Making Magic (11 page)

“Is Evan getting the babies checked over?”

Charlie shook his head. “First mom and dad freaked out and left town, tourists from Tennessee somewhere. The chief said since he figured it might’ve all been a mistake, it wasn’t a big deal. Second mom is pitching a fit. Insists that she’ll get the baby checked by her own family doctor and the chief has no right to keep her against her will.” Charlie shrugged. “He’s second guessing himself and I don’t have a clue what to tell him.”

“Not sure I would either,” Jake said.

“Yeah, well, it’s damn odd. Why would someone take a baby, keep it for what seems to be only a minute or two, then return it?” Charlie asked.

Jake raised an eyebrow and Charlie shrugged.

“Yeah, I know there are some very weird, sick people out there, but both moms insisted the clothing wasn’t tampered with or removed or anything. One of them had this certain way of tucking the blanket around her daughter and said it was still tucked in that way. I don’t think whoever had them, if they had them, if there is a who.” Charlie shook his head. “Aw hell, Jake, this is nuts.”

Jake scrubbed at his face, struggling with the urge to step in take control of the situation. It would certainly relieve Charlie’s anxiety. But, as he had reminded himself constantly when he was running the department, he had to let these guys do things themselves and learn from their mistakes. As long as no one got hurt…

“The thing is, these situations can escalate. They start out looking harmless then turn into something much worse,” Jake said. “If it were me, I would get that baby checked over. Make sure there aren’t any puncture wounds, nothing hidden by all those clothes and blankets. Is her husband with her?”

“Nope.”

“Is Amy involved?”

“I didn’t see her. Off shift I imagine.”

Jake sighed. The need to make sure things got done right was like an itch he couldn’t scratch any longer. “See if the chief can get her in here. You need a female officer involved no matter what you think happened or didn’t happen.”

“Good point.” Charlie grinned. “See, we need you for this kind of crazy shit. Right up your alley.”

“Yeah,” Jake smiled. “That’s me. Jake Moser: Crazy Shit Specialist. Maybe I’ll moonlight as a consulting detective.”

The acting sheriff stood and slapped him on the back. “Personally, I just want my meat shield back so I can hide behind him.”

“Ha.” Jake scowled. “Real funny.”
Which is exactly why I can’t come back.

“Then again, I kinda like how this works. You get shot and all the badge-bunnies are coming after me.”

Jake saw movement behind Charlie. Someone had stepped into the doorway.

“Especially that Cindy whatshername, with all the hair and the big t—”

“Fletcher,” Jake said in a loud voice.

“Brother. Cindy has a really big brother. Huge. Mean temper.” A familiar voice, tinged with laughter, chimed in.

Charlie spun around as Jake got to his feet. Thea Woodruff stood there smiling at Charlie’s flushed expression.

Thea was dressed in some kind of drapey blue top and snug jeans—her curves were showing nicely. Amazing what a few days of Ouida’s cooking could do.

“Thea, you know Sheriff Charlie Sloan?”

“Haven’t had the pleasure,” Thea extended her hand.

“Charlie, this is Thea Woodruff, Grace’s sister.”

She was wearing lipstick today. Jake didn’t think he’d ever seen Thea with lipstick on. It didn’t mix well with playing the flute. But it made that full mouth of hers look really tempting.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Charlie’s face was still a tad red.

Thea put one hand on her heart as Charlie took her other hand. She glanced over at Jake, her gray eyes full of mischief. “I didn’t know how very much I missed all this Southern politeness and courtesy.”

Charlie, ever the ladies’ man, quickly recovered and kissed Thea’s extended hand. “No more than we missed your very
lovely presence, Ms. Woodruff.”

The sudden twinge of his stomach muscles made Jake wince as Thea laughed.

“Oh, you are good, Sheriff Sloan.” Thea said, smiling.

“Acting sheriff, ma’am.” Charlie cleared his throat. “Guess I better get going.” He reached for the brim of his missing hat as he nodded to Thea. “Ms. Woodruff. Jake.”

