More Than Magic (42 page)

“At the gate?” She started crying then.

He pulled her back into his arms. “I’m surprised that sheriff of yours didn’t tell you. He caught me a couple of times.”

“Oh, Nick,” Grace sniffed. “I’ve missed you so—”

Nick shut her up with a kiss. “For two months.” Then he kissed her eyelids. “I have been waiting.” Then her temple. “For three words from you.” Then her forehead. Finally he held her at arm’s length again. “No more. No less.”

Grace frowned, counting in her head. Then she smiled, wiping the tears off her face. “Six.”

“Six? Dammit Grace—”

She covered his lips with her fingers.

“I. Love. You. Nicholas. Andrew. McKenzie.”

And she kissed him again, for a long while.
 

Eventually, Nick pulled away. “It’s a good thing I love you too, woman. You’re enough to—” He peered at her closely. “Are you all right? You look—”

“Tired. I look tired. Everyone keeps telling me that. You on the other hand, look great.” She ran her hands through his much longer hair. “I love your hair, and your—” She touched his chest. “Have you been working out?”

Nick took her hand in his and ran it further down to his stomach—the very firm muscles over his stomach. “Exercise is a
real
good outlet for frustration.”
 

It was her turn to kiss every part of his face, then tuck herself under his chin. “I still can’t quite believe it. Not a trace left anywhere.”

He pulled back and tugged up her chin. “Did you doubt it? I mean, you were so certain.”

“I recall someone telling me this isn’t an exact science,” she said. “And I can’t exactly do a PET scan or biopsy or anything.”

Nick took her hands in his and lifted them to his lips, kissing each in the palm. “Don’t let your inner scientist make you doubt your gift, Grace.”

“Scientists
always
leave room for doubt, Nick—questioning, asking why, wondering how. It’s what we
are
.” She smiled up at him. “But even if I don’t know how I did it—
yet
—I’m thrilled beyond words that I did.”
 

“Well, my family’s thrilled. Between their non-stop celebrating and my ‘going away’ bash at the agency, there’s been a lot of partying going on.” He pointed to the champagne. “But before
we
celebrate anything, I have something I need to tell you.”

Grace took both his hands, and smiled. “Me too.”

He frowned. “You’re shivering. You know, we could go inside where it’s warm to do this.”

“No, I’m afraid once we get in there we won’t be talking so much.” She leaned up to kiss him again.

“Have I told you I love how you think?”

“Yes.”

“Hold that thought.” He squeezed her hands. “I have a confession to make. I—I wasn’t completely honest with you when we were in that cave with the carvings.”

She frowned. “About what?”

“About the handprint. I mean…It was a lie of omission.”

“Oh!” She smiled then. “I thought you saw it. I was afraid to ask. The mountain hides things and I don’t always know why—like keeping the handprint from Pops.”
 

“So, are you willing to take me back into the cave so I can see if the old magic will still have anything to do with me?”

“Now?”

Nick laughed. “Tomorrow’s soon enough.”

“But I can’t imagine how you resisted touching it. And you
are
going to tell me why you didn’t.”

“Yes, I am. But it’s more of a question.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t buy a ring yet, because… Well, it seemed a bit… Anyway, if I can’t have you, Grace Elizabeth Woodruff, I don’t want whatever it is the mountain has to offer.”

“Oh Nick. You can have me, the mountain, and anything else you want,” she said, flinging her arms around him for another long, delicious kiss.

“I like that you’re wearing your hair down,” he said, running his fingers through it as she pulled back. “So,
now
can we celebrate?” He went back to pick up the champagne. “And then go inside to some nice warm bed-like thing—with a mattress? It’ll be an adventure for us, I know—”

She laughed. “Yes, it will,” she said, gazing into his eyes. “But you’ll have to drink the champagne for both of us.”

“What? You didn’t give up drinking champagne after that one night? I mean, it was the healing that made you get sick, right? Not the champa—”

Grace stood there smiling at him as he stuttered to a halt. She saw the exact moment when the thought crossed his mind and his eyes drifted downward, then back up to her face. She would never forget the way his expression changed from bewilderment to a tentative smile to a full blown grin. His dimple was showing as he stood there—apparently rooted to the ground—looking first at her stomach, then at her face, then back down again.

“As it turns out, the one thing that I
can’t
heal seems to be morning sickness and everything that goes with this.” She rubbed her belly. “Apparently Woodruff women do
not
bloom when they are pregnant.”

Nick dropped the champagne bottle. “A baby?” he whispered. “I mean. Are you sure? It’s only been two months.”

“Oh, I’m sure. I can tell.” Grace smiled.
 

“After all the chemo and everything. I thought I’d never—”

“I’d say we can be pretty certain that is
not
going to be a problem.”

He held out his hand toward her. “May I?”

“If you don’t come over here right now and hug me—” She shivered. “That’s another thing that came with this. I can’t stay warm.”

Nick grabbed the blanket from the ground and tossed it over her shoulders, wrapping his arm around her. “We should go inside. You shouldn’t be out here—”

“Don’t start. I’m fine.” Grace leaned her head back on his shoulder. “In fact, I’m more than fine for the first time in a long while.”

He spread his fingers over hers where they rested on her stomach. And Grace closed her eyes and reached in—

Nick was still full of light and health and wholeness. Not a hint of darkness. And for the first time in two months, she relaxed. Nick was fine. Nick was home.

Then there was the briefest flash of red-gold and a sensation of warmth. Only a trembling touch, and it was gone.

Grace opened her eyes in surprise.

“Did you feel that?” Nick whispered.

“You felt it?”

“Yeah.” His voice sounded awestruck.

