Charmed

by Nora Roberts

  everyone involved.

  It would be better, much better, for everyone involved if she remained Jessie’s friend while maintaining a wise distance from Jessie’s father.

  * * *

  Dinner was over, and the dishes were done. There had been a not-too-successful session with Daisy—though she would sit down if you pushed on her rump. Afterward, there’d been a lot of splashing in the tub, then some horseplay to indulge in with his freshly scrubbed daughter. There was a story to be told, that last glass of water to be fetched.

  Once Jessie was asleep and the house was quiet, Boone indulged himself with a brandy out on the deck. There were piles of forms on his desk—a parent’s homework—that had to be filled out for Jessie’s school files.

  He’d do them before he turned in, he decided. But this hour, this dark, quiet hour when the nearly full moon was rising, was his.

  He could enjoy the clouds that were drifting overhead promising rain, the hypnotic sound of the water lapping against rock, the chatter of insects in the grass that he would have to mow very soon and the scent of night-blooming flowers.

  No wonder he had snapped this house up at the very first glimpse. No place he’d ever been had relaxed him more, or given him more of a sense of rightness and peace. And it appealed to his imagination. The mystically shaped cypress, the magical ice plants that covered the banks, those empty and often eerie stretches of night beach.

  The ethereally beautiful woman next door.

  He smiled to himself. For someone who hadn’t felt much more than an occasional twinge for a woman in too long to remember, he was certainly feeling a barrage of them now.

  It had taken him a long time to get over Alice. Though he still didn’t consider himself part of the dating pool, he hadn’t been a monk over the past couple of years. His life wasn’t empty, and he’d been able, after a great deal of pain, to accept the fact that he had to live it.

  He was sipping his brandy, enjoying it and the simple pleasure of the night, when he heard Ana’s car. Not that he’d been waiting for it, Boone assured himself even as he checked his watch. He couldn’t quite smother the satisfaction at her being home early, too early to have gone out on a date.

  Not that her social life was any of his business.

  He couldn’t see her driveway, but because the night was calm he heard her shut her car door. Then, a few moments later, he heard her open and close the door to her house.

  Propping his bare feet on the rail of the deck, he tried to imagine her progress through the house. Into the kitchen. Yes, the light snapped on, and he could see her move past the window. Brewing tea, perhaps, or pouring herself a glass of wine.

  Shortly, the light switched off again, and he let his mind follow her through the house. Up the stairs. More lights, but it looked to Boone like the glow of a candle against the dark glass, rather than a lamp. Moments later, he heard the faint drift of music. Harp strings. Haunting, romantic and somehow sad.

  Briefly, very briefly, she was silhouetted against a window. He could see quite clearly that slim feminine shadow as she stripped out of her shirt.

  Hastily he swallowed brandy and looked away. However tempting it might be, he wouldn’t lower himself to the level of a Peeping Tom. He did, however, find himself craving a cigarette, and with apologies to his disapproving daughter, he pulled one out of his pocket.

  Smoke stung the air, soothed his nerves. Boone contented himself with the sound of harpsong.

  It was a very long time before he went back into the house and slept, with the sound of a gentle rain falling on the roof and the memory of harpsong drifting across the night breeze.

  Chapter 4

  Cannery Row was alive with sounds, the chattering of people as they strolled or rushed, the bright ringing of a bell from one of the tourist bikes, the ubiquitous calling of gulls searching for a handout. Ana enjoyed the crowds and the noise as much as she enjoyed the peace and solitude of her own backyard.

  Patiently she chugged along with the stream of weekend traffic. On her first pass by Morgana’s shop, Ana resigned herself to the fact that the perfect day had brought tourists and locals out in droves. Parking was going to be at a premium. Rather than frustrate herself searching for a spot on the street, she pulled into a lot three blocks from Wicca.

  As she climbed out to open her trunk, she heard the whine of a cranky toddler and the frustrated muttering of weary parents.

  “If you don’t stop that right this minute, you won’t get anything at all. I mean it, Timothy. We’ve had just about enough. Now get moving.”

  The child’s response to that command was to go limp, sliding in a boneless heap onto the parking lot as his mother tugged uselessly at his watery arms. Ana bit her lip as it curved, but it was obvious the young parents didn’t see the humor of it. Their arms were full of packages, and their faces were thunderous.

  Timothy, Ana thought, was about to get a tanning—though it was unlikely to make him more cooperative. Daddy shoved his bags at Mommy and, mouth grim, bent down.

  It was a small thing, Ana thought. And they all looked so tired and unhappy. She made the link first with the father, felt the love, the anger and the dark embarrassment. Then with the child—confusion, fatigue and a deep unhappiness over a big stuffed elephant he’d seen in a shop window and been denied.

