Entwined Secrets (2 page)

I don’t want to let go of his hand. His touch is comforting, but there’s something unusual about this handshake. I didn’t notice when he first reached out, but I’m sensing it now. A primal instinct.

“Left-handed,” I comment. “Did you eat your twin in the womb?”

Mason tilts his head. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t, but if I had, would that mean I got all the best qualities?”

It sure looks like he did from where I’m standing.

“Do I have to answer now?” I throw back with a cheeky grin.

His face is elegant and rugged at the same time. His brown eyes are warm, and my comment ignites a glint of mischief in his eyes.

I can feel Piper narrowing her eyes at us. She’s noticing that Mason and I have been shaking hands longer than adults generally do.

I pull my hand back self-consciously and look away from Mason. A physical reflex, but with an undercurrent of emotion. I’ve learned to keep my distance from men. Insulate myself from intimacy. This sabbatical from the coven has been different. I’m feeling more vulnerable than I’ve been in years, but not in a bad way. I like this feeling.

“Jess, are you okay?” Mason asks with that smile again, clearly able to see the mess of desperation standing in front of him.

I smile, trying to be more composed. “I’m all right. Tired, maybe. It’s been a long day, but not because of Piper, of course. She’s a pleasure, and so talented. Really. I’m not just saying that because she’s the boss’s daughter.”

Piper beams, happy to be the center of attention again.

Mason kneels down to get a better look at her canvas.

“She’s right, Piper. This is really good. A Monet, isn’t it?” he asks his niece. Piper nods.

He can recognize a Monet? I’m a little surprised. Only someone with an interest in classical painting would recognize the artist.

“Say, this is
Woman with a Parasol
, isn’t it? Look at your animated brush strokes and bright use of color. Just like the original.”

He knows the title as well? Mason clearly knows something about painting. Who is this man?

“Spoken like somebody who loves art,” I say.

He turns to look up at me. “You would think,” he says darkly.

“You’re don’t love art, but you’re familiar with Monet’s work?”

He shrugs and makes a face, like he doesn’t want to talk about this, but forcing himself to regardless. For my sake. “My parents are both art historians. Maybe my sister told you? They dragged us through countless galleries all over Europe. Some of it was bound to rub off. I think I saw
Parasol
in Munich when I was a teenager.”

His sister? He means my boss, so that makes them direct siblings.

“Countless galleries all over Europe,” I repeat with a laugh. “Sounds like torture. I haven’t heard about this terrible abuse you and your sister suffered at the hands of your art historian parents. Sylvia doesn’t talk about herself much.”

He raises his eyebrows and his lips twitch, like he’s about to divulge a secret, but then says nothing.

“I picked the picture out of Ms. Aberdeen’s art book,” Piper says, eager to steal her uncle’s focus back.

He tears his captivating brown eyes away from me and turns back to his niece. “
Ms.
Aberdeen, you say? Are you sure she’s not a
Mrs.
Aberdeen?”

“I’m sure,” Piper chirps. She grabs my left hand and holds it up for him. “See? No ring. That means she’s a Ms. Not a Mrs.”

“Aren’t you a little hawk,” I say, taking my hand back and stroking her hair.

“Now, Piper, that doesn’t mean Ms. Aberdeen doesn’t have somebody special in her life,” Mason says.

“If she does, nobody comes to pick her up. Ever.”

“You don’t say?” Mason says. “Do you have any other information about Ms. Aberdeen that might be useful to know?”

“You two are thick as thieves,” I say with mock indignation as I cross my arms. “Talking about me like I’m not even here.”

Mason changes his tune right away. “She’s right, Piper. Some things aren’t polite to say out loud. You should know better.” He looks right at me. “Some things are better left unsaid, until the right time. Or maybe never.”

We stare at each other for a moment, and I have to wonder… what is he talking about? It’s like he’s teasing me, or hinting at something. Trying to make me curious. The worst part is, it’s working. The more he closes his lips, the more I want to pry them open.

Piper looks up at me. She looks up at her uncle. “Can I get my ice cream sundae now?”

“In a moment.” Mason keeps his brown eyes locked on mine. “Jess, I mean, Ms. Aberdeen, thanks for staying late to watch Piper.”

