Tug of Attraction (29 page)

“No one has ever affected the grail the way you did.” 

“No one? Ever?”

“Not that we know of. You have some kind of otherworldly connection to it, and now it’s been lost. We’re hoping you can help us find it before it falls into the wrong hands.”

“We? Us? I assume you’re not using the royal ‘we’ and referring only to yourself.”

“No. There’s more confidential information coming. First, the grail bestows supernatural powers on any who drink from it. I’m one of those who have been granted the privilege.”

“Are there many of you?”

“Not at all. There’s only 21 of us in the world. We have our own supernatural coven of sorts. We’re asking you to locate the grail. With your psychic ability and special connection to it, you really are our best hope. Witches who practice war magic are just as interested in finding it.” 

“Wow. I—I can try.”

“Please. I thought it might help if we hold hands and I visualize the cup as I last saw it, and perhaps you can look through your third eye and, hopefully, you’ll find wherever it is now.”

“Yes. That might help.” Michele rose, lit several candles, and then turned off the overhead lights.

When she returned to her seat, they grasped hands and Hanna closed her eyes. She visualized the grail exactly as she last saw it. She and Fayleen had used it with Rebecca in a small initiation rite in her suite. Hanna had handed it to Fayleen, but she stopped the visual there. Fayleen had disappeared with it at that point, but Hanna would only be imagining where it went from there. She concentrated on every aspect of the object. The cloudy rounded jewels. The leaded cup itself. The odd sheen of gold poking out of the gray mass in random spots.

Several minutes later, she was about to give up when a series of new images flashed before her eyes. It had to be the grail’s journey. Michele was following it, and she was able to follow Michele.
Hallelujah!

* * * *

B
rigit was in the midst of packing her belongings when her phone rang. She glanced around frantically, searching for it. Who knew she had accumulated so much junk in her little guest house?

Ethan strode into the room, plucked her phone off the counter where it had been hiding behind a box. “Aren’t you going to answer it?”

“Yes. Toss it over,” she said and willed herself to catch it.

He sent it across a span of about ten feet with a gentle underhanded throw, which she was able to pluck out of the air. The only problem was that it had gone to voice mail.

“Shoot. Too late,” she said.

They smiled at each other. Little things didn’t seem to bother her as much as they once did. Maybe she had finally started seeing the big picture...or perhaps having someone like Ethan in her life, someone she could depend upon to be there through anything and everything, lowered her stress level.

Her mother knocked on her front door and Ethan let her in.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked.

“I think we’ve got it. But thanks...”

Her mother shook her head wistfully. “My little girl is moving out.”

From somewhere behind her mother, she recognized her step-father’s laugh. “You’re little girl is thirty.”

For once, she agreed with Jonathan. It was way past time she moved out on her own.

“While your step-dad is here, do you have any heavy furniture you want us to move?” Ethan asked.

She sighed. “Your place is already furnished, and if I took any of this stuff, they’d just have to replace it.”

He shrugged. “Okay. I just didn’t know if you were attached to anything. You’re not far away if you change your mind.”

“The only thing I’m leaving that I’m attached to is Goldie.” Her canine friend perked up her ears and trotted over, having heard her name. Brigit scratched the sweet dog behind her ears.

Her mother smiled. “We’ll take good care of her, and you can visit whenever you want.”

Ethan cleared his throat. “I guess I’ll just start putting boxes in the back of my SUV.”

“Thanks.” She knew everyone had to make compromises when they moved in together. She supposed letting go of certain things measured a couple’s commitment. Was Ethan letting go of anything?
Other than his total freedom, of course.

Her mom and step-dad followed Ethan’s lead and each grabbed a box that had already been taped and labeled.

She used the brief lull to dial her voice mail, curious to see who might be calling her, since the usual culprits were right here with her.

“Ms. Love?” the unfamiliar female voice said. “This is Connie from the Brass Lion. Your coats are selling quite well. We would like to ask you to make a few more, if possible. Give me a call at your convenience. Bye.”

The coats are selling?
She almost jumped in the air and whooped.  The woman had originally told her that this late in the season she didn’t think they’d move well. That she should have brought them to her in August or September.