  Ana closed her eyes. The father’s hand swung back as he prepared to administer a sharp slap to the boy’s diaper-padded rump. The boy sucked in his breath, ready to emit a piercing wail at the indignity of it.

  Suddenly the father sighed, and his hand fell back to his side. Timothy peeked up, his face hot and pink and tear-streaked.

  The father crouched down, holding out his arms. “We’re tired, aren’t we?”

  On a hiccuping sob, Timothy bundled into them and rested his heavy head on his daddy’s shoulder. “Thirsty.”

  “Okay, champ.” The father’s hand went to the child’s bottom, but with a soothing pat. He gave his teary-eyed wife an encouraging smile. “Why don’t we go have a nice, cold drink? He just needs an n-a-p.”

  They moved off, tired but relieved.

  Smiling to herself, Ana unlocked her trunk. Family vacations, she thought, weren’t all fun and frolic. The next time they were ready to snarl at each other, she wouldn’t be around to help. She imagined they’d muddle through without her.

  After swinging her purse behind her back, she began to unload the boxes she was delivering to Morgana. There were a half dozen of them, filled with sacks of potpourri, bottles of oils and creams, beribboned sachets, satiny sleep pillows and a month’s supply of special orders that ran from tonics to personalized perfumes.

  Ana considered making two trips, gauged the distance and decided that if she balanced the load carefully she could make it in one.

  She stacked, juggled and adjusted, then just managed to shut her trunk with an elbow. She made it across the parking lot and down half a block before she began berating herself.

  Why did she always do this? she asked herself. Two comfortable trips were better than one difficult one. It wasn’t that the boxes were so heavy—though they were. It was simply that they were awkward and the sidewalk was jammed. And her hair was blowing in her eyes. With a quick, agile dance, she managed, barely, to avoid a collision with a couple of teenage tourists in a surrey.

  “Want some help?”

  Annoyed with herself and irresponsible drivers, she turned around. There was Boone, looking particularly wonderful in baggy cotton slacks and shirt. Riding atop his shoulders, Jessie was laughing and clapping her hands.

  “We had a ride on the carousel and had ice cream and we saw you.”

  “Looks like you’re still overloading,” Boone commented.

  “They’re not heavy.”

  He patted Jessie’s leg and, following the signal, she began to slide down his back. “We’ll give you a hand.”

  “That’s all right.” She knew it was foolish to reject help when she needed it, but she had m
anaged quite successfully to avoid Boone for the better part of a week. And had managed—almost as successfully—to avoid thinking about him. Wondering about him. “I don’t want to take you out of your way.”

  “We’re not going any way in particular, are we, Jessie?”

  “Uh-uh. We’re just wandering today. It’s our day off.”

  Ana couldn’t prevent the smile, any more than she could prevent the wariness from creeping into her eyes when she looked back at Boone. He was certainly looking at her, she realized, in that disconcertingly thorough way of his. The smile creeping around his mouth had less to do with humor than it did with challenge.

  “I don’t have to go far,” she began, grabbing at a package that was beginning to slide. “I can just—”

  “Fine.” Overriding her objections, Boone shifted boxes from her arms to his. His eyes stayed on hers. “What are neighbors for?”

  “I can carry one.” Eager to help, Jessie bounced in her sneakers. “I can.”

  “Thank you.” Ana handed Jessie the lightest box. “I’m going a couple of blocks down to my cousin’s shop.”

  “Has she had her babies?” Jessie asked as they started to walk.

  “No, not yet.”

  “I asked Daddy how come she got to have two in there, and he said sometimes there’s twice the love.”

  How could anyone possibly have a defense against a man like this? Ana wondered. Her eyes were warm when they met his. “Yes, sometimes there is. You always seem to have the right answer,” she murmured to Boone.

  “Not always.” He wasn’t certain if he was relieved or annoyed that his hands were full of boxes. If they’d been free, he would have been compelled to touch her. “You just try for the best one at the time. Where have you been hiding, Anastasia?”

  “Hiding?” The warmth fled from her eyes.

  “I haven’t seen you out in your yard in days. You didn’t strike me as the type to scare that easily.”

  Because Jessie was skipping just ahead of them, she bit off a more acid response. “I don’t know what you mean. I had work. Quite a bit of it, as a matter of fact.” She nodded toward the boxes. “You’re carrying some of it now.”

  “Is that so? Then I’m glad I didn’t resort to knocking on your door and pretending I needed to borrow a cup of sugar. I nearly did, but it seemed so obvious.”

