout,” Jessie announced. “The babies are coming, too, and maybe I can hold one. If I’m really, really careful.”

“I think that could be arranged.” Automatically Ana scanned the neighboring yard for signs of Boone. “How was school today, sunshine?”

“It was pretty neat. I can write my name, and Daddy’s and yours. Yours is easiest. I can write Daisy’s, but I don’t know how to spell Quigley’s, so I just wrote
cat.
Then I had my whole family, just like the teacher told
us.” She stopped, scuffed her shoes, and for the first time since Ana had known her, looked shy. “Was it okay if I said you were my family?”

“It’s more than okay.” Crouching down, Ana gave Jessie a huge hug. Oh, yes, she thought, squeezing her eyes tight. This is what I want, what I need. I could be a wife to him, a mother to the child. Please, please, let me find the way to have it all. “I love you, Jessie.”

“You won’t go away, will you?”

Because they were close, because she couldn’t prevent it, Ana touched the child’s heart and understood that Jessie was thinking of her mother. “No, baby.” She drew back, choosing her words with care. “I would never want to go away. But if I had to, if I couldn’t help it, I’d still be close.”

“How can you go away and still be close?”

“Because I’d keep you in my heart. Here.” Ana took the thin braided gold chain with the square of zircon and slipped it over Jessie’s neck.

“Ooh! It shines!”

“It’s very special. When you feel lonely or sad, you hold on to this and think of me. I’ll know, and I’ll send you happiness.”

Dazzled, Jessie turned the crystal, and it exploded with light and color. “Is it magic?”

“Yes.”

Jessie accepted the answer with a child’s faith. “I want to show Daddy.” She started to dash off, then remembered her manners. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Is— Ah, is Boone inside?”

“Uh-uh, he’s on the roof.”

“The roof?”

“’Cause next month is Christmas, and he’s starting to put up the lights so we know how many we have to buy. The whole house is going to be lit up. Daddy says this is going to be the most special Christmas ever.”

“I hope so.” Ana shielded her eyes with the flat of her hand and looked up. There he was, sitting on top of
the house, looking back at her. Her heart gave that quick, improbable leap it always did when she saw him. Despite nerves, she smiled, lifting one hand in a wave while the other rested on Jessie’s shoulder.

It would be all right, she told herself. It had to be.

Boone ignored the tangle of Christmas lights beside him and pleased himself by watching them until Jessie raced back across the yard and Ana went inside.

It would be all right, he told himself. It had to be.

*  *  *

Sebastian plucked a fat black olive from a tray and popped it into his mouth. “When do we eat?”

“You already are,” Mel pointed out.

“I mean real food.” He winked down at Jessie. “Hot dogs.”

“Herbed chicken,” Ana corrected, turning a sizzling thigh on the grill.

They were spread over the patio, with Jessie sitting in a wrought-iron chair carefully cradling a cooing Allysia in her lap. Boone and Nash were deep in a discussion on infant care. Morgana had Donovan at her breast, comfortably nursing, while she listened to Mel relate the happy ending of the runaway she and Sebastian had tracked down.

“Kid was miserable,” she was saying. “Sorry as hell he’d taken off, scared to go back. When we found him—cold, broke and hungry—and he realized his parents were scared instead of angry, he couldn’t wait to get home. I think he’s grounded till he’s thirty, but he doesn’t seem to care.” She waited until Morgana had burped her son. Her hands had been itching to touch. “Want me to put him back down for you?”

“Thanks.” Morgana watched Mel’s face as she lifted the baby. “Thinking about having one of your own. Or two?”

“Actually.” Mel caught the special scent of baby and felt her knees go weak. “I think I might …” She cast a quick look over her shoulder and saw her husband was busy teasing Jessie. “I’m not sure yet, but I think I may
have already started.”

“Oh, Mel, that’s—”

“Shh.” She leaned down, using the baby for cover. “I don’t want him to know, or even suspect, or I’d never be able to stop him from looking for himself. I want to be able to tell him about this.” She grinned. “It’ll knock his socks off.”

Gently Mel laid the child in his side of the double carriage.

“Allysia’s sleeping, too,” Jessie pointed out, tracing a finger over the baby’s cheek.

“Want to put her down with her brother?” Sebastian leaned over to help Jessie stand with the baby. “That’s the way.” He kept his hands under hers as she laid Allysia down. “You’ll be an excellent mother one day.”

“Maybe I can have twins, too.” She turned when Daisy began to bark. “Hush,” she whispered. “You’ll wake the babies.”

But Daisy was lost in the thrill of the chase. Heading for open ground, Quigley shot through the hedges into the next yard, yowling. Delighted with the game, Daisy dashed after him.

“I’ll get him, Daddy.” Making as much racket as the animals, Jessie raced after them.

“I don’t think obedience school’s the answer,” Boone commented, tipping back a beer. “I’m thinking along the lines of a mental institution.”

Panting a bit, Jessie followed the sounds of barks and hisses across the yard, over the deck, around the side of the house. When she caught up with Daisy, she put her hands on her hips and scolded.

“You have to be friends. Ana won’t like it if you keep teasing Quigley.”

Daisy simply thumped her tail on the ground and barked again. Halfway up the ladder Boone had used to climb to the roof, Quigley hissed and spat.

“He doesn’t like it, Daisy.” On a sigh, she squatted down to pet the dog. “He doesn’t know you’re just playing and wouldn’t really hurt him ever. You made him scared.” She looked up the ladder. “Come on, kitty. It’s okay. You can come down now.”

On a feline growl, Quigley narrowed his eyes, then bounded up the ladder when Daisy responded with
another flurry of barks.