She mentally calculated where she’d be next August and figured she’d probably be flat on her back delivering their first child. Ethan had teased her about keeping her barefoot and pregnant, but she’d be happy if they were blessed with one—possibly two, healthy children.

Maybe she could make a few coats ahead of time—and maternity clothes. Maybe she should take her mother’s sewing machine with her...

As excited thoughts swirled through her head, Ethan returned for another box. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Everything’s great.” She wove through the boxes to give him a hug. “That was the store downtown that called. They sold my coats and want more.”

“Yay, you!” He lifted her off her feet and set her down gently.

Her parents reappeared at that moment. “What’s going on?”

“I just got some good news about my coats. They want more. Can I borrow your sewing machine and take it to Ethan’s house, Mom?”

“Sure. I’m not using it anymore. You can probably keep it, and I’ll borrow it back if I need to.” She turned toward her own house. “Jonathan, would you help me with a couple of things?”

“Aready? I thought you were going to scope out the nursery space first.”

Nursery space?

“Oh. Not that. I want to give Brigit my old sewing machine.”

“Oh, sure. Where is it?”

“I’ll show you.” He mother faced Brigit, briefly. “I’ll be right back with it, honey.”

As soon as the two of them cleared out, she looked at Ethan. “I wonder what that other remark was about.”

“The nursery thing?”

“Yeah. You don’t think...”

He raised his eyebrows. “Think what? That they bought a crib?”

She waved away the thought. “Never mind. It sounds like it was supposed to be a surprise. I should get back to packing.”

He pointed to a large box at his feet. “Is this ready to go?”

“Yeah. I didn’t have a chance to label it, but I’ll remember what’s in there.”

Ethan found a marker and said, “Just tell me what room it goes into.”

“The bedroom.”

He raised his brows. “All that stuff in the bedroom? I figured you’d have a stuffed animal from childhood or something, but what’s all this?”

She chuckled. “My clothes. If you don’t have a dresser for me, I can buy or borrow one.”

He laughed. “Oh. That’s right. You need clothes. I was just planning to keep you bare-assed and pregnant.”

“I think the expression is bare
foot
and pregnant, and I intend to keep both my shoes and my clothing.”

He shrugged. “Oh, well. Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

He hoisted the heavy box up onto his shoulder and carried it outside while she chuckled and shook her head at him.

Yeah. Life was going to be different from now on.

#

A
limo pulled into the circular drive and some guy Ethan had never seen before—not that he could see his eyes because of the sunglasses the guy was wearing—exited the car’s back door. His shiny shoes crunched the gravel as he strode toward the guest house.

Huh?
He hurried after the man, who was buttoning his suit jacket and shivering. He glanced over at Ethan and said, “Damn cold. How do you New Englander’s stand it?” His smile seemed fake, and he didn’t wait for a reply. He kept right on striding toward the guest house as if he belonged there.

“Can I help you?” Ethan offered.

“Nope.” The guy faced forward and continued as if Ethan was no more than a pest. At last he stopped and beamed at Brigit. “I’m here to see my star!”

“Toby?”

Ethan witnessed a big, friendly hug between the mother of his future child and some slick Hollywood type.

“What are you doing here?” Brigit exclaimed.

Yeah. That’s what I want to know.

“Honey. I couldn’t take the chance that you’d just hang up on me or forget to return my call. So here I am. Can I take you to lunch?”

Brigit stared at him, openmouthed, then glanced over at Ethan, and then back to whoever-the-hell this Toby guy was.

“Um. Ethan, this is my old agent, Toby Myerson. Toby this is Ethan Cox, my...” She seemed at a loss. 

“Her boyfriend, who she’s moving in with,” he said, and extended his hand.

The guy didn’t respond to Ethan’s offered handshake. He just gave him a quick nod and turned the full force of his 100 watt grin on Brigit.

“Cox, huh? Can’t marry this guy. You’d be the Love-Cox woman.” He barked out a laugh, then slid his arm around Brigit’s shoulder and began guiding her toward the limo. “Unless you’ve changed your mind on some of those skin flicks...”

Ethan wanted to flatten him.
Please, Brigit, don’t tell me you’re going to go off with this asshole...