  She slanted him a look. “I appreciate your restraint.”

  “And so you should.”

  She merely tossed her hair out of her eyes and called to Jessie. “We’ll go down this way, so we can go in the back. Saturdays are usually busy,” she explained to Boone. “I don’t like going through the shop and distracting the customers.”

  “What does she sell, anyway?”

  “Oh.” Ana smiled again. “This and that. I think you’d find her wares particularly interesting. Here we go.” She gestured to a little flagstone stoop flanked by pots of bloodred geraniums. “Can you get the door, Jessie?”

  “Okay.” Anxious as ever to see what was on the other side, Jessie shoved it open, then let out a squeal. “Oh, look. Daddy, look!” Jessie set her package aside on the first available space and made a dive for the big white cat grooming herself on the table.

  “Jessica!” Boone’s voice was short and firm, stopping his daughter in midstride. “What have I told you about going up to strange animals?”

  “But, Daddy, he’s so pretty.”

  “She,” Ana corrected as she laid her boxes on the counter. “And your father’s quite right. Not all animals like little girls.”

  Jessie’s fingers itched to stroke the thick white fur. “Does she?”

  “Sometimes Luna doesn’t like anyone.” With a laugh, Ana scratched the cat between the ears. “But if you’re very polite, and pet her when she gives the royal consent, you’ll get along well enough.” Ana gave Boone a reassuring smile. “Luna won’t scratch her. When she’s had enough, she’ll just stalk off.”

  But apparently Luna was in the mood for attention. Walking to the end of the table, she rubbed her head against the hand Jessie had held out. “She likes me!” The smile nearly split her face in two. “See, Daddy? She likes me.”

  “Yes, I see.”

  “Morgana usually keeps cold drinks back here.” Ana opened the small refrigerator. “Would you like something?”

  “Sure.” He really wasn’t thirsty, but the offer made it easy to linger. He leaned back against the counter of the kitchenette while Ana got out glasses. “The shop through there?”

  When he gestured at a door, Ana nodded. “Yes. And through there’s the storeroom. A great deal of what Morgana sells is one of a kind, so she doesn’t keep a large supply of inventory.”

  He reached over Ana’s shoulder to finger the thin leaves of a rosemary plant on the windowsill. “She into this kind of thing, too?”

  Ana tried to ignore the fact that his body was brushing hers. She could smell the sea on him, and imagined he and Jessie had gone down to feed the gulls. “What kind of thing?”

  “Herbs and stuff.”

  “In a manner of speaking.” She turned, knowing she’d be entirely too close, and pushed the glass into his chest. “Root beer.”

  “Terrific.” He knew it wasn’t particularly fair—and it was probably unwise as well—but he took the glass and stood precisely where he was. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. “It might be a good hobby for Jessie and me. Maybe you could show us how to grow some.”

  “It’s no different from growing any living thing.” It took a great deal of effort to keep her voice even when breathing was so difficult. “Care and attention, and affection. You’re very much in my way, Boone.”

  “I hope so.” With his eyes very intense, very focused, he lifted a hand to her cheek. “Anastasia, I really think we need to—”

  “A deal’s a deal, babe.” The smug voice carried through the door as it opened. “Fifteen minutes of sit-down time every two hours.”

  “You’re being ridiculous. For heaven’s sake, you act as though I’m the only pregnant woman in the world.” Heaving a sigh, Morgana walked into the back room. Her brows lifted when she saw the trio—and particularly when she saw the way Boone Sawyer was caging her cousin at the rear counter.

  “You’re the only pregnant woman in my world.” Nash stopped short. “Hey, Ana, you’re just the woman I need to convince Morgana to take it easy. Now that you’re here, I can …” He glanced once at the man beside her, then back again to focus. “Boone? Well, I’ll be damned. Boone Sawyer, you son of a—” He caught himself, mostly because Morgana shot an elbow into his ribs. There was a little girl, all eyes, standing at the table.

  “—gun,” he finished, and strode across the room to shake Boone’s hand and slap his back in a typical male greeting. “What are you doing here?”

  “Delivering stock, I think.” He grinned, gripping Nash’s hand hard in his. “How about you?”

  “Trying to keep my wife in line. Lord, what’s it been? Four years?”

  “Just about.”

  Morgana folded her hands on her belly. “I take it you two know each other?”

  “Sure, we do. Boone and I met at a writers’ conference. It has to be ten years ago, doesn’t it? I haven’t seen you since—” Since Alice’s funeral, Nash remembered abruptly. And he remembered, too, the devastation, the despair and the disbelief in Boone’s eyes as he’d stood beside his wife’s grave. “How are you?”

