Hot Magic

Hot Magic – Copyright© 2013 by Holli Bertram

Cover design by Lyndsey Lewellen

ISBN: 978-0-9894138-0-0

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author at
[email protected]
.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.
 

For more information on the author and her works, please see www.hollibertram.com

This is for you, Cols.
 

I met you when I first set foot on this crazy, winding road. I’m thankful for that every day. You’re the best, kiddo!

Chapter One

“H
arrison Chevalier is sitting in a tree,” Doreen announced as soon as Julie Dancer answered her phone.
 

“The new neighbor? I didn’t know he’d moved in already. Why is he in a tree?” Julie leaned over the kitchen sink to look out the window. She gently pushed several small pots of fading herbs off to the side of the windowsill with a silent promise to water them later. “I can’t see him from the kitchen. His garage is in the way. I’m going upstairs to look out my bedroom window.”

“He’s in that old oak next to my property line.” Doreen Lessing lived in the split-level behind the small cedar shake bungalow that Harrison Chevalier had just rented. She had a much better view of his backyard than Julie. “Do you think he has some kind of mental illness that involves a compulsion to climb trees?”
 

“You mean OTCD, obsessive tree climbing disorder?” Julie took the steps two at a time. “That’s usually accompanied by an excessive ingestion of bananas. Unless there’s a mound of peels on the ground, I’m thinking he’s an entomologist, studying a rare species of oak mites.”
 

“We have a rare species of oak mites in Ann Arbor?”

“I don’t know. Ask Harrison.”
 

“Ha-ha.”
 

Julie hopped over the dirty jeans scattered on her bedroom floor and pulled aside her bright, yellow bedroom curtains. From this angle she could see most of Harrison’s tidy backyard. Sure enough, one shiny wingtip moved back and forth amid the leafy branches of the oak tree near Dorie’s yard.
 

“This is so weird,” Julie murmured.
 

“I say he’s a spy for the CIA, and Cindy is really an international terrorist. He’s keeping her under surveillance.” Cindy Lui, also referred to as Sexy Cindy, Sin Cindy or Luscious Lui, depending on Dorie’s mood, lived in the beige, vinyl-sided ranch on the other side of Harrison’s house. “Why else could he possibly be in that tree?”

“She rented him the house. She’d have to be a pretty inept terrorist to do that. You’ve been reading suspense novels again, haven’t you?” Julie pushed aside a couple of books that had fallen onto her bed from her nightstand. She sat and thumped her bare feet into her running shoes, which she never used for running. “I’ll go welcome him to the neighborhood and find out what he’s doing in the tree.”

“What?” Dorie’s low screech made her wince. “Grown men in shiny shoes don’t sit in trees. Seriously, what if he has some kind of problem?”

“I’m a trained social worker. I can handle it.” Okay, she worked in research and hadn’t actually counseled anyone since her practicum training. Still, it was like riding a bike, right? It would come back to her. “I’ll call you as soon as I get back in the house.”

“I’ll keep watch. I’m not comfortable with this, Julie. If things get rough, tuck your hair behind your ear as a signal, and I’ll send the twins into the yard. They’ll be the perfect distraction.”
 

“If things get rough? This is not a military campaign.” Though Dorie’s six-year-old twin boys probably qualified as weapons of mass destruction. “I’m going to introduce myself to our new neighbor.”

“Who happens to be sitting in a tree,” Dorie pointed out.
 

“He’s probably trying to rescue his cat.”

“Julie, he just suddenly appeared in his yard in a tree. No car, no moving truck, nothing. Seriously, don’t you think that’s strange?”

“I think it’s strange that you know that.”

“I’m a stay-at-home mom. It’s important to keep abreast of changes in my work environment.”

Julie paused, impressed. “That’s a really clever rationalization for being nosy.”

“Thank you.”

“His car’s probably parked in the garage, and the moving truck is coming later. I’ll talk to you soon.” Julie pressed the off button and shoved the phone in her pocket.

She jogged down the stairs, lifting her knees high so she could consider it her exercise for the day, and stopped in the kitchen to look for a new-neighbor food offering.
 

When Tasha left for college, Julie pretty much quit making dinners. The planning, buying, and cooking of healthy meals took time and energy that could be better used for…okay, she currently used it for watching movies and catching up on old television series she’d missed over the years. But hey,
Firefly
with oatmeal or Chicken Marsala with lots of dirty dishes—not a hard decision.
 