As if she’d read his mind, she suddenly planted both feet firmly. “Uh, Toby. It’s nice to see you, but I can’t really take off right now. I’m in the middle of moving.”

“All the more reason to talk now before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?” Ethan spoke sharply without his brain’s permission.

Her agent faced Brigit and took both of her hands in his. “I apologize for the timing, but how can you possibly put moving above the role of a lifetime?”

“What? Toby, I haven’t even been acting in community theatre.”

“Oh, thank God. Then we don’t have to break you of any bad habits. Listen...the movie being made about the life of Elizabeth Taylor is a go. Great script. They want an unknown to play Liz. Pardon the pun, but I told them you were Taylor made for it.” He laughed at his own joke. “No one could be more perfect for it than you.”

At that moment, Brigit’s parents returned to the guest house with a sewing machine and a folding table.

“Who’s this, Brigit?” Jonathan asked.

Toby, just like a typical smarmy Hollywood sleaze-ball, took one look at Brigit’s mother and gasped. “Wow! I know you said your mother looked
more
like Elizabeth Taylor than you, but holy mackerel, she could be Liz herself! I met her, you know.”

Of course Brigit’s mother tittered behind her hand, obviously enjoying the flattery. Jonathan clamped a possessive arm around his wife’s shoulder. “You still haven’t told us who he is,” he said to Brigit, without taking his eyes off the flashy agent.

“Oh. This is my old agent, Toby Myerson. I guess there’s a movie in the works about Elizabeth Taylor and he came to talk to me about being in it.” She focused on Toby and quietly said, “Even if I were interested, I’m afraid it isn’t possible. I’m pregnant.”

That’s her only reason?
Ethan’s heart sank.

“Pregnant?” Mr. Myerson hid his momentary shock quickly and said, “Congratulations! I take it Mr. Cox here is the father?”

Ethan moved to Brigit’s side, but he tried not to act as possessive as her father had. Protective, yes. But not possessive. “Yes. I’m the very proud father-to-be.”

That earned a rare smile from Jonathan.

“I’m sorry you came all this way,” Brigit said. “But as you can see, it’s out of the question.” 

“Honey, nothing in Hollywood is impossible these days,” he said with renewed confidence. “We’ve filmed whole seasons of TV shows with pregnant stars, and nobody knew a thing until it was all over.”

She rolled her eyes. “If you’re talking about Alison Hannigan, in
How I Met Your Mother,
it was a valiant effort, but pregnancy involves more than a bump in the midsection. You can usually see it in the actress’s face, arms, somewhere...” 

He turned back toward his limo. “You know, we should be discussing this over a nice glass of white wine. Not a driveway.”

Brigit shook her head. “I’m
pregnant,
Toby. I can’t drink wine. I don’t need limos. I want to raise my child in the relative peace and harmony of the New England seacoast.”

“You can. You can, darling. You can have all of that...”

Jonathan looked like he’d had enough. “She told you, no.”

His wife looked a little helpless and tried to add, “But he came all this way. We could at least invite him for—”

“No,” Jonathan barked.

Ethan was glad he wasn’t the only one able to see through this guy’s bullshit. And Jonathan was a surprising ally. Unfortunately, Brigit wasn’t objecting to anything.

As if no one had said a word, he drew a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Brigit’s mother. “If she changes her mind, call me.”

“She’s right here,” Brigit said, and crossed her arms.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but don’t you have a plane to catch?” Ethan asked.

“Nope. I thought I’d stay right in this quaint little town for a long weekend.” He reached out and clasped Brigit’s shoulders. “Have dinner with me.” He cast a glance at Ethan who was seething by now. “Or lunch tomorrow. Whatever’s convenient for you.”

“Ethan,” she said, as if defeated. “I should at least have lunch with him, for old-time’s sake. You understand, right?”

She didn’t give him much choice. “Sure,” he said, between gritted teeth.

The limo’s other back door opened and a beautiful blonde wearing a fur coat stepped out.

“Is this going to take much longer, Toby?” she complained.

“I’ll be right with you, babe. Get back in the car.”

A pout marred her pretty face and she ducked back in, slamming the door behind her. At least Toby finally started back toward the limo like he intended to leave them alone—for now.