  “Okay.” Understanding, Boone smiled. “We’re okay.”

  “Good.” Nash put a hand on Boone’s shoulder and squeezed before he turned to Jessie. “And you’re Jessica.”

  “Uh-huh.” She beamed up at him, always interested in meeting someone new. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Nash.” He crossed to her, crouched down. Except for the eyes, eyes that were all Boone, she was the image of Alice. Bright, pretty, pixielike. He offered her a formal handshake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  She giggled and shook his hand. �
��Did you put the babies into Morgana?”

  To his credit, he was speechless only for a moment. “Guilty.” With a laugh, he picked her up. “But I’m leaving it up to Ana to get them out. So, what are the two of you doing in Monterey?”

  “We live here now,” Jessie told him. “Right next door to Ana’s house.”

  “No kidding?” Nash grinned over at Boone. “When?”

  “A little more than a week. I’d heard you’d moved here, and I figured I’d look you up once we got things together. I didn’t realize you were married to my neighbor’s cousin.”

  “A small and fascinating world, isn’t it?” Morgana commented. She tilted her head at Ana, well aware that her cousin hadn’t said a word since they’d come into the room. “Since no one’s going to introduce me, I’m Morgana.”

  “Sorry,” Nash said, jiggling Jessie on his hip. “Sit down.”

  “I’m perfectly—”

  “Sit.” This from Ana as she pulled out a chair.

  “Outnumbered.” Sighing, Morgana sat. “Are you enjoying Monterey?”

  “Very much,” Boone told her, and his gaze shifted to Ana. “More than I anticipated.”

  “I always enjoy having more than I anticipated.” With a light laugh, she patted her belly. “We’ll all have to get together very soon, so you can tell me things Nash doesn’t want me to know.”

  “I’d be glad to.”

  “Babe, you know I’m an open book.” He kissed the top of Morgana’s head and winked at Ana. “That the stuff Morgana’s been waiting for?”

  “Yes, all of it.” Anxious to keep her hands busy, Ana turned to the pile of boxes. “I’ll unpack it for you. Morgana, I want you to try out this new violet body lotion before you put it out, and I brought extra of the soapwort shampoo.”

  “Good, I’m completely out.” She took the bottle of lotion from Ana and unstopped the bottle. “Nice scent.” She dabbed a bit on the back of her hand and rubbed it in. “Good texture.”

  “Sweet violets, and the Irish moss Da sent me.” She glanced up from her unpacking. “Nash, why don’t you show Jessie and Boone the shop?”

  “Good idea. I think you’re going to find a lot of this right up your alley,” Nash told Boone as he led the way to the door.

  Boone shot a look over his shoulder before he passed through. “Anastasia.” He waited until she glanced up from the boxes. “Don’t run away.”

  “My, my, my.” Morgana settled back and smiled like a cat with a direct line to Bossy. “Want to fill me in?”

  With a little more force than necessary, Ana ripped through packing tape. “On what?”

  “On you and your gorgeous neighbor, of course.”

  “There’s nothing to fill in.”

  “Darling, I know you. When I walked into this room, you were so wrapped up in him I could have called out a tornado and you wouldn’t have blinked.”

  Ana busied herself unpacking bottles. “Don’t be ridiculous. You haven’t called out a tornado since the first time we saw The Wizard of Oz.”

  “Ana.” Morgana’s voice was low and firm. “I love you.”

  “I know. I love you, too.”

  “You’re never nervous. Perhaps that’s why it’s so fascinating—and concerning—to me that you’re so nervous just now.”

  “I’m not.” She rapped two bottles together and winced. “All right, all right, all right. I have to think about it.” She whipped around. “He makes me nervous, and it would be ridiculous to deny it’s the fact that I’m very attracted to him that’s making me so nervous. I just have to think about it.”

  “Think about what?”

  “How to handle it. Him, I mean. I have no intention of making another mistake, particularly since anything I do that involves Boone also involves Jessie.”

  “Oh, honey, are you falling in love with him?”

  “That’s absurd.” Ana realized too late that the denial was too forceful to be taken at face value. “I’m just jumpy, that’s all. I haven’t had a man affect me like this, physically, in …” Ever. Never before, and, she was very much afraid, never again. “In a long time. I just need to think,” she repeated.

  “Ana.” Morgana held out both hands. “Sebastian and Mel will be back in a couple of days from their honeymoon. Why don’t you ask him to look? It would relieve your mind if you knew.”

  Resolute, Ana shook her head. “No … not that I haven’t considered it. Whatever happens, however it happens, I want it to be on equal terms. Knowing would give me an unfair