Unfortunately, that meant her cupboards were fairly empty. She hit the jackpot with an unopened package of Krispy Kremes in the freezer. They’d been an impulse buy, frozen once sanity returned so they wouldn’t become dinner. While they defrosted in the microwave, she grabbed a serving plate out of a bottom cupboard. The dish was fine china with little stars decorating the scalloped edges. She piled the slightly warm but now soft donuts onto it and headed out the back door.

Harrison had a detached single-car garage that sat behind his house. She followed his driveway and veered off around the garage into the backyard. A tangle of rose bushes bloomed in the September sun, adding a sweet note to the perfume of freshly cut grass. The foot still hung from the tree, a well-shod pendulum.

“Hello! Mr. Chevalier?”
 

The shoe abruptly stilled and the branches of the oak tree began an ominous rustling. Two legs, clad in perfectly creased black slacks, appeared beneath the lowest branch. In a rush, a large, lean male body dropped to the ground. The man crouched for a second, then straightened.

Julie brought the plate of donuts closer to her chest. “Mr. Chevalier?”
 

He was not the quirky, little Frenchman that his name and actions might suggest. He was not at all the type of man you’d expect to find sitting in a tree. High, haughty cheekbones graced a too-serious face. Thick blond hair brushed the collar of his black shirt and seemed more suited to a surfer than the elegant man in front of her. Eyes the color of old gold watched her with unnerving intensity.
 

“I saw you in the tree.” The words were breathless and not at all the welcome she’d intended. She shoved the plate into his hands.
 

The man glanced down at the donuts. “You saw me in the tree?” He had a British accent. She was a sucker for a British accent.
 

“Your foot, actually. I saw your foot hanging from the tree when I just happened to glance out my bedroom window.”
 

She shifted uncomfortably under his steady stare. Walking into his backyard and calling him out of a tree to welcome him to the neighborhood suddenly seemed more intrusive than friendly. “Uh, I thought you might be stuck and need some help,” she improvised.
 

 
“You thought I might be stuck and you brought donuts?” He nodded as if this made perfect sense. “Were you going to arrange them into a soft landing spot in case I fell?”

Julie sucked in her breath and kept a pleasant expression on her face. Did he mean to be rude, or was this an example of the wry sense of humor the Brits were rumored to have? She managed a laugh, just in case he’d said something funny.

He didn’t smile. “I’m quite capable of getting myself out of a tree.”

“Obviously.” She had the ridiculous urge to apologize for doubting him. She stifled it. “Welcome to the neighborhood,” she said belatedly.

“Thank you.”

They stared at each until Harrison shifted the plate of donuts and glanced pointedly at his watch.

“I know it’s none of my business, but why were you up in the tree? Do you own a cat?” Julie was usually better at polite small talk, but her brain felt unaccountably scrambled.

“No, I don’t own a cat. And you’re right. It’s none of your business.”

She laughed again, turning it into a cough when he looked at her as if she were a lunatic. Okay, so he meant to be rude, not funny. She could handle that.
 

She gave him her most charming smile. “Being the new guy on the block means everybody is curious about you.” She leaned in slightly. “Rumor has it you’re a spy. If you give me the real scoop, I can let everyone know that you’re actually a bird lover or an arborist or…whatever.”
 

She caught a flash of alarm in his eyes.
 

“There’s talk about me already? I only arrived fifteen minutes ago.”

Julie waved a hand in the air. “Small-town America. Gossip, gossip, gossip. You can’t avoid it.”

“You consider Ann Arbor, a city of over a hundred thousand people, small?”

Julie shrugged. “It’s all relative. We have some really big cities in America.”

His lips curved in something that was almost a smile. “I’ve heard that. What’s your name?”

“Julie Dancer.” She pointed to her right without looking away from his face. “I live in the Cape Cod next door.”

 
“Julie.” His gaze intensified, and she felt sudden empathy for every amoeba ever examined under a microscope. He studied her from the top of her head down to her toes, absorbing the boring details of her brown hair, brown eyes and short nose. She became conscious of her worn University of Michigan T-shirt and khaki shorts. Had she shaved her legs recently?
 

“Julie Dancer.” The way he repeated her name—slowly, like he held it in his mouth and savored it—sent a dart of unexpected heat through her. “At last.”

“At last?”
 

He took a step closer to her. “I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

She took a step back. Maybe Cindy had told him a lonely divorcée lived next door. Maybe he had plans to hit on her. Her pulse beat faster until reality intruded. If he wanted to hit on anybody, it would be Cindy, who far outclassed her as potential hit material. Which was fine by her because she didn’t
want
to be hit on.
 

Wait a minute.
 

“You moved in fifteen minutes ago and have been waiting to meet me while sitting in a tree?”

“Of course not.” He frowned up into the branches of the tree. “Don’t be ridiculous.”