The Legacy of Buchanan's Crossing (5 page)

“As in
Dr. Who’
s bigger-on-the-inside TARDIS? You’re kidding, right?”

“You keep surprising me. A former jock capable of deductive reasoning
and
grasping a somewhat obscure sci-fi cult reference.”

“You know, not all current or former athletes are assholes.”

She didn’t respond. Why should she believe him? With a twist of her wrist, she swirled the cape around her, and the intricate knotted clasp that fastened it at her neck derailed the ugly train of thought. He’d have to remember to ask her about the clasp. He could always hope he’d comprehend at least part of her answer.

“Let me grab my bike. It’s in the store room.”

He hadn’t really expected her to ride a normal bicycle, had he? The big front and small back tires were right out of the nineteenth century. He wasn’t sure where the elegant padded saddle or rubber pedals had come from. After loading it into the bed of his truck, he walked around the truck to help her up to the passenger seat. Even if his mother hadn’t raised him to open car doors for women, scaling the cab of his truck wasn’t an ordeal he wanted Cayden to suffer. She already had enough discomfort to associate with him.

Once he’d settled into the driver’s seat, he deflected the memory of her small warm hand and creamy bare legs sliding into his truck by saying, “You were going to ride that bike in those shoes?” He nodded down at her spiky heels.

She gaped at him as if he’d been the one making crazy talk all night. “Of course not. It’s warm enough to ride barefoot. Did you notice those nice nubby massaging pedals I installed last year? I would have put my shoes in the backpack.”

“So they could maul that priceless book?”

“I told you, the book is safe. Everything in the backpack is safe.”

As if to make her point, she carelessly tossed the shoes in. He refused to wince. If she was trying to get to him, he wasn’t going to let her see it was working.

He pulled into traffic. After a minute of heavy silence, he said, “Sorry about that night clerk comment, it didn’t come out right.”

“Forget it. You mentioned a crew. Construction?”

“Builder, actually. Green Man Construction,” he said too fast, too loud. Well, she had him figured for dumb jock has-been and…wait—“How did you know?”

“Your tan, your, um…body type, lucky guess. ‘Green Man?’ Cool name. Does it imply anything particular?”

“Yeah. I’m a green builder. Everything from sustainable lumber to the latest technology in environmentally safe materials, energy creation, and conservation. What did you think it meant?”

“I thought that might be it, although Green Man has a mythical connotation.”

“Yeah, it does. I’m kind of surprised you’d know that.”

“Oh? I’d ask why that would surprise you, but I prefer to be content that we’ve managed to keep surprising each other tonight.”

He was grateful she let it go. He could hardly tell her that before Dillon had told him about Cornell, he’d figured her for someone who barely graduated high school. Why else would she be working the graveyard shift at a convenience store? The economy wasn’t that bad any more.

When she said, “Celtic lore is sort of family interest of mine,” it was almost reassuring. Even if her mischievous grin wasn’t.

“I should have guessed. That clasp you’re wearing appears to be a Celtic antiquity. Another gift from your gran?”

Her laugh tickled him in places it shouldn’t. “Nice try, Mr. MacAllen. But if you wish to further disabuse me of my preconceptions, you’ll have to tell me whether your source of information is academic or familial.”

It wasn’t scary. She’d remembered his last name, assumed a connection. Sharp maybe, not scary.

He couldn’t come up with a reason not to answer her honestly. “Both, I guess. A visiting professor at BU gave me the treasure bug back when I was a freshman, and my mother always had this old Green Man mask in her garden. It’s what gave me the idea for the name.”

“I think I’d like your mother.”

He shuddered inwardly. Darcy was meeting his parents for the first time at dinner tomorrow night. Sure, he was nervous, but not terrified. Not like he would be introducing Cayden to them, if for the opposite reason. Thank God that was never going to happen.

“This is a Celtic antiquity too.”

The gleam in the light reflected from the dash drew his attention. Was it the same damn ring she’d asked him about before? The instant he reached for it, his forehead damn near exploded. Luckily, traffic was light on the interstate because he couldn’t prevent swerving out of his lane.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you. You can look at it later.”

“No!”

