Yesterday's Magic (18 page)

She wasn’t surprised when her voice broke. It
had, after all, been a stressful half hour.

Jed crossed the room. “It seemed to me like
you were managing things just fine. That was quick thinking on your
part to cover her with a blanket.”

If he’d been sarcastic or caustic, like he
generally was with her, she’d have been fine. But he was nice.
That, combined with the suddenly overwhelming responsibility of
trying to run Freida’s shop while at the same time she hunted for
Rantaan Toomay, was too much. She started to cry.

The blood drained from his face.

She swallowed hard but her tears resembled
mannequins in a window display—once the first one teetered and
fell, the rest wouldn’t be denied. She sniffed loudly and that
seemed to spur him into action. Evidently afraid that she’d want to
use his sleeve, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a
clean handkerchief.

She reached, he let go. The cloth fluttered
to the ground. Both bent to retrieve it, almost knocking heads. She
reared back, lost her balance, threw out an arm to catch herself,
and in the process, managed to knock his hat off his head.

“Whoa,” he said. He was squatting, so was
she. They were close enough that their knees were practically
touching. He reached out both arms and grabbed for her shoulders,
steadying her. His hands were big, his fingers strong, his touch
gentle. “Don’t fret about your aunt,” he said.

Not to worry. She was pretty much beyond
fretting. “Don’t tell her I was crying,” she said. “I don’t want
her to have something else to worry about.”

He smiled. “I don’t see any tears,” he said.
He reached down and picked up the handkerchief. The skin on his
hands were red from the cold and stood out in sharp contrast to the
white cloth. He crumpled up the fabric and with exquisite care, he
gently dabbed at her tears.

It was the nicest thing anyone had done for
her in a very long time. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Better?” he asked, offering her the
handkerchief.

She nodded. “Perfect.”

He smiled and she was close enough to see a
dimple that his mustache normally managed to hide. It made her
heavy heart suddenly feel light and before she could even think
about what she was doing, she leaned forward and placed her lips on
his cheek.

He stilled.

His face was warm, his cheeks rough with a
day’s worth of whiskers. She could smell the sharp tang of soap on
his skin.

“Bella?” he said. His voice sounded
strangled.

She shifted her mouth, just enough that now
her cheek was flush against his cheek. “Yes.”

“I made a promise yesterday,” he said. She
could feel his warm breath on her ear and a delicate shiver
traveled the length of her spine. “Do you remember what I
said?”

Right now she could barely remember her name.
They were in the oddest of positions—squatting, weight balanced on
the balls of their feet, cheeks plastered together—yet nothing felt
odd at all. It felt right.

“Bella,” he prompted.

Oh fine. She remembered. He’d said he was
never going to kiss her again. She pulled back, far enough that she
could look him in the eyes. “
I
didn’t make any promises,”
she said.

He cocked his head slightly, his eyes full of
question. “Bella,” he said again. This time it sounded like a
warning.

He obviously didn’t know that warning her was
like holding a red flag in front of a bull. For the last ten years,
she’d made charging forward an art form.

She leaned into him and settled her lips on
his.

It was sort of like kissing a rock. Hard.
Cold. Very unresponsive.

Come on.
She ran her tongue across his
bottom lip.

Nothing.

She pulled back. His face showed absolutely
no emotion.

God, she was such a moron. She stood up,
awkwardly. She smoothed down her skirt. “I guess that’s that.”

He nodded. Still squatting, he leaned to his
side, grabbed his hat off the floor, and put it on. Then he
stood.

Neither of them looked at the other.

He turned, took three steps and then
stopped.

Her heart flipped over in her chest.

Two more steps toward the door. Damn, it was
cold in the store.

He stopped again. This time he turned and
stared at her. It made her nervous and she could feel her
flip-flopping heart start to beat way too fast.

“What?” she asked.

“Oh, hell,” he said. He took off his hat, set
it on one of the display tables, and covered the distance between
them in four long strides. With his hands on her shoulders, he
pulled her into his body and bent his head. His kiss was hard,
deliberate, and when she parted her lips, it seemed like the most
natural thing in the world for him to put his tongue in her mouth.
He tasted like coffee and cinnamon-toasted bread and she was greedy
for him.