“Well, she
is
a Woodruff
and
a McKenzie.” Grace sighed, looking up at the vast sweep of stars above them.

“She?”

Grace smiled. “Yes,
that
I’m pretty certain about. Lily Alexandra Woodruff McKenzie, if you approve.”
 

“Alexandra,” Nick breathed. “Alex.” Without looking, she could tell he was smiling.

“Yes. And I apologize in advance. I think our lives are going to be
very
interesting for a while.”

“Magic?”

“Oh, much more than magic.”

About the Author

The granddaughter of a coal miner and the great-great-granddaughter of one of the Muscogee people, Donna was raised in the shadows of the Appalachian Mountains, in the beautiful hills of East Tennessee. After getting a couple of college degrees, she was lured away from her mountains by an, admittedly gorgeous, Italian guy, who married her and carried her off to Texas. Donna has made her living doing a little bit of everything, including a stint as an IRS tax auditor, a few years managing a bookstore, and a career in the corporate world.
 

Donna enjoys being walked by her Jack Russell Terrier (if you know Jacks, you understand), belly dancing (excellent exercise and lots of shiny costumes), reading (three books at once, at times), and travel (with family in Italy and England, who wouldn’t?) Like any child of the Appalachians, she can’t stay away from “her mountains” for long, and visits as often as she can.
 

More information can be found at her website -
www.donnajunecooper.com
. She can also be reached by email at
[email protected]
.

Sins and secrets aren’t the only skeletons in the closet…

The Shadow and the Night

© 2014 Lila Dubois

Glenncailty Castle, Book 3

London forensic anthropologist Melissa Heavey isn’t anything like the characters in her grandmother’s beloved television crime dramas. Especially since an accident left her crippled and weary. While in Dublin to rest and recuperate, she’s asked to help the local Garda Síochána identify bones found in a rural luxury hotel.
 

Curiosity-seeking bone gawkers were not the clients Tristan Fontaine anticipated when he took over the Glenncailty Castle restaurant. And a scientist taking over part of
his kitchen
for her lab? He’s having none of it. Yet she’s not backing down…and his pulse won’t stop speeding up when she’s near.

As their attraction flares, Melissa soon discovers why Tristan is so dismissive of the bones—he’s been talking to the ghosts themselves. But the bones aren’t Glenncailty’s only secret, and Tristan is hiding a tragedy in his past more frightening than what’s lurking inside the castle walls.

Warning: Contains a sexy French chef whose gifts aren’t limited to his hands, and a dry-witted scientist with intellect as sharp as scalpels. Delicious doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Shadow and the Night:

Out of the corner of his eye Tristan saw Kris slide down one of the busy kitchen aisles. The maître d’s mouth was pursed, which was as close as the elegant man came to having a tantrum.
 

He turned away from the salmon fillets
en papillote
they were preparing for that night’s special.
 

“Kris,” he called out, and the other man turned. “What’s wrong?” he asked in French.

Kris shrugged. That wasn’t a good sign. With a curse, Tristan put a piece of plastic wrap and a damp towel over the dough he was working with, heading to a quieter corner of the kitchen where Kris met him.
 

“There’s a woman in the restaurant,” Kris said.

“We’re not open. Throw her out.”

“I cannot. Sorcha brought her here, and the woman, she says she needed a quiet place to work.”

“Then she can go to the library.” Tristan liked and respected the guest relations manager, but the restaurant and the kitchen were his domain.
 

“I think she came about the bones.”

The bones. Tristan cursed. He was sick unto death of hearing about these bones. The Irish were so dramatic, getting upset over a few ghosts and bones. They should go to Paris—the whole city sat atop bones and the French weren’t thrown into a tizzy by it. But the police, the
Gardaí
, had closed the west wing until they were dealt with, and that risked the whole hotel and what he was trying to build here.
 

“Then let her stay, put her out of the way.”

“I did, but she’s hungry.” Kris drew in a long breath through his nose. “She wants to see a menu from the pub.”

“
Non
. If she wants to eat pub food, then she will go there.” Tristan suddenly understood Kris’s ire. No one seemed to understand that the ambiance of dining was as important as the food, and that meant a beautiful room with well-appointed tables, candlelight and the aroma of fine wine, truffles and fresh herbs—not the stench of chips and meaty stew.

“Give that to me.” At his order, Kris handed over the pub menu, a laminated sheet of uninspired—though delicious, because if Tristan had to serve fish and chips, it was the best fish and chips ever cooked—pub fare.

Tristan stormed out of the kitchen into the restaurant. He took only a moment to appreciate the crystal chandeliers, cozy private areas created by half-walls and high-backed chairs, and headed for the darkest corner, a lost space where Kris seated those who wanted the utmost privacy or who weren’t dressed nicely.

Tristan’s brows rose in surprise when he saw who was seated there. A pretty blonde woman no older than thirty sat with her head bent over a castle map. She wore a tunic embroidered with geometric shapes in bold earth tones over a simple white turtleneck. A heavy brass medallion hung from a cord around her neck, and she toyed with it as she read. Her hair was straight, falling to just above her shoulder. She was lightly tanned, and when she looked up her eyes were a beautiful hazel rather than the blue he was so used to seeing.

She studied him, her gaze lingering on his face, but he could tell it wasn’t sexual—it was almost clinical.

“Hello,” she said, “I’m Dr. Melissa Heavey. You’re…” She did a second once-over. “…either the head chef or the
poissonnier
.” She was English and well-educated, from the sound of her accent.

Tristan stopped, taken by surprise. “I am the
chef de cuisine
.” He used the proper name for head chef.

“And you’re French. That explains the western European Caucasian bone structure but Mediterranean coloring.”