Yesterday's Magic (3 page)

Thomas, who’d celebrated his fiftieth
birthday just a week before the trip, turned to help an older woman
out. Once both her feet were steady on the ground, Jed wasn’t a bit
surprised to note that if he stood next to Mrs. Bean, they’d be
looking eye to eye. Shorter than her sons, the woman was still
easily a match to his own six feet.

Thomas turned and stopped short when he saw
Freida and Jed. He nodded at Jed, one quick jerk of his head. He
looked toward Freida, tipped his hat, and mumbled, “Howdy,
Freida.”

“Afternoon, Thomas,” she answered.

Concerned, Jed glanced at her. She sounded
winded, almost breathless. “Freida, you need to rest a spell?”

She waved a hand, dismissing his inquiry. Jed
let it go. It was probably just the cold air catching up to her. He
saw that the driver had finally finished unloading cases and had
moved around the side to help the rest of the passengers. The
driver helped a woman down. She had a big black wool hat pulled low
on her head, but even so, it did little to hide the scowl on her
round face. She wore a heavy cloak that came to her waist and while
Jed was no expert when it came to women’s fashion, even he could
see that it only served to emphasize the span of her hips.

If he had to venture a guess, he didn’t think
Freida Stroganhaufer’s niece was all that happy about being in
Mantosa. “What’s your niece’s name?” he asked. As Sheriff, he’d do
his best to make her feel welcome. After all, the woman had lost
her husband.

“Mrs. Merribelle Wainwright.” Freida was
staring at the woman, frowning, making no move toward her.

It dawned on Jed that Freida, who capably
handled her own business better than most men could have, might be
a bit nervous seeing her niece after such a long time. He stepped
forward and took off his hat. “Mrs. Wainwright?” he said.

The woman, who looked to be in her middle
thirties, moved a step closer to Mrs. Bean. Given that the top of
Freida’s niece’s head didn’t even reach Mrs. Bean’s shoulder, the
two of them looked ridiculous next to one another.

“Mrs. Merribelle Wainwright?” he asked again.
He offered what he hoped was a congenial smile.

She didn’t smile back. “My name is Constance
VanHopple,” she said. Her voice was high and it made him think of
the birds he’d chased out of his barn that morning. “Mrs. Bean’s
companion.”

Jed took a step back and looked at Freida.
She looked at first relieved and then immediately troubled. She
turned to the stage driver. “I was expecting my niece,” she said,
in a tone that made the driver take a step back.

Before the man could reply, Earl Bean edged
forward, practically pushing the stage driver into his horses.
Given that it was the most aggressive thing Jed had ever seen the
normally shy forty-five year old do, he immediately got suspicious
and his smile faded.

“Merribelle?” Earl repeated, like somebody
who’d lost his senses.

Jed looked at Thomas Bean, who had always
been the more stable of the two, and Thomas just shook his head.
Thomas had remained a bachelor. Earl, on the other hand, had been
married twice, both times for less than a year before his wife had
run off. Thomas had told Jed once that it was too easy for Earl to
fancy himself in love.

The comment had caused him to wonder if that
had been his father’s issue as well. After a while, he’d stopped
thinking about it and focused on being grateful that he wasn’t that
kind of fool.

He watched as Earl, now bent nearly double,
stuck half his upper-body into the stage. “Bella,” Jed heard him
say, “we’ve been in this stage together for the last five hours and
you never once mentioned that you were Freida Stroganhaufer’s
niece.”

“I…uh…”

Freida stepped forward, yanked on the back of
Earl Bean’s coat, and tossed the man aside. “Get the hell out of my
way,” she said. She stuck her own head inside the stage.

“I’m your Aunt Freida, Girl.”

“Aunt Freida?”

Mrs. Merribelle Wainwright’s voice was as
smooth as a good glass of whiskey on a cold night. Potent. And when
Earl Bean swayed, all seven foot of him, Jed got ready to catch
him. However, at the last minute, the man righted himself.

“It’s been a long time,” Freida said, “and I
don’t expect you to remember me. But you’ve got the look of your
momma. When she was young, she wore her hair long, too. Come on, I
imagine it’s been a cold ride.”

“Oh, yes.”