A pleasure, so intense, so fierce, burst
through her. It didn’t matter that he didn’t want this. Her breasts
tingled and a straight line of pleasure shot from around her belly
button to points well south. She shifted, moving ever so slightly,
but ever so necessarily so that his thigh was pressed hard against
her.

He moaned in response, a low deep sound of
need that she captured. In one smooth motion, he moved his hands
from her shoulders to her butt, bringing her even tighter into his
body, all the while continuing to consume her.

She eased her own arms around his back,
pressing her breasts into his broad, solid chest. His body was lean
and strong and she was suddenly desperate to feel his skin. She
pushed her hand underneath his vest and pulled at his shirt until
it was freed from his pants. She slipped her hand inside the soft
material and laid the palm of her hand against the small of his
back.

His skin was hot. And damp. Blood pumped in
her veins, making her forget about everything but the need to kiss
and to be kissed.

She heard a noise and felt a blast of cold
air. Jed jerked away so fast that if she hadn’t been pretty quick
herself, and yanked her hand out from underneath his shirt, he
might have pulled it off at the wrist.

Mrs. Bean, with Constance at her side, stood
in the doorway. Both women looked as if they’d swallowed something
very sour. “Well, I never…” Mrs. Bean said, sounding practically
breathless with shock.

Probably not.
Bella watched Jed walked
over, pick up his hat, and put it on. He tipped the brim toward the
two women, managing to look almost collected.

Almost.
Bella was close enough to see
that his hand was shaking.

“Morning, Ladies,” he said.

“Sheriff.” Mrs. Bean turned slightly, so that
Bella received the full brunt of her stare. “
Mrs.
Wainwright.”

The woman’s deliberate emphasis on Mrs.
wasn’t lost on Bella. She looked at Jed, wondering if he’d caught
the slam. She was startled to see that his face had lost its color
and his eyes were blank. When he shifted awkwardly, she could tell
that he was about to bolt for the door.

“Jed?” she said, her voice quiet.
Come on,
the woman is a tight ass.

“I need to be going,” he said. He didn’t even
look at her.

Her body, which just minutes before had been
pulsing with sensation, now felt numb.

He walked toward the door, squeezing past
Mrs. Bean. Constance’s eyes followed him. The door opened and shut
without him ever looking back.

Bella felt like the elevator door had opened,
she’d stepped inside, only there’d been no elevator there. She was
free-falling, gaining speed, hurtling toward some unknown
disaster.

What the hell was his problem?

“Where’s your aunt?” Mrs. Bean asked.

“Uh…she’s not here. May I help you find
something?” Bella managed to ask.

Mrs. Bean shook her head. “Never mind. We’ll
find it ourselves,” she said, her tone prim.

No problem. Bella leaned back against the
counter. She could use a minute or two to recover some strength. It
dawned on her that she was so screwed. There was no way she’d ever
be happy kissing an ordinary man again.

She’d heard the speculation that there were
men who could literally make a woman melt with a mere kiss. She’d
read books where it had happened, but based on her experience,
she’d figured that was an author taking literary license.

She was going to go back to her time
ruined.

His hand
had
trembled. It hadn’t been
all one sided. She thought maybe she’d about knocked his socks off,
too.

Power to the lady with the stupid shoes.

But the way he’d run, it was almost as if
he’d expected her to lace up her stupid shoes and start to chase
him, to run him down, like a pack of Saturday shoppers lusting
after knock-off purses.

When she saw Jedidiah McNeil again, he better
be prepared. He’d stuck his tongue down her throat and made parts
tingle and twitch and almost beg to be stroked, and then cut and
run. Nobody played her that way. Nobody.

Well, he wouldn’t get another chance. She’d
be smarter the next time. Note to self. Next time he gives you the
look that makes you want to tear off your clothes and rub up
against a pole like a cat in heat, turn the other direction. Just
walk away.

