More Than Magic (17 page)

“Coffee doesn’t help you metabolize alcohol, you know. It only adds caffeine and wakes you up,” she explained.

“So, instead of being a sleepy drunk you are a very awake drunk.”

“Exactly!” Grace picked up her plate and glass and started for the sink, almost tripping over the rug.
 

Nick came up behind her with a tray. “What say you sit back down and
I’ll
clean up and make the coffee.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. You cooked. And really well too.” But she sat down obediently. “Does your sister cook?”

He grinned. “Well, yes. But no one
eats
what she cooks. I got the cooking gene and she didn’t. She hates me.”

“Oh, I doubt that. You are very…unhateable.”
Watch it, Gracie-girl.

Nick gave her one of those looks again. He was smiling, but his eyes weren’t. They were doing something else—

“Thanks. I think.” Nick opened a cabinet door, then another one. “Coffee?”

She pointed and he came up with a bag of beans.

“You grind?”

“Ouida insists. She’s a real coffee aficionado.”

“Wow. You managed ‘aficionado’. I think you are on your way to somewhat sober.”

Grace grinned, holding up the empty glass. “And the wine is wonderful. Perfect with the frittata. I should pour myself some more. I haven’t felt this relaxed in years.”
At least a decade. And you are thoroughly sloshed, Gracie-girl.

“Nope. Hold off. We’ll scrounge something up for dessert and then pop the cork on that champagne of yours.” He started grinding the coffee and stood there smiling at her through the racket.

“So, we’re celebrating Pops’s birthday and toasting your—our departed relatives. Anything else?”

“Hmmm?”

“Well, we’re opening a very fine and very
expensive
bottle of champagne. This one has a reputation for tasting like stars in a bottle, so we need a profound reason to drink it. Or at least several good ones.”

“Stars in a bottle. That’s perfect.”
For Pops.
Grace realized, either because of the wine or the company, the thought of Pops didn’t hurt so much right now. “Well, actually…”

She watched as Nick finished loading the dishwasher and leaned against the counter. Those eyes of his were so expressive and changeable. Right now they were a pale silver color that made her mouth go dry. Or maybe it was the wine.

“Well, actually…?” He stuck his head in the freezer hunting for dessert, leaving rather nice parts of him on display. Grace leaned sideways to get a better look.

“I can think of a few things.”

“Hey! You have some gelato in here.”

“I do?”

Nick’s head appeared around the door. “You don’t spend much time in the kitchen, do you?”

She shook her head. “As little as possible.”

“And it’s lemon.” He pulled out the container with a flourish. “I must meet this Ouida, I think.”

“I think you would get along famously. She’s been after me to get an espresso maker.”

“Yes, I
am
disappointed that we have no espresso to top off this fine Italian meal.” He hunted the cupboards and drawers for bowls and spoons and a scoop. “So, what are we celebrating?”

“Well.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “First, I have measureable proof that some work I’ve been doing in the greenhouse has re—has impacted the active compounds in one of our most important products, which means we may be able to start up production again soon. Second—”

“Whoa. Layman here. What the heck’s an active compound?”

“Oh, sorry!” Grace said apologetically. “Active compounds are the phytochemicals—” she laughed out loud when he winced, “—the plant chemicals which we think create the therapeutic effect caused by a particular herb. For example, the effect of American ginseng on nausea and chemo-related fatigue.”

“Here.” Nick pulled a glass out of the cabinet and poured the last bit of the red into it, handing it to her. “The fact that you can say all that
and
actually understand it proves that you were right—you need some more wine. It’s a wonder you don’t fall over with all that stuff in your head.”

She downed the glass without a breath.

“Whoa. What did I say?” Nick looked shocked.

“Oh, nothing. It’s all right. That was— That’s something Pops used to say.”

“Oh. Sorry.” A bowl of gelato appeared in front of her. “It seems like you really lived
here
as a child. I mean the way you talk. Instead of in Philly.”

“Well, we stayed here every summer and every holiday—every school break basically. All three of us.” She frowned and dug into the gelato. “My mother’s…well, let’s just say my mother’s still working hard at her own childhood. And my father believes in working pretty much non-stop for the ‘good of all mankind’. The classic poor little rich kids—that’s us. When we weren’t at school, we were here and they were somewhere else.” She looked up. “It’s cliché, and I’m sure our first world problems don’t seem like much compared to the kids you must see in your work. At least we had Pops, and Ouida, and the mountain.”

“No wonder you love this place.”

“I don’t think love is the right word, but yes. And you’re right.” She lifted her spoon. “This is perfect after the frittata.”

“I have this
thing
about gelato.”

She grinned at him. “You make me laugh.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Is it ever a bad thing?”
 

“Nope. And you have a
great
laugh,” he said.

The gelato tasted like melting sunshine sliding down her throat. And Nick’s smile—with that dimple of his—was warming her all the way to her toes. She smiled back, rather stupidly no doubt, but she didn’t care. And it was really great not to care for a while.

“So, the second reason?” Nick asked. Grace thought about it.

“Tink’s in complete remission and she’ll have a normal life and grow up and have kids and—”
Wait. Will she actually be able to have kids? Did whatever happened reverse the radiation side-effects too? What about—

“Tink?” Nick prompted.

Grace blinked at him.
I didn’t say that out loud did I?
“Tinker Bell. Really Isabella. It’s a nickname.”

“Your little patient.”

“Yes. She was in pretty bad shape.”
 

“That’s pretty amazing, isn’t it, to recover so completely?” Nick sounded impressed. “Some kind of experimental drug trial or something?”

