Wish Upon a Cowboy (13 page)

She drew her head back and stared at him. Was it his imagination that her eyes looked a bit wounded? He shifted his stance uncomfortably. She had no call to turn those big eyes on him like that. This was for the best, he reminded himself. For Jonas. And for her.

"I don't want to leave," she said at last.

"I dare say," he agreed, keeping his tone firm. "But you've got to go, missy."

"I don't understand," she said. "I haven't done anything to you. Why would you want me to leave? Is it my cooking?"

She was talking so fast, he couldn't get a word in.

"Are you still angry over the mashed potatoes and fried chicken on the table?" She shrugged gently. "I admit that was a bit too much, but really, it was the only way I knew to make all of you see—"

"That ain't it" he interrupted, though it went against his grain. However, in this case, he'd had to. Otherwise they might both be standing in that alleyway for hours waiting for her to wind down. Before she could get up a full head of steam again, he pulled in a deep breath and folded his arms across his chest. "Y'see," he started. "I know who you are and I know why you're here."

"You do?" She actually looked relieved.

"Yes, ma' am. Jonas told me."

"He did?" She smiled and laid one hand on his arm. "I'm so glad. I really don't like being secretive. It's so difficult."

He imagined it would be hard on a woman who talked as much as she did to keep any kind of secret. "I've sort of been expectin' you—or someone like you –" Elias said, "to show up."

"What do you mean, like me?"

"A witch."

Her eyes widened even farther. "Jonas told you everything, then. And you believe me."

"Ain't a question of believin' you or not," he told her. Elias glanced around them, as if reassuring himself that they were alone. Stacks of empty wooden crates made a leaning tower at the end of the alley. Stray pieces of paper rustled across the ground as a rogue breeze sent them rolling along the dirt. In the street, people went on about their business, never guessing that here in the shadows, an old man and a young woman were calmly discussing things a sane person would laugh at.

It felt strange, talking about something he hadn't mentioned in twenty-five years. But in a strange way, it was almost comforting.

"When Jonas's folks died, he was just a kid," he said and shook his head at the swift passing of the years. "His pa told me what was what just before he breathed his last. Now, I might not have believed him, either, but for the fear I seen in his eyes."

"Fear?" she whispered and took a step closer.

"More worry, I guess," Elias amended, searching his memory. "Him and his wife both was bound and determined that their boy grow up and have a normal life, that he not be chained to old beliefs and dying superstitions.

"Superstitions?" Hannah interrupted sharply. "Witchcraft is an old and respected art."

"Respected?" he asked wryly. "You think the folks who drowned and burned witches in the olden days respected ‘em any?"

'That time's past," she argued.

"Maybe. But people are people, missy, and they don't change all that much." He'd lived enough years to know that human nature was such that folks tended to turn on the things that scared them. "And frightened people can get almighty nasty."

"Elias," she said and patted his arm, "I understand that you're only trying to protect the Mackenzie—"

"And will," he told her firmly, despite the gentleness in her eyes. He didn't have anything against her personally. But that didn't mean he was going to let her stay and work her wiles on Mac.

"But you have to understand that I have people to protect, too," she said earnestly, and he could see the concern glittering in her green eyes. "My aunt. The Guild members back home."

'That's nothin' to me," he said and kept his voice soft to ease the sting of his words. "I'm sorry for you, but I ain't about to let Mac get drawn into something his folks died trying to keep him out of." He patted her hand and shook his head. "I made a promise, missy. And I won't break it."

"I'm not asking you to."

"Aren't ya?" he demanded, keeping his voice low. "Aren't you here to take him back to the very thing his folks was runnin' from?"

She dipped her head to avoid looking at him and Elias knew he was right. She did expect Jonas to go back to Massachusetts with her.

"He won't go," he told her. "Even if I was to stay out of it, which I won't, he wouldn't go."

"He wouldn't have to stay," she said quickly. "We could return to the ranch once everything was settled."

"We?" Elias shook his head again. "Jonas said you were talkin' marriage."