“Let me know what happens with that case, Charlie,” Jake said.

“Will do. I only hope this pied piper doesn’t show up again,” Charlie said as he headed for his patrol car.

“Pied piper?” Thea asked.

“Charlie’s weird sense of humor,” Jake said. “What brings you down here?”

Her smile softened a bit. With just a glance, she acknowledged the moment they had shared yesterday on the mountain.

“I found this in my trunk this morning.” She held out a folded sheaf of papers. “I believe it’s yours.”

He unfolded his sketches for the store he’d planned. He vaguely recalled having put them down when he was trying to find her tire inflation kit.

“Some ideas of mine.”

“Songs in the Wood? I heard that’s your band’s name as well.”

“It is.” Folding the sketches back up, he was briefly tempted to ask her what she thought of them. “Thanks.”

She smiled at him. Not that silky little smile that she had given Charlie, but a Thea smile—that big, breathtaking grin he remembered so long ago. The one that usually meant she’d gotten one over on him. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed it.

“Sissy!” The very petite Mel Noblett stuck her head in the door. “You have a really sexy dress to try on, girl. Quit flirting with the handsome sheriff.”

Thea smirked at Jake as Mel dragged her out. “I’m not. He just left.”

Thea in a really sexy dress. Jake could only hope it was for the wedding so he could see her in it.

Chapter Five

It
was
a really sexy dress. Thea was amazed that it fit, but the clingy, ruched fabric that extended below her hips was almost a one-size-fits-all. It fit Thea’s slightly less curvaceous figure quite well. She smiled at her reflection. The color was ideal for her—a dark teal that would look great on Grace as well. But Thea had never worn a one-shouldered dress before.

“Oh, wow,” Mel said. “Maybe I should rethink this. You’re going to upstage me!”

Thea swung around. “I saw your gown. There’s no way I could upstage you, even if this is a fabulous dress.”

Mel’s giggled. “As long as Daniel only has eyes for me, I don’t care about anyone else.”

“Then you shouldn’t have a care in the world.” Thea suppressed a pang of envy when Mel sighed. “So, does this meet your requirements, future Mrs. Woodruff?”

“Oh.” Mel covered her mouth. “That’s right. Grace is Mrs. McKenzie now. Once you get married, I’ll be the only Woodruff woman around!”

Thea felt strangely dizzy at that thought. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not the marrying type.” That would be the definition of disaster.

“There’s a type?” Mel asked.

“Trust me. Some people should not put other people at risk by getting married,” Thea said, gazing down to see if the dress was too short.

Mel’s smile wavered. “You’re serious.”

She’d said too much so she quickly laughed it off. “Ask Daniel about my temper.”

Mel’s expression was pained.

“Hey, I was kidding!” Thea said. “Maybe there is a guy out there who can put up with my sharp tongue and rapier wit without being mortally wounded. Who knows?” She turned to check out her shoes. “You think the length is good? I’m
a bit taller than Grace.”

Mel rubbed at her temple, then smiled and leaned over to look. “It’s fine. It was probably a little long on Grace. Hard to tell with the baby in the way. But you look fantastic.”

Thea smiled at her reflection. “That I do.”

After they purchased the dress and shoes, they went to a place called The Silver Mine to find a necklace that would complement what Grace and Jamie would be wearing. Lucky for them, the jewelry maker appeared to enjoy working with amber, dark turquoise and citrine and they soon left with the perfect multi-strand necklace.

“Now, you must see this place,” Mel said, pulling Thea and her dress bag and parcels along the sidewalk. “You can browse until I get finished at the salon.” She led Thea into a shop called Dreaming in Clay
.
The shop hadn’t been there the last time she’d visited downtown. But that had been a long time ago.

“These are the folks who made my
bomboniere
,” Mel said. “And my every day dinnerware and…well, everything!”

Thea looked around at the beautiful pottery sitting on rustic wooden display tables and shelves. “What’s a ‘bonbonery’?”