“It’s no problem at all. She’s delightful.” I mean to smile at Piper, but I can’t take my eyes off Mason’s face. Now I’m looking at his beautiful mouth, the one mocking me with a smirk.

Piper gets more insistent. “Uncle Mason. Ice cream. Now.”

“You’d better hurry,
Uncle Mason
,” I say with a smirk of my own. “Once you put ice cream in a child’s mind, there’s no getting it out again.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” he says, laughing. “But I meant what I said earlier. That Rembrandt you’re working on—
The Storm on the Sea of Galilee
—it’s stunning. Your technique is incredible. Especially for somebody so young.”

I bite my tongue, like I have so many times over the years. I’m older than I look, but I can’t appear much older than eighteen to Mason.

“How can you honestly say that… after I’m sure you’ve seen the original?”

“That’s easy. Everybody brings their own perspective to the table. Your take is more energetic than the original. I prefer it. Maybe we can talk about art some time?”

Piper is pulling her uncle toward the door with both hands now, using all of her eight-year-old weight.

She almost has him out the door when I take him up on the offer.

“I’d like that, Mister…?”

“Boone. Mason Boone.” He nods. “Be careful with those blowtorches tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll drop by after Piper’s birthday to see how it went.”

The bell on the door jingles and he’s gone, kited away to the local ice cream parlor by a little girl.

Boone, indeed. Drop the E off the end, and it means something helpful or pleasant. The question is, will Mason be that for me?

“Am I too early?”

Mason is standing in the front door of the craft studio. He’s wearing different clothes, but the same bolo and pendant. Three days have passed since we first met. I thought my imagination might have augmented the memory of him, but the man standing in front of me is even more handsome than I remembered.

He puts all of the fantasies I’ve been having about him to shame, which is rare. I have a really good imagination.

“Not at all.”

It’s the last class of my day. Several parents are picking up their children. Piper isn’t among them.

I’ve been wearing my slinkiest clothes for the past three days, just in case he dropped by unannounced. My choice of clothing has prompted more than a few glances from the moms and prolonged stares from the dads. The creepy ones, at any rate. I haven’t been dressing this way for them, but they don’t know that.

“I would have come sooner, but, well, I didn’t want my niece to think I was here to see her instead of you.”

My heart jolts a little faster. Mason really isn’t hiding his interest in me.

Three of the mothers look at Mason, then back at me. They do it in unison with knowing grins on their faces. Not even trying to be subtle.

My face heats a little. Mason waited for an evening when Piper didn’t finish the day with me. I should have thought of that.

“I’ll be done in a moment. Mind waiting for me while I lock up?”

“Not at all. I’ll be right outside,” he says, pointing to a car over his shoulder. Mason smiles at me alone. If he’s aware of the attention we’re getting, he chooses to ignore it.

After he steps outside, the parents file out quickly. The mother who has been giving me the dirtiest looks pats me on the shoulder.

“That a bold one,” she whispers, “but not overly so. A good sign.”

She leaves with a smile on her lips and her son in tow.

I tidy up at breakneck speed, leaving most of the mess for tomorrow. Mason seems content to wait, but I’m not about to test his patience. Who am I kidding? I’m the impatient one here. Especially after waiting three days for him to show up.

I step outside and have to squint right away. It’s still bright for this time of year and the sun is directly in my face. Mason is silhouetted against his car. I don’t know cars, but it’s something old and restored.

I lock the door with one key and bend down sideways to flip the deadbolt on the ground. The dress I’m wearing pulls tight against my body.

Mason finally gets the eyeful that every other man at the studio has enjoyed. He walks over, offers me his hand, and helps me up again. I stand in the shade of his well-built frame. He drinks me in, but keeps his thoughts to himself.

“Thank you,” I say. “It’s not the easiest dress to maneuver in.”

“I can see that. Very practical,” he teases.

I’ve been reading up on classic painters for the past three days. Refreshing my knowledge just in case we
actually
talk about art. I don’t want to seem uninformed.

“Are you okay to go for a walk?” he asks.

I can’t keep the smile from my lips. A walk is not what I imagined, but no less appealing. If nothing else, my short dress will keep me cool.