Freida looked over her shoulder at Jed. She
looked happy, confident, and he started to relax. Freida poked her
head back into the stage. “So you call yourself Bella now?” she
said. “Your ma forgot to mention that in the letter.”

“Right.… The letter,” she echoed.

Jed had always loved a good whiskey and he
was tempted to let her voice settle over him. However, when he saw
Earl bring his hands together and hold them up to his chest, as if
he was at worship service, it gave him a start to realize that he
was close to carrying on in a very similar manner.

Jed heard a rustle of skirts as Mrs.
Merribelle Wainwright got out of the stage. He sucked in another
deep breath and didn’t even feel it hit his lungs. The woman didn’t
have a hat on, and in this cold, that was damn stupid. The black
cloak she wore looked like it was better suited for a spring day.
And he’d never ever seen a pair of shoes that looked less
sturdy.

All that registered while he was trying to
ignore the obvious. She was lovely with long, very dark, brown hair
that curled over her shoulders. She had wide-set black eyes and a
fine nose set straight over lips that were pink and full.

Now he understood the adoration on Earl
Bean’s face and Thomas’s rather grim acceptance. This was a woman
who could turn a man’s head. A woman who could take good, rational,
ideas and turn them into a jumble of incoherent thoughts and
unfinished deeds. This was a woman who could bring trouble to his
peaceful town.

This was a woman who could change
everything.

Her brand new
Aunt
Freida had a grip
that was somewhere between that of a Sumo wrestler or a very bad
golfer. Fierce. Strong. Way too tight.

Bella’s feet and thoughts were both
scrambling to keep up as the woman dragged her four steps. They
stopped so abruptly in front of one very serious-looking man that
she almost bumped into him. He was tall. And broad shouldered. He
wore a long suede-looking coat, unbuttoned, and she could see both
the wide leather gun belt that he wore low on his waist and the
five-pointed Sheriff star he wore on his chest.

His eyes were blue. Not sky blue like
Averil’s but rather a smoky blue, and she thought someone could
easily mistake them for gray. His dark hair, which curled over the
edge of his coat collar, was a shiny brown with slim streaks of
silver. He had a mustache, nicely trimmed, and it was more silver
than brown. He held his leather cowboy hat in his hand and it
looked like he was squeezing it to death.

“Bella, this is Sheriff Jedidiah McNeil,”
Aunt Freida said. “He’s the sheriff of Tazwell County but since
we’re the only town of any respectable size in the county, he
spends most of his time right here in Mantosa.” She turned slightly
and waved in Bella’s direction. “Jedidiah, this is my niece, Mrs.
Bella Wainwright.”

Mrs. Bella Wainwright.

She had a name. And by the sounds of it, a
husband. Oh boy, this could get complicated in a hurry. She should
have struck to the story that she had worked on with her father and
Averil. She could have pulled off being a schoolteacher looking for
work. She wasn’t going to be able to persuade Mr. Wainwright that
she was his wife.

She hadn’t been listening to the conversation
outside the stage—she’d been too busy working up her nerve to get
out and begin the search for Rantaan Toomay. Then
Aunt
Freida,
had stuck her head inside the stage, welcomed her home
like the prodigal son, and Bella had switched to Plan B.

Except there was no Plan B. This would not
have happened to Averil. On the big highway of life, her sister
stayed on her side of the road, her hands firmly in the ten and two
position, always signaling a lane change well in advance. She would
not be caught driving with her knees, while she put on lipstick and
drank coffee. She most certainly would not have made an illegal
U-turn and veered off her carefully planned route at the first
opportunity.

“Ma’am,” the Sheriff said, nodding his head
at her.

Ma’am?
Okay. She’d been called that
once, by a sixteen year-old bagger at the grocery store. She hadn’t
liked it then, either. She’d gone back in time, right? She
certainly shouldn’t look any older.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he added.

Oh, good grief. She looked old and she’d lost
something. She ran her tongue across her teeth, hoping it wasn’t
them.

Satisfied to find her bite intact, she
nevertheless kept her mouth shut and settled for merely nodding and
smiling. That had, after all, gotten her through a semester of
biology. It might get her through a week in Kansas.

Aunt Freida patted her hand. “It’s hard to
lose a husband, Girl. But life goes on. You’ll see.”