"My aunt says marriage is the only way to protect us all—even," she added firmly, "the Mackenzie himself will be safer. She's seen it all in the crystal, Elias." Hannah went on in a rush of words even faster than usual. "It's going to happen. We will be married. We have to be."

"Uh-huh."

She frowned.

He rubbed the back of his neck to ease the tension tightening his muscles. It didn't help. "Now, how do you figure Mac'll be safer if he's hitched?"

"When a warlock marries another witch, his own magic grows. He becomes more powerful, as does she." Hannah sighed and tried to explain. "The joining of lives and powers creates a force that is much stronger than any a witch could claim on his or her own. And a warlock as powerful as the Mackenzie would be undefeatable once joined with a witch."

"Uh-huh."

"I really do hate that," she muttered, but Elias ignored her.

He almost felt sorry for her. Almost. His loyalties toward Jonas ran too deep for him to be completely on her side, of course, but there was a part of him that nearly regretted the fact that her plan wasn't going to work.

Married to her, Jonas might just be able to face the demons that rode him and start enjoying his life again.

Elias had a feeling Hannah wouldn't allow anything less.

In fact, there was something about her that reminded him all too well of a woman he'd known thirty years ago. A woman he'd wooed and lost.

But the chances of Jonas marrying Hannah were slim to none and he figured she had a right to know it. "He won't get married," Elias told her. "Not again."

The words hit her hard. He saw it in her eyes.

"Marie," she whispered, lifting one hand to cover her mouth.

"He told you about her?" Hell, Jonas hadn't so much as mentioned her in years.

Hannah shook her head. "He said her name. When he was drunk."

"Ah," he nodded, then added softly, "It ain't something he talks about. Marie died young. A lot of years ago."

"Oh, my," Hannah murmured thoughtfully. "Why didn't my aunt see that in the crystal, too? Why didn't she warn me?"

Maybe her aunt wasn't much of a witch, he thought but only said, "He ain't gonna marry you, Hannah."

She half turned from him and stared down the mouth of the alley into the sunshine splashed at the end of the narrow corridor. "Does he still love her?"

A hard question, he thought. And one he shouldn't even try to answer. That was something could only come from Jonas himself. "You'll have to ask him, missy."

She nodded.

"But now you see," he went on quietly. "Give up, Hannah. Go back where you belong."

"I'm afraid I can't, Elias. For his sake as well mine."

Then she started walking and he let her go. As he watched her step into the sunlight and turn, Elias had to admit that she was pretty hard not to like. She had gumption and she didn't scare off easy. Knew what she wanted and went about getting it. The kind of attributes he'd always thought well of.

Oh, he'd stop her if she tried to scoot Jonas off back East. Massachusetts. It had been thirty years since he'd visited Boston and met Jonas's folks and… A twinge of remembered pain settled around his heart as he recalled the face of the woman who still occasionally haunted his dreams.

Then, frowning, he shook those thoughts off and concentrated instead on the here and now. Jonas and Hannah. Maybe, he told himself, she was just what the man he considered a son needed. A grown-up woman this time. One unafraid to go toe to toe with him. One who knew her own mind but had a tender heart, as well. Not a selfish child unready to be any man's wife.

Oh, Marie might have grown up, if she'd been given the chance. But she'd died the spoiled only child of a too-indulgent father. Elias had watched Jonas try to please the girl and seen him fail at every turn. Marie had simply been one of those people who were never satisfied. The kind who always looked for happiness and never realized that happiness had to be made, not found.

For ten long years, Jonas had punished himself for Marie's death. And damn it, Elias figured that was long enough. He'd lived most of his life alone because the one woman he'd ever loved had been denied him.

He wanted more for Mac.

Oh, Elias figured Jonas would probably kick and scream, fighting every inch of the way. But something told him that Hannah was just the girl to get the job done.

Chapter Eight

Creekford

The surrounding oaks, elms, and maples dappled the street in splotches of sunshine and shade. A soft ocean wind rushed in off the small harbor at the edge of town and tugged at the ladies' hats as they scurried along the busy street.

Eudora lifted one hand to check that her own black velvet hat was still secure, then adjusted the short net veil that stopped just above her eyebrows. Her full gray skirt snapped around her ankles with each of her quick, long strides. A small beaded bag hung from her right wrist, and inside that bag lay the telegram she'd already read a dozen times at least.