“Something like that. Yes.” Grace looked at her empty bowl. She should stop this and send him off to his cabin before she did something stupid. But it was so nice to have a normal conversation with an adult for once. Well, relatively normal. The fact that he was a good-looking adult male was a plus.

“Must be
some
drug. I’ve heard the side-effects of chemo and radiation can last for years and…well, I didn’t think they were reversible.”

He sounded odd. When she looked up, he turned away to check on the brewing coffee.

“Yes, well. Chemo and radiation save lives. But they can have some devastating side-effects. We’re— They’re working on it though.” There was something important she should remember about what he just said, but her brain refused to go in a straight line at the moment.

“You were working on it, weren’t you? That’s what you do, create new drugs that work magic?”

When he came toward her with the coffee pot in one hand, she wondered when his eyes had turned storm-cloud gray.

“I don’t
create
drugs,” she waved at the windows. “Nature does. The mountain does. I only find them and make them better.”

Nick was surprised. She hadn’t even flinched at the word “magic”.

“And Jamie Lynn Campbell
does
talk too much,” she added, smiling.

“All drugs came from plants at some point. I mean cocaine, marijuana, even crystal meth—” Nick pushed, watching her face.

She looked meaningfully at the coffeepot. “Coffee.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, then paused, looking down at the pot in his hand. “What?”

“Anything man takes from nature can be transformed into something horrible
or
beneficial.” She picked up her empty wine glass and waggled it at him. “Grapes make wine, which can, in the wrong hands, ruin lives.” She recited all this as if she had said it many times before. “But coffee isn’t one of those things, yet. I don’t think. No, wait a minute. I’m wrong. There
are
the devastating effects of some methods of cultivation, but Ouida always buys organic fair trade coffee. And I’d like a cup, please.”

She didn’t even blink. She was even
smiling
at him, in a dreamy sort of way.

He shook his head and looked at the pot before pouring the coffee.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re doing research for your book again, aren’t you?” Grace said. “I’m not going to end up in there, am I?”

“You just might,” he muttered under his breath, then said out loud. “Not unless you want to.” He set her mug in front of her. “Speaking of methods of cultivation, with all your greenhouses have you ever had a guest ask about marijuana?”

“Actually, I’m absolutely in favor of legalizing medical marijuana. I can quote you some research studies—”

Nick held up his hands. “No need. But what about recreational use?”

“It’s illegal. That’s about the only thing that matters. Now, should it be?” She smiled. “That’s a
whole
other discussion. But we don’t allow any illegal activities up here.” She frowned. “So,
still
researching?”

Nick sighed. “Sorry.”

“If you want to talk about meth production up in these mountains, I can give you an earful about what making those drugs does to the environment, over and above the human toll.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve got a lot of data on that.” But Nick continued to be baffled. Everything pointed here, to her, to this place, like a giant red flashing neon arrow, and yet over and over again she proved that she had nothing to do with it. Even well on her way to being sloshed, she was pitch perfect.
Dammit, no one is that good an actress. Maybe she has an evil twin.

Leaning on the stool across from her, he tried to shove his suspicions into the background for a moment.

“But, you know, there
have
been illegal activities on the mountain before,” she went on absently.
 

Nick straightened.

“Pops said that way back when he was young, Federal agents traced some moonshine to the mountain. The stuff was apparently the smoothest and strongest hooch the Revenuers had ever confiscated. They suspected the Taggarts of producing it up in the woods somewhere, although no one ever found the still.”

Nick leaned back again. Moonshine was all about taxation, ATF territory, not his. Still, it was interesting. “The Taggarts?”

“Our neighbors up the hollow. Well, neighbors is the wrong word. Tenants is more like it. Although that really isn’t right either. They live in the old Woodruff home free of charge. Only enough rent to cover maintaining the road. It all goes back to an accident which burned down their cabin, and they blamed the Woodruffs because of—well, because of a fire that
they
caused way back when. And so on. A bit of a feud.”

Nick decided Grace could easily out-talk Jamie with the right lubrication. But he liked the way her eyes sparkled when she got really animated about something. And her hair was
this
close to tumbling out of that contraption she had it twisted into. He would love to see that.

“So, you have a feud with your neighbors?”

“Not anymore. My great-grandfather had built a house up here and when the old home place was empty he let the Taggarts live there for nearly nothing,
if
the feud came to an end and they kept up the place. I could probably toss them out for a few of the things they’ve done—mostly turning that lovely hollow into a barren dust bowl, but Old Annie Taggart’s nearly ninety now and kind of feeble, so I leave them alone, for the most part.” She sipped her coffee. “I’d love to get rid of that trailer of theirs though.”

Nick’s instincts went on alert again. “Trailer?” A trailer separate from the house was a classic set up for a meth lab.

“Well, they don’t really need it anymore, since Boyd Taggart’s girlfriend moved back to Atlanta. And they don’t maintain it. It really is an eyesore, and probably dangerous too.”

Nick took a slow sip of his coffee. Atlanta. Another coincidence. This was getting interesting. “So, I guess they take advantage of your tower and cell extender too?”

“Oh yes. Those two Taggart boys give ‘taking advantage’—” she made air quotes, “—a whole new meaning. They pretty much live off of their grandmother’s government checks. For a while the eldest, Gabe, was sending money home. He joined the Army as soon as he could. But Old Annie told us that even he stopped helping out a year or so ago. Left her high and dry with those two—” Her cheeks went pink. “You see what happens when I drink. I get obnoxious and gossipy. My apologies.”

“Not at all. It’s interesting to me, professionally. They sound like exactly the kind of people I’m writing about. The kind with troubles and debts and other problems, who might resort to cooking and dealing to meet the bills.”