She looked around the store. Aunt Freida was
crazy to think that she could run the place. It would have been one
thing if the place was organized. But this was pure chaos. She
couldn’t do it.

But if not her, then who?

It was that sobering thought that had her
looking up just in time to see Constance slip a ribbon into her
coat pocket.

Damn. The girl was multi-talented. She was a
companion and a shoplifter. She wondered if Mrs. Bean realized.

She considered walking over and pulling the
pilfered merchandise out of Constance’s pocket but when the door
opened and another customer came in, she decided to let it go.
However, she did make a point of catching the young woman’s eye and
then deliberately staring at the woman’s pocket.

Constance’s already pale face seemed to get a
bit whiter and a little squeak eked out. Mrs. Bean turned to stare
at her. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“It’s a little warm,” Constance replied,
pulling at the collar of her heavy coat.

“Very well.” Mrs. Bean turned toward the door
with Constance on her heels. She had her hand on the doorknob when
she turned and looked over her shoulder. “Mrs. Wainwright,” she
said, “a little advice, if you will. You may want to watch yourself
with the Sheriff.”

Yes, well you may want to watch
Constance—especially around your jewelry.
Bella gritted her
teeth. “Why’s that, Mrs. Bean?”

“We widows can’t be too careful,” Mrs. Bean
said. “I knew his father and I’m not sure the apple fell very far
from the tree.”

She turned around and left. The new customer,
a man, looked at Bella, his eyes full of questions. Too bad. She
didn’t have any answers.

Bella walked up, pointed at what appeared to
be a carefully prepared list that he carried in his hand, and said,
“Good morning. What can I help you find?”

“Where’s Freida?” the man asked, his tone
suspicious.

Bella debated telling him that it wasn’t any
of his business but she’d already figured out that wasn’t how
things worked in 1877. “She broke her leg. I’m her niece, Bella,
and I’ll be watching the store for a few days.”

“Her leg, huh? That’s too bad. Hope she does
better than Bessy Forth did.”

“Bessy Forth?”

“Robert Forth’s wife. She broke her leg and
it got infected. She lived another three days. I heard tell it had
spread through her body, all the way to her heart.”

The man was making her own heart hurt. Bella
felt powerless. And for a witch, even a half-witch, that wasn’t a
familiar feeling.

But she had to admit that even if she had her
magic, it wouldn’t do her any good now. Good magic had its limits.
Her father hadn’t been able to save her mother’s life and she
wouldn’t be able to help Freida.

The man seemed oblivious to the panic he was
causing. “Give Freida my best,” he said. “Now, I’d be right
grateful if you could help me with the items on this list. My wife
generally comes along but she’s sitting with a neighbor’s wife
while she’s laboring with her seventh child.”

And she thought she was having a bad day. She
reached for the man’s list. “Let’s do it.” She said it with
significantly more confidence than she felt.

By noon, she’d helped that man and eight
other customers. She’d failed to locate canned onions, which one
woman had sworn that Freida always carried in her store, and she’d
sold out of gloves and baking powder and didn’t have a clue how to
go about getting more, but other than that, it had gone
surprisingly well.

She was just about to tackle the jumble of
receipts in the middle drawer when Delilah from the saloon walked
in. Her long orange-red hair was braided and wrapped around her
head like a crown. She didn’t have any make-up on and she had
something balanced on the palm of her right hand. Bella couldn’t
tell what it was because it had a big red checkered cloth over
it.

“Hi,” Bella said.

“I came to look at those ribbons you told me
about,” Delilah said.

“Of course.” Bella started to cross the
room.

Delilah extended her right arm. “I heard
about your aunt’s accident. I thought you might appreciate having
something to eat since you’re minding the store.”

She hadn’t even thought about eating but now
that she’d caught a whiff of food, her stomach growled as if on
cue. She pressed a hand against her middle. “That’s really nice of
you,” she said. “But let me show you the ribbons first.”

Delilah set the plate down on the counter and
removed the cloth. Steam rose from the dish. “I can find the
ribbons on my own. You go ahead and eat. Snake makes a great beef
stew and he’ll be disappointed if you don’t eat it when it’s
hot.”