“Unless you’re hungry? You are just getting off work, after all.”

“I nibbled on something recently,” I lie. “Going for a stroll sounds delightful.”

I don’t care what we do, but I can’t eat just now. My stomach is too nervous. Which is strange for me, after a the lifetime I’ve already enjoyed. I haven’t been this nervous around a boy since I was a teenager.

Mason smiles. “Good. I have just the destination in mind.”

We walk out of town, which takes no time whatsoever, and then continue along a trail into the forest. I’ve taken this path before, but I don’t tell Mason that. I’d rather let him show me around. It leads to an embankment overlooking a river, but passes through a forest first. It’s peaceful here, if not secluded. Not somewhere I would normally go with a stranger. Still, Mason is my boss’s brother. Not a complete unknown.

“So tell me about your childhood,” I say. “Did your family ever stop traveling?”

“Not very often. My parents worked as appraisers for some of the world’s most renowned museums. Whenever we weren’t in Europe, or Russia, or even Asia, we were here. Home has always been this town for me. It was the only fixed place Sylvia and I had growing up. I’m glad she moved back here when Piper was born. It gives me a reason to visit.”

“You make it sound like you haven’t been back here for a while,” I say.

“That’s not entirely true. I’ve snuck back a few times. Sometimes just for a few hours, walking to the end of this trail. I don’t tell anybody. My sister would kill me if she knew. Promise not to turn me in?”

I look up and notice that he’s fondling the silver pendant around his neck. The same one I noticed before. It can see now that it holds a Norse design. A wolf, if I’m not mistaken.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

Mason smiles at me in a way that makes my cheeks flush. He seems to forget about his pendant for a moment.

“You could say this town is a touchstone for me, especially when I’ve been traveling a lot.”

I understand what he means. Not just about the town, but about needing a touchstone. A place where you can clear your thoughts or gather them. It’s become that for me as well. I miss my two mentors, but getting away from the coven has been refreshing.

“I guess a childhood spent wandering the world rubbed off on you, whether you liked it or not. Like your art history knowledge. Except now you don’t know how to stop moving, even when you want to slow down.”

Mason looks at me wide-eyed. As if I accidentally glimpsed a part of his soul. I guess my words were a little more perceptive than I anticipated. I have to careful about that. I do have a knack for insight at my age.

“Yes, that exactly,” he says with awe in his voice.

That’s when I hear a strange keening sound call out from forest, well off the path. I whirl around in that direction. I can’t say for sure, but I’d almost call it sorrowful, raising the hair on the back of my neck.

“Did you hear that?” I ask Mason, looking back at him.

He’s already looking in the same direction, ears piqued. Eyes wild.

“We should go,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’ve encountered this sort of thing before.”

I’m about to follow him when I hear the cry again. I stop in my tracks. I can’t bring myself to keep walking. It’s definitely an animal, but in distress. The sound is heartbreaking. The poor creature is desperate.

Then what sounds like a struggle, thrashing sounds. Another animal, maybe a dog growling. Or what sounds like a dog.

“They’re killing it,” I say.

“I know, Jess, but it can’t be helped—”

I’m already running before I realize my feet have decided to move.

“Jess! Wait!” Mason calls out.

I’m sure he’s right. There’s probably nothing I can do, but I don’t let that stop me. I’m running through the forest, jumping over roots. I can’t see where I’m going until I break through the underbrush and reach the commotion.

It’s grisly.

The wailing has been stilled. A deer was calling out for help, but no more. The corpse of a young buck is surrounded by a pack of seven coyotes. Tearing into the carcass from all sides. Feasting on their freshly killed prey.

That is, until I burst into the clearing.

They all look up at me at the same time. I was unexpected. A sudden threat to their food source. They narrow their eyes at me and growl. The bravest one takes a few steps in my direction.

This was a bad idea. I should have listened to Mason. If I get out of this mess, I make a promise to myself that I will always heed what he says.

Mason emerges through the forest behind me. He sees the coyotes right away and places himself between me and them. That causes the pack to stop advancing a moment. They want to bolt, but they don’t want to abandon their dinner at the same time. For now, they hold their ground. The bravest coyote barks at Mason. Mommy coyote, I suspect.