Thank heaven there was no telegraph office in Creekford, she thought. If there had been, Blake Wolcott would no doubt have known about the wire from Hannah even before she had. As it was, the message had arrived in Milltown, just an hour's carriage ride away, and had been delivered to Eudora's door early that morning.

She'd had it with her, on her person, ever since. And still, she didn't feel safe. She sensed someone watching and wasn't the least bit surprised by the sensation. Of course Blake would have one of his minions keeping an eye on her. He'd been furious when he'd discovered that Hannah had managed to leave town and he'd been working on finding her ever since.

Nodding absently to Hattie Smith as she methodically swept her front porch, Eudora kept walking. She'd had to come to town this afternoon, as usual. She couldn't afford to disrupt her routine. But as she walked, she let her mind drift back to the printed words that kept repeating themselves over and over again:

EUDORA STOP NEED YOUR HELP STOP THINGS MORE DIFFICULT THAN I'D PLANNED STOP COME SOONEST STOP LOVE HANNAH END

Difficult how? she wondered and told herself that, as soon as she was home, she would consult the crystal again.

Absently, she noted the husky, deep-throated bark of Jasper Davis's dog, Bear. The hairs at the back of Eudora's neck stood straight up. A usually quiet, good-natured animal, Bear barked only when the scent of danger was near.

"Shopping, Eudora?" a dark, rich voice spoke up from just behind her, and she closed her eyes briefly, gathering her strength. The quick flash of fear that churned in her stomach irritated as much as worried her. Until his arrival, no one in Creekford had really known fear.

Bear's snarling barks were furious now, and Eudora wanted to join the animal, snarling and snapping at the warlock who'd invaded their lives. But she couldn't risk showing her true feelings.

"Blake," she said pleasantly and half turned to give the warlock a smile that held only a pretense of warmth. "What a lovely surprise."

He inclined his head in a regal manner that made Eudora want to slap him. As if he could read her desires, his smiling lips thinned. "Any word from my dear Hannah?" he asked over the din of the dog.

She would play his game, Eudora thought, full well aware that the mail was searched daily for news her niece. Blake's few friends were all eager to be in his good graces.

"Actually, no," she said, and to keep him from finding the telegram hidden in her purse, she mentally rounded the paper with a protective spell. Just as she used to surround Hannah with an aura of magic. "She's being very thoughtless, I'm afraid," Eudora said, giving the warlock another half smile.

She glanced about them and noticed that the busy street had practically emptied. Eudora tried not to feel abandoned. She understood their fears. She knew what it cost her friends and neighbors to hide behind closed doors and drawn curtains.

And it was all due to him.

"Perhaps," Blake suggested, the darkness in his eyes glittering strangely, "our Hannah is out of her depth in dealing with your unfortunately ill relative."

The story she'd concocted, about Hannah's going to Boston to look after a great-aunt, was wearing thin, she knew. Blake Wolcott expected Hannah to be here. In Creekford. Where he could keep a cold eye on her until their marriage on the Solstice.

"I'm sure it won't be for much longer," Eudora lied without so much as blinking.

Bear howled miserably and Blake shot a disgusted glance at the Davis house. "I do hope not," he said, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his lips. His mouth touched her fingertips lightly and a swirl of blackness swept through Eudora, stealing her breath and leaving her shaken. She was relieved when he released her.

"Well," she said and took a step away from him, trying to distance herself from the shadowy darkness that was such a part of him, "I really must be going. Blake. I'll let you know when I hear from Hannah."

Turning, she marched quickly away and only stumbled slightly when his voice followed her.

"Eudora!" he called, then muttered, "Damn that dog!"

She gasped and whirled around. Blake leveled a hard look on the Davis house and instantly a howl of pain splintered the air, then suddenly, abruptly, ended.

Tears filled her eyes.

Then, as if killing a dog meant no more to him than swatting a fly, he turned his even gaze on Eudora again. "Remind Hannah that her anxious bridegroom is growing restless."