When he dared glance at her, the ring was gone, and she was staring straight ahead. Why couldn’t he seem to stop hurting her feelings?

He groped lamely for something charming to say. Instead, he came up with, “So, why do you have to be in East Granby before midnight?” What if he was giving her a ride to see her boyfriend?

“I always keep Beltane at Buchanan’s Crossing.”

“Isn’t that a Wiccan holiday?”

“You’re surprising me again.”

Declining to ask himself why that should please him, he said, “Which explains the witchy black cape, I guess. I thought vampires were the goth thing.”

“And back to the stereotypes. While we’re here, I feel compelled to inform you that although vampires do walk among us, it isn’t blood they suck.”

Right. If she was waiting for some kind of sign he understood, she wasn’t going to get it.

She sighed.

He knew what that sigh meant. It was female for, “men are such idiots.” They always used it when whatever they’d been saying made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

“Vampires suck all kinds of things: energy, happiness, hope. Anyway, I’m not much of a practicing Wiccan other than observing the major holidays. There are Wiccans who are not witches, and witches who aren’t very devout Wiccans. I’m of the latter variety.”

What? Had she just said she was a witch, as in a
real
witch?

“Let me try it another way. A person can be born Jewish and not practice Judaism, or maybe attend service only for important holidays. There are non-Jewish people who practice Judaism, too. Only the numbers here are reversed. Very few Wiccans are actually true-blood witches.”

“Oh, I see.” This girl wasn’t just crazy, she was batshit crazy.

He spotted the airport exit and turned off I-91. None too soon, either, from the direction this conversation had taken. “So where exactly am I dropping you?”

“East Granby’s just past the airport. Buchanan’s Crossing is just past town.”

Not far. Good.

They passed the airport in silence. After they drove through East Granby, Cayden said, “We’re almost there. You should pull over soon.”

Great, except—“I don’t see a house anywhere, or a light.”

Crazy or not, he couldn’t just leave her out here in the middle of nowhere late at night.

Then his truck, his beautiful not-yet-paid-off truck, sputtered and died.

Silence reigned briefly before Cayden whispered, “Oops. Too late.”

Whatever the hell that meant. He turned the key. Nothing. Not even the click-click-click of a dead battery. He didn’t know what to do or say. So he just sat there, listening to the crickets through his open window. They couldn’t possibly be chanting, “Clueless, clueless.” It had to be his irritated imagination.

When Cayden said, “Isn’t this the part where you make a pass at me?” it registered that he’d been quiet too long and that his gaze had strayed to the bare expanse of thighs her short dress revealed. And that he was completely, inappropriately, hard as a steel stake.

Then she laughed. A little too high, a little too nervous, like she had back at the HandiMart. He could hardly blame her, out here like this, alone with a guy she didn’t know. Thank God it was too dark for her to see his condition.

“I’m kidding. While we’re being all trite, I’m going to say, ‘Oh, Clint, it’s not you, it’s me,’” she said in a breathy, overly dramatic voice.

Even though the quip had been an obvious attempt by Cayden to ease the tension, her seductive tone shot straight to the wrong place.

Blessedly oblivious to the effect she was having on him, she laughed again, warmer this time. “Don’t worry, it’ll start in a few minutes. Now, if you’ll lift my bike out, I can ride the rest of the way.”

He began reciting multiplication tables to himself. The trick had worked back in high school, though he hadn’t needed it since. A hint of her cool green scent wafted over to him. Now that they were parked, without the wind whipping through the windows, he could smell it. The head on his shoulders may have stopped throbbing, but the other one was making up for it.

“I’ll be fine. The moon’s out and my bike’s got a light. What time is it?”

Yeah, the moon was out. So when he got out of the truck, if she happened to look down, she could hardly miss—Wait, she’d asked him a question. He tapped the button on his watch, hoping it would be a sufficient distraction.

“Eleven thirty-five.”

“Oh, I better hurry.” She was scrambling out the door before he could think of a way to stop her. Not that he wanted to, right?

He climbed out carefully, rearranging himself before joining her at the back of the truck.

