Spellbound Falls [5] For the Love of Magic (23 page)

He stopped her from trying to turn and touched his lips to her hair. “You’re no longer that fifteen-year-old maiden, Stasia, and you no longer live in a time when women hold only the power their husbands give them.” He dropped his arms from around her. “Open the panel, wife.”

Silence settled over the house but for the ticking of a tired old clock he could hear in the living room and the thump of Rana’s heartbeat as she hesitated and then slowly crawled forward on her hands and knees and touched the panel.

“Don’t look for anything,” he quietly instructed. “Close your eyes and let your fingers become Averill Latimer’s fingers as they run over the panel until you feel them itch to trip the first hidden lock.” He smiled when he heard her suck in a deep breath just as the first piece of the puzzle released with an unseen metallic click. “Where do Pops’ fingers wish to go next?” he asked, watching her hand skim upward along the right edge of the panel then stop and press into the smooth wood.

Another lock tripped.

Her movements grew more certain as her searching fingers suddenly changed direction and pressed the lower left-hand corner of the panel, making another lock click open. But then she hesitated with her hand hovering over the final hidden release, and sat back on her heels.

“Do you know what’s inside?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Is it something good?”

“I imagine Gene Latimer will be pleased. You said he has two children?”

“Zack, who’s eighteen and starting college this fall, and a sixteen-year-old daughter named Sarah.”

“Strong biblical names. Can I assume Gene sold this house to pay for his children’s educations rather than keep it in the family?”

“Yes,” she said, glancing over her shoulder when he chuckled.

“Well, that’s one worry he’ll no longer have.” He nudged her forward again. “Because among other things, there are enough United States savings bonds in there to let both children attend any university of their choice through to their doctorates.”

“Where would Averill have gotten that kind of money?” she said, reaching out and tripping the final lock without even thinking about it, then catching the panel with a gasp when it popped free. She tilted the heavy piece of wood to see it was framed in metal with four intricate clasps welded on the back, then slid it to the side and crawled inside the small chamber. “There are several boxes in here,” she said, backing up as she pulled one of them with her, then ducking inside again as Titus set the first box behind him. “Oh, this one is heavy and seems to be full of old photo albums. And this one appears to be a jewelry box.” But she backed out empty-handed and shook her head. “I don’t think we should go through the Latimers’ personal things. I’ll show Zack the chamber this afternoon and let him bring the boxes home to his family.”

Yes, mortality must be making him slow, because he didn’t read her intent in time to do more than fall backward onto the kitchen floor with a grunt of surprise when she suddenly pounced. “You take back what you said,” she growled, straddling him with her fingers digging into his chest. “I am
not
lazy, and I sure as Hades am not a controlling woman. I’m a
good
wife.”

“The best in all of history,” he quickly agreed, vigorously nodding.

“And the only reason I never tried to cultivate the magic was because I didn’t want to upstage you.”

More like she didn’t want the responsibility that came with it, he thought as he nodded his throbbing head again. “Yes, two magic-makers in the house definitely would have complicated things.”

“Oh, Titus,” she sighed, dropping down to hide her face in his chest. “Sometimes you make me so mad I could just smack you.”

And sometimes you actually do,
he silently added, grinning up at the ceiling. “I’m a terrible husband,” he said gruffly, tilting her head to look at him, “which often makes me wonder why you continue to love me.”

“Because you continue to be handsome and charming and tender when no one is looking,” she whispered, running a finger over his lips as she stared at his mouth. “And you never stop trying to impress me with grand gestures.”

“You don’t seem to mind some of those—”

He stilled at the realization she’d switched to French.

Okay then, he decided as he stood up with her in his arms and headed toward the stairs in the living room; he may have just discovered a rather interesting cure for hangovers.

Rana found her missing daughter—wearing a beautiful sapphire ball gown instead of the wedding dress that had been made to fit a very pregnant bride—sitting on the ground and leaning against a big old pine tree as she stared out over Bottomless. She was holding a bouquet of Atlantis-blue lilies in one hand and her soon-to-be-husband’s wedding gift in the other—both, if Rana wasn’t mistaken, looking a bit damp with tears.

“How did he know?” Carolina whispered when Rana silently sat down beside her. “Was it your suggestion?”

“No, baby. I was as surprised as you when he asked if I could have it made.”

She heard her daughter draw in a shuddering breath. “You always told me getting married was the easy part, and that
being
married would require me to show up every day of every month of every year after that.”

“Especially on the days you would rather not,” Rana added softly.

“How did he know the perfect thing to give me?” she repeated.