The pat, the supportive tone, it all screamed
that Merribelle Wainwright’s husband wasn’t really lost—he was
dead. All of which was unfortunate for Merribelle, but very
fortunate for Bella. She was relieved that the man wouldn’t show up
and blow apart her story but oddly enough, given the woman was a
stranger, Bella felt sorry for Merribelle. She knew it was a
horrible thing to have a spouse die. She’d been fifteen when her
mother had died and in the brief glimpses when she’d been able to
see past her own heartache, she had realized that her father had
been devastated.

“Let’s make our way, Bella. It’s going to be
dark soon.” Aunt Freida took a step, pulling Bella along. “I
suppose you’re probably pretty hungry. We’ll have an early supper.”
She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Jedidiah, why don’t you
join us?”

The Sheriff let out a woof of air, sounding
like he’d been sucker punched in the stomach. “Well . . . I . . .
uh . . . ”

Earl Bean, the man she’d promptly christened
String Bean after he’d introduced himself on the stage, stepped
forward. He looked hopeful, sort of like her coworkers did when
someone brought in donuts. “Freida,” String said, “I’d be much
obliged to—”

Thomas Bean, the brother who’d been silent
for most of the trip, started coughing like a three-pack a day
smoker who’d swallowed a cigarette whole. When the poor man started
turning red, Sheriff McNeil stepped up and slapped him sharply
between the shoulder blades.

The coughing stopped and in the awkward
silence afterward, when she’d been expecting to hear a
thank
you
, she thought she heard Thomas whisper, “Jedidiah,
please?”

“Jedidiah?” Freida prodded. “I ain’t got all
day.”

The handsome sheriff looked from Aunt Freida
to String and his gaze finally settled on Bella. “I’ll be right
along,” he said.

His voice sounded strangled, as if he’d been
the one coughing, and he didn’t look nearly as hopeful as String
Bean had.

“Good,” Aunt Freida said. “Be there in thirty
minutes. Come along, Girl.”

Bella managed a nod and hoped that it merely
felt like her head was spinning and that it truly was not. She was
finally here. After her father, Averil and she had discussed the
plan, there’d been a whirlwind of activity. She’d called her boss
and begged for a week off. When he’d demanded to know why, she’d
claimed family emergency—after all, being cursed truly did qualify
as an emergency.

By the time she’d hung up the telephone,
Averil had twitched her own nose and whipped up some
1877-appropriate clothes as well as a case to put them in. The fact
that her sister had resorted to magic had been the first evidence
of how worried she was about Bella making the trip. The second had
been the hug Bella had gotten before she’d left. She thought she
was lucky that a rib hadn’t cracked.

As planned, her father’s magic had popped her
into Shinoah—a town just twenty-five miles north of Mantosa. Her
sudden arrival in an alley had taken two men, who were propped up
against a wall, sharing a bottle of whiskey, by surprise. One of
them had knocked his head back so hard that she’d worried he might
have injured himself. The other had crossed himself, pushed the
bottle toward his friend, and closed his eyes.

She’d turned, started walking, and finally
managed to take a deep breath when she reached the corner and
realized that neither one of them was following her. She’d managed
to find the stage depot—not that hard in a one-road town—and she’d
been on the stage when it left, headed for Mantosa. She’d been
thankful for the petticoats that she’d initially scorned. Not only
had they helped to keep her legs warm on the cold stage but they’d
somewhat cushioned her now very sore rear end. These people could
benefit from some padded seats or at the very least, some nice
pillows, like those really great red ones she’d gotten at Crate
& Barrel last week.

Damn. She already missed Crate & Barrel.
And every other store along Michigan Avenue, the greatest shopping
street in America outside of Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills.

The Beans—Thomas, String, and Mother
Bean—along with Mother Bean’s scowling companion, who, by the way,
would all look ridiculous on either Michigan Avenue or Rodeo Drive,
had already been in the stagecoach. She’d welcomed the body heat
and had endured the long lingering stares of String. She’d mostly
tuned out Mrs. Bean’s and Constance VanHopple’s endless chatter but
she had sat up a little straighter while the Bean Brothers had
explained the changes to the town since their mother had last
visited five years before.