“
Bomboniere
,” Mel corrected. “It’s an Italian tradition. Little gifts the couple gives to everyone who attends. We’re giving handmade honey pots filled with Daniel’s honey.”

“Oh! That’s perfect. What a wonderful tradition.”

“It’s a little bit Italian, a little bit Woodruff Mountain,” Mel said. “And this is the lovely lady who owns the shop. Mrs. Croate, this is my future sister-in-law—”

“Mel, I told you to call me Marty. And this is Thea.” The curly-headed woman at the back of the shop took Thea’s hand warmly. “I remember you. We’ve always had a booth at the festival. I remember your group—you and the sheriff and Eric.” She paused. “And poor Becca, of course. You were all so good for your age. For any age really.”

“Thank you. I think I remember your booth.” Thea motioned to the shelves. “Do you make all of this here now?”

Marty nodded. “Yes. We moved production into town a few years ago. We do everything here now, from design to firing. There’s a kiln out back. A great deal of the clay we use comes from our family land.”

She frowned at the raised voices now coming from the back room and cleared her throat like she was trying to dislodge a boulder.

The noise subsided to an indistinct mutter.

Thea turned to a display of large platters, each with unique designs and colors. “These are stunning.”

Marty smiled. “My daughter, Emmy—Emmeline. She’s real good at making decorative pieces like that.”

“I’d say better than good.” Thea walked closer to inspect the intricate designs on each one. “The colors and textures are amazing. These deserve to be in a gallery.”

There was a gasp and a sound like a grunt. When Thea turned, a young girl—probably a tween—with that same curly brown hair as Marty, stood at the backroom doorway.

Marty looked distressed at first, then moved to stand beside the girl who seemed to be suffering from some kind of mild convulsion.

Mel went over as well, smiling as she took the young girl’s hand. “Thea, this is Emmy. She is the artist who created those platters. Emmy, this is Thea.”

Emmy nodded, her head shaking a bit as she did. She was blinking quite a bit and smacking her lips. Thea knew exactly what she was seeing now. The poor girl had no control over it.

Swallowing hard, she held out her hand. “Hi, Emmy.”

Emmy’s discomfort seemed to ease, the twitching and blinking stopped. Her smile was genuine, if a bit lopsided, as she took Thea’s hand. Thea revised her estimate of Emmy’s age—she had to be in her early teens.

A young boy with that same curly hair stuck his head out from the back room. “She’s havin’ trouble talking today.”

Emmy glared at the boy, who ducked back.

“That’s her brother, Aaron,” Mel said, as if that explained everything—which it pretty much did.

“You do amazing work, Emmy,” Thea said. “That’s quite a talent you have.”

“I throw the bases for those,” Aaron said from the doorway.

Emmy, whose tics had calmed considerably, managed to stick out her tongue.

Marty’s smile looked a bit strained. “Aaron is quite skilled as well. He throws the platter bases and Emmy handbuilds the rest.”

“I do some of the ocarinas too. And I can make slip. And I—” Aaron began.

Marty put her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Aaron’s ocarinas are really popular at the festival.”

“I bet,” Thea said. “Where are they?” She looked around the shop. Aaron slid past his sister to show Thea the display. He seemed to be a few years younger than Emmy.

“Oh, these are lovely too.” Thea bent over the table full of ocarinas. Each one of the clay flutes was slightly different from the others. There were lots of four-hole pendants, which were probably the popular ones with the festival crowd and Aaron’s specialty. But there were six, ten and twelve-hole ones as well. They came in all shapes and finishes—glazed, solid colors, painted, etched, stamped with intricate patterns. Thea could see Emmy’s hand in some of them as well. She picked out a lovely “sweet potato” style with subdued glazes in rust and gold and black in a stamped spiral on gray. She picked up another that was probably Aaron’s work, a four-hole pendant with a stylized sunflower painted on the side as a little wedding gift for Jamie.

“You’ll be loaded down with a lot more by the time I finish at the salon!” Mel said. “I won’t be long.”