“When a man truly loves a woman, he knows what tokens of his esteem will most touch her heart.”

“But Alec doesn’t even like the magic.”

“He likes
your
magic. That’s what he’s telling you with this,” Rana said, touching the heart-shaped gold locket and feeling the energy of Atlantis gently humming inside it. “Alec is saying he loves Carolina Oceanus and Jane Smith, because each of those women touches his own heart.”

Her daughter looked over, her eyes swimming with uncertainty. “How am I supposed to live up to that kind of love?”

“By showing up every day, even when you don’t want to.” Rana leaned into her with a soft laugh. “Showing up for the wedding would be a good start.”

Carolina rested her head against hers. “Sometimes he makes me so angry I could just scream.”

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear you say that, Caro.” She straightened when Carolina leaned away in surprise, and gave her daughter a tender smile. “It’s terribly difficult to live with a perfect man, not to mention terribly boring.” She arched a brow. “Do you believe I’ve spent the last forty years married to a perfect husband?”

That got her a smile. “Will you tell me the real reason you left Daddy?”

“I thought I was pregnant,” Rana whispered, only to laugh when her daughter gasped and looked down at her belly. She shrugged. “But I found out I was just old.”

That got her another gasp. “You’re not old!”

“I’m at least old enough to no longer worry about having babies,” she drawled, standing up and holding out her hand, “and can now concentrate on spoiling my grandbabies instead. Come, daughter, let’s go put your poor old father out of his misery and make the man who takes your breath away deliriously happy.”

Instead of taking her hand, Carolina plopped the locket in it and stood up on her own. “Can you put it on me?”

Rana stepped behind her and clasped the fine gold chain around her neck.

“When is Daddy going to destroy Atlantis?”

“In another week. When everyone leaves here, they’re going back to the island only long enough to gather whatever they wish to take with them.”

“Are . . . Is everyone okay with what he’s doing?”

Rana looked down at the inland sea. “Titus had to give a few of them a nudge—mostly the younger ones, believe it or not. He said it’s like pushing fledglings out of the nest to convince them they can fly. Apparently living in peace and joy and harmony can foster complacency.” She turned Carolina to face her and grasped her shoulders. “I want you to know that I couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful daughter, and I can’t be more proud of the woman you’ve become.”

That got her a look of disbelief. “I was a brat.”

“Which kept me from ever growing complacent,” Rana said, twining their arms together as she headed up the path toward the summit. “And glad that I had no more children after you,” she added with a wink. “Now, daughter, how much longer are you going to make
your
precious little brat go without a proper name?”

“You don’t like
Satchel
?” Carolina asked in mock surprise. “Because Alec says he doesn’t mind lugging more luggage up and down the mountain, even if that particular piece leaks a lot.”

“Nor
Squirt
,” Rana said dryly, “or
Little Gaisgeach
.”

“That name came from Alec’s father. Morgan claims the kid has the makings of a true champion.” Carolina stopped walking when the large gathering of people came into view. “Oh, Mama, have you ever seen two more beautiful men?”

Despite knowing her daughter was referring to Alec and the child tucked against his chest inside his kilt, Rana only had eyes for one man standing tall and strong and powerful—and scowling—beside them on the gazebo. “No, I can’t remember ever seeing anything more beautiful. So,” she went on as she started them walking again, “shall we go show these beautiful men the power of feminine magic?”

July 2013

Dear Readers,

Every day I sit down at my computer with the best of intentions to tell the story my fictional characters are
telling me
. We don’t always see eye to eye, but then, I don’t always agree with a lot of things
real
people do. If I were making some of their decisions, I might make different ones given my unique model of the world.

I’m saying this because as a reader, you bring
your
model of the world to my stories, which means that each one of you is in essence reading a different book. I imagine that living here in Maine and based on my upbringing, my viewpoints are probably different from those of a person living in Los Angeles or New York City—or Brazil, Germany, Thailand, or South Africa. What’s not different, however, is the universal desire to find joy, contentment, love, peace, and happily ever after.

I write imperfect stories because I am human. I could have used a different word there, not written that scene, given that character less or more of a role, added more action, or set the book someplace else entirely. But because perfection is really quite subjective, bad reviews don’t bother me overly much. What one person thinks is silly or stupid or downright aggravating, another sees as funny or brilliant or endearing. So you’re not alone if you don’t like something one of my characters says or does, because sometimes neither do I. But more often than not I do agree with them, because . . . well, they’re figments of
my
imagination. These people are in my head because
their
views are usually quite similar to mine.

I’m not trying to copy the world; I’m trying to exaggerate it—yeah, sometimes outrageously. And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather laugh at some of the crazy things people do than cry my way through a story. (Forget reading that sort of book, I could never spend months
writing
a tearjerker.) Too often we must take things seriously in our everyday lives; so why, if I read to escape, would I take a book too seriously?

Laugh at the antics of my characters. Shake your heads and wonder,
What are they thinking?
Do what I do and talk back to them. Yell at them. Kick the book across the room. But then go pick it up and keep reading, because even though you might not agree with how they get there, applaud that these characters eventually do find happily ever after. That is, after all, the whole point of a romance novel and the one thing guaranteed to happen.

Because everything that occurs before the last page is open to interpretation.

Until later from LakeWatch, you keep reading and I’ll keep writing!

Janet

Read on for a look back at where it all began.

Spellbound Falls

by Janet Chapman
Now available from Jove Books.

Apparently Mark Briar wasn’t used to anyone telling him no, be it the girlfriend who’d just sent him a Dear John letter or some lonely widow to whom he was magnanimously offering sexual favors. Not only did Mark keep trying to point out what Olivia would be missing if she didn’t come to the bunkhouse tonight; it appeared that her repeatedly gentle but firm refusals were making him angry.

Well, that and the Dear John letter he’d crumpled into a ball and thrown at her feet after reading her the more interesting parts. Added to that, his driving had gone from reckless to downright scary. If she’d taken ten minutes to pull the rear seat out of her van, she’d be in only half the mess she was in now; she might still be dealing with an angry young man but at least the pine trees wouldn’t be speeding by in a blur.

“Look, Mark,” Olivia said calmly. “It’s not that I’m not flattered by your offer, but I have a very firm rule about fraternizing with my employees.”

“Employ
ee
. You only have one right now. So it’s not like anyone can complain the boss is playing favorites or anything.” His eyes narrowed menacingly. “What about the campers?” He snorted. “Or is that how you fill up your single father sessions?”

Olivia counted to ten to keep from smacking the belligerent snot. “Ohmigod!” she shouted, pointing out the windshield. “Quick, pull off the road!”

Mark hit the brakes then veered into a small gravel pit before bringing the truck to a stop and shutting off the engine. “What did you see?”

Olivia immediately undid her seatbelt and got out. “A moose just crossed the road in front of us,” she said, pointing towards the trees when he also got out. “And hitting an animal that size would total your truck.”

“I didn’t see anything. You just made that up,” he said, storming around the front of the truck. “What in hell is it with you women, anyway? You think you can just dump me like yesterday’s trash to go after some rich guy just because he’s got a career and drives a Porsche?”

“Hey, wait a minute.” Olivia started walking backward. “I’m not your girlfriend; I’m your
boss
.”

“Not anymore, you’re not, because I quit.”

Well, that took care of that little problem. Now she just had to deal with being in the middle of nowhere with this idiot. “Wait,” she said, holding up her hand to stop him. “You have to give me time to consider your offer,” she said, matching him step for step when he didn’t stop. “It’s just that you caught me off guard earlier.”

He finally stopped and looked around the small gravel pit, his eyes growing suspicious again. “So what say we get a little practice in right now?”

Okay, maybe running would be wiser. Olivia bolted for the woods, figuring Mark would probably catch her in an open footrace down the road. Besides, maybe she could find a stick and beat some sense into the idiot. Only she shouted in surprise when he grabbed her shoulder, and yelped in pain when she stumbled to her knees and he landed on top of her.

For the love of God, this couldn’t be happening. He was just a kid!

Olivia tried shoving him away; his fingers bit into her arms as he rolled her over, and she cried out again when his mouth slammed against hers. Okay, it was time to panic; they were in the middle of nowhere, she couldn’t seem to get control of the situation, and the idiot was flat-out attacking her! Olivia kicked at his legs and squirmed to push him off as she twisted away from his punishing mouth. “Mark! Stop this!” she cried. “You need to stop!”

“What in hell kind of camp doesn’t have girls?”

Olivia stopped struggling. Talking was good. If she could keep him talking then maybe he’d calm down. “Th-There will be girls your age in town once college lets out,” she said, panting raggedly as his weight crushed her into the gravel.

“That’s over two months away!”

Olivia shouted in outrage as she turned away from his descending mouth, and put all her strength into bucking him off even as she drove her fist into his ribs. He reared up, his own shout ending on a strangled yelp as his weight suddenly lifted off her. Olivia rolled away then stumbled to her feet, scrambling around Mark’s truck—only to run straight into another vehicle. She stumbled back to her feet just as she heard Mark shout again, and started running toward him when she saw a stranger drive his fist into Mark’s stomach. The boy hadn’t even doubled over when the man’s fist slammed into his jaw, tossing him into the air to land on the ground on his back, out cold.

“No!” Olivia cried, grabbing the stranger’s arm to stop him from going after Mark again. “Don’t hurt him any more!”

The man shrugged her off and turned toward her, the dangerous look in his sharp green eyes making her take a step back. “Forgive me,” he said gutturally. “I was under the impression the bastard was attacking you.” He gestured toward Mark even as he gave a slight bow. “I will leave you to your little game, then,” he said, turning away and striding to his truck.

Olivia ran after him. “No, don’t leave! He
was
attacking me.”

He stopped so suddenly she bumped into him and would have fallen if he hadn’t grabbed her shoulders. And that’s when Olivia’s knees buckled, the magnitude of what had nearly happened turning her into a quivering blob of jelly.

Her rescuer swept her off her feet before she reached the ground. He carried her to a small mound of dirt at the entrance to the gravel pit and set her down, then shrugged out of his jacket and settled it over her trembling shoulders. But when he crouched down in front of her and started to reach toward her throbbing cheek, Olivia buried her face in her hands and burst into sobs.

“It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

“I can’t believe he a-attacked me. He . . . he’s just a kid.” She straightened to pull his jacket tightly around her as she took gulping breaths. “Oh God, I can’t breathe!”

He cupped her jaw in his broad hand, his penetrating gaze inspecting her face before coming to rest on her eyes. “You have my word; the bastard won’t ever hurt you again. Henry, come here,” her rescuer called over his shoulder.

The rear passenger door of the pearl white SUV opened and a young boy got out. Olivia immediately tried to stand up, not wanting the child to see her like this, but the gentleman set his large hand on her shoulder. “Come here, son. This lady has just had a fright, Henry, and she needs comforting,” he said, gesturing at Olivia. “Sit here and hold Miss . . . what’s your name?” he asked, giving her a gentle smile.

She didn’t know if it was his smile that did it, or the fact that she needed to pull herself together for the sake of the child, but Olivia took a shuddering breath and released her death-grip on his jacket. “Olivia Baldwin,” she told the boy—only to gasp. “You’re Henry! And Mr. Oceanus,” she cried, looking at the man. “You’re arriving today!” She hid her face in her hands again, utterly humiliated. “Ohmigod, this is terrible. You shouldn’t see me like this.” But when a small arm settled over her shoulders, the young hand at the end of that arm gently patting her, Olivia quietly started sobbing again.

That is until she realized Mr. Oceanus was no longer crouched in front of her. Olivia shot out from under Henry’s comforting arm. “No, you can’t hurt him!” she shouted, rounding the vehicles in time to see Mr. Oceanus hauling Mark to his feet.

“He’s just a dumb kid.”

“Go sit in my truck, Olivia. I merely intend to have a little discussion with him.”

“Not in front of your son, you’re not,” she said, grabbing his arm. “What are you teaching Henry by beating up a defenseless kid? He saw you rescuing me, but it’s equally important that he also sees you acting civilized to my assailant.”

“I would hope I’m teaching the boy that he has a duty to rescue a woman who’s being attacked.”

“But you did that already,” she said, keeping her voice low so Henry wouldn’t hear them. Good Lord, Trace Huntsman hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Olivia that his friend didn’t have a clue about how to deal with his newly discovered son. “Look, Mr. Oceanus, this—”

“I prefer you call me Mac. And if by acting civilized in front of my son you are suggesting I do nothing, then I suggest you and Henry go for a little walk. You have my word; I will wait until you’re out of sight to have my little discussion.”

He couldn’t possibly be serious. “Please let him go, Mac,” Olivia pleaded, her shoulders slumping as she pulled his jacket tightly around her. “I just want to meet my daughter’s bus at the turnoff and go home before I fall down.”

The sudden concern in his eyes disappeared the moment he looked back at Mark. “If I catch you within fifty miles of Spellbound Falls after sunset today, I will kill you. Understand?” he said ever so softly, his hand tightening around Mark’s throat until the red-faced boy nodded. Mac released him so suddenly that Mark fell to the ground, and Olivia didn’t even have time to gasp before her rescuer lifted her into his arms.

“Henry, open the front door of our truck,” he said, striding to the SUV and setting her inside. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “Your lip is bleeding,” he said, handing it to her. “Where is the turnoff you spoke of? You said you wish to meet your daughter.”

She took the handkerchief and shakily dabbed at her mouth. “It . . . it’s another couple of miles up the road.”

He nodded and closed the door, then opened the door behind her. “Get in and buckle up, son,” he said, closing the door once Henry climbed in.

But instead of walking around to the driver’s side, Mac strode back around Mark’s truck. Olivia started to go after him, but the door wouldn’t open even after she pushed all the buttons on the handle. She was just about to start pounding on the buttons when a small, unbelievably firm hand clasped her shoulder.

“Father will be civilized,” Henry said, giving her a nod when she turned to him. “I believe he’s just making sure the bastard understood his instructions.”

“You
heard
what we were saying?”

“I have very good hearing.” He patted her shoulder. “You can get over your fright now, Olivia; Father won’t let that bastard hurt you again.”

She twisted around in her seat. “Henry, you can’t keep calling him a bastard; it’s a very bad word.”

His eyes—as deeply green as those of the man who’d sired him—hardened in an almost mirror image of his father’s. “Is it not appropriate to use a bad word when referring to a bad person?”

Good Lord, he even talked like his father!

But Trace Huntsman, a military buddy of Olivia’s late husband who lived several hours away down on the coast, had told her that Henry had come to live with Mac only a few months ago, after the child’s mother had died. And that up until then the two had never met, as Mac hadn’t even known Henry existed.

“How come you call him
Father
instead of
Dad
?
” Olivia asked.

Henry’s tiny brows knitted into a frown. “Because that’s what he is. He calls me Son and I call him Father.” His frown deepened even as his face reddened. “And please forgive me, for I believe I’m supposed to call you Madam, not Olivia. My mama would be quite upset with me if she knew I was calling a lady by her Christian name.”

Olivia smiled warmly. “And what’s your mama’s name?”

“Cordelia. But when father speaks of her, he calls her Delia. My last name used to be Penhope, but now it’s Oceanus.” He went back to frowning again. “Only Father is also thinking of changing my first name. I suggested we might change it to Jack or even Jake, only he said those names aren’t noble enough.”

“But what’s wrong with Henry?”

The boy shrugged. “Father says Henry is too English.”

“It’s too—” Olivia turned at the sound of a truck door slamming, and saw Mark push down the locks before blindly fumbling with the ignition as he watched Mac through the windshield—who was standing a few paces away, his arms folded over his chest, staring back at him. The pickup started and the tires spun on the loose gravel as Mark sped onto the road without even checking for oncoming traffic.

“See; I told you Father would be civilized,” Henry said, giving her shoulder one last pat before he hopped in his seat and fastened his seatbelt. “He didn’t kill the bastard even if he did deserve to die.”

• • •

Despite only meeting Mac and Henry less than thirty minutes ago, Olivia had a feeling they were going to be a tad more of a bother than merely setting two more places at the table. For as precocious and direct as Henry was, his father was even scarier. Maximilian Oceanus was an undeniably large, imposing figure; the sort of man who not only would stand out in a crowd but would likely command it. He had to be at least six foot four, his shoulders filled a good deal of the front seat of his full-sized SUV, and he had picked her up—twice—as effortlessly as if he’d been handling a child. But it was when he looked directly at her with those intense green eyes of his that Olivia felt her world tilt off center. Kind of like when a person stood in a receding wave on a flat sandy beach, and had the illusion of being sucked out to sea even while standing perfectly still.

She should have never let Eileen talk her into breaking her rule of no private parenting sessions. She should have at least recognized what she was getting herself into when Mac had summarily dismissed her repeatedly gentle but firm refusals to let him come to Inglenook three weeks early—much the same way Mark had dismissed them this afternoon. Only where Mark had attacked her, Mac had gotten his way using good old-fashioned bribery.

She was still shaking uncontrollably and fighting back tears, which is why she’d jumped out of the truck the moment they reached the turnoff, before she humiliated herself again. Only Henry had shot out of the truck right behind her. At first it was obvious he’d felt duty-bound to continue comforting her, but once Olivia had assured him she was feeling much better, the boy had taken off to explore the nearby woods instead.

That is, after he’d dutifully run back and asked his father’s permission.

Mac had also gotten out of the truck but had merely leaned against the front fender, his feet crossed at the ankles and his arms folded on his chest, apparently content to let his son deal with the welling tears he’d seen in her eyes. She was still wearing his leather jacket, and should probably give it back since he was standing in the cool March breeze in only his shirt, but the warm security of its weight surrounding her simply felt too wonderful to relinquish.