Cayden’s fair skin almost glowed in the moonlight. Without the high heels she was always wearing, the top of her head didn’t even make it to his shoulder. Driving with the windows open had whipped her wild sexy curls wilder. No breeze stirred it now. The crickets had stopped too. The air was still, as though it were waiting.

Her face tilted up to him, glowing in the soft silver light, eyes wide, lush lips parted. Like she thought he might bend down to kiss her. Like maybe she wanted him to. Like he wanted to so badly it hurt.

Like hell
. He shook his head, pretty sure he was losing his mind. Even if he didn’t have a girlfriend… Darcy’s angry face snapped the spell. The crickets were chirping again. The world resumed its turning.

“Thank you so much for the ride. I feel guilty leaving you stranded, but your engine won’t start as long as I’m around.” Cayden’s crisp, distant tone implied a logic the words didn’t deliver, along with a hint of disappointment. “Here.” She held the book out to him. “Keep it for as long as you need, or until you’re ready for Volume Two. It should help you sleep. It’s magic that way. You’ll see.”

“If you’re sure. I mean, you don’t have to.” It was simply too valuable, and he didn’t feel worthy of her trust at the moment.

“Of course I don’t. I want to.”

How was he supposed to respond to that? He didn’t want to hurt her feelings yet again, and damned if he didn’t want a chance to examine that book.

“Uh, thanks. I’ll take good care of it.”

With a torturous amount of flashing white thighs and not enough black cape to cover them, she climbed on the strange bicycle. He rearranged himself again while her back was turned.

“Wait. You’ve got somewhere to stay out here tonight, right?” he called out as she slowly pedaled away.

“Gran’s. Good night, Clint,” she called back.

The light on her bike bobbed against the brush as she rounded the curve, the black cape billowing in her wake. It was one hell of a bizarre sight. God, it suited her though.

He hopped back in his truck and tried the ignition. Nothing. At least his jeans weren’t so goddamn tight any more. He pulled out his cell to call the auto club. No bars, damn it. He was screwed. So what they said was true: No good deed went unpunished.

A cloud passed over the moon, blanketing him in darkness. It felt good, gave him a minute to think, to try to make some sense out of Cayden, and well, all of it. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there before the moon reappeared, finding him no more enlightened than when it had left.

With little hope but nothing to lose, he pumped the gas, giving it one last try. If it didn’t fire up, he’d have to start walking.

The engine turned right over. He breathed a sigh of relief over a tongue turned to sandpaper in his mouth. A Handi-Freez sure would be nice. He smacked his head. Damn it, he’d done it again.
She’d
done it again. He’d be defenseless when his headache came back.

There wasn’t anything he could do about it now. He drove on, looking for a good place to turn around. He told himself he wasn’t looking for Cayden. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t find a sign of her anywhere, nor any sign of Buchanan’s Crossing, or Buchanan’s anything.

Good thing his truck was finally running. He hadn’t seen another car since they’d passed East Granby. At least the deserted road made it easy to turn around.

The place was dead, which was most likely why the brilliant flash of light in his rearview mirror made him jump. He shifted into park and craned his neck out the window to get a better look. The moon was gone for good though, the night too dark, the blaze too bright, brighter than a fire should be. It came from a hill, through a thick grove of trees. Then,
poof
, it was gone.

What the hell? Without a doubt, it involved Cayden, and Beltane, the Wiccan holiday. Some kind of secret party. Maybe they danced around naked. He shifted in his jeans. Not that again. It was probably just a kegger and some illegal fireworks. Yeah. When his ring finger itched, he recalled that type of flash only came with a bang, and he hadn’t heard any such thing.

The crickets had stopped again. No longer heavy and expectant as it had been in that missed opportunity with Cayden, the night was empty. Instead, it felt like the drawn-out vacuum that occurred after something important happened, that long frozen instant before anyone could react.

Why on earth would he come up with a thought like that? He checked his face in the rearview mirror. He still looked like the same guy. Clearly, the lack of sleep, the headaches, his truck acting up, and Cayden in general, had been too much. Much too goddamn much.

The clock on the dash said a couple minutes past midnight. He gunned the engine till it roared. Time to leave Cayden and this teeming strangeness behind. He didn’t have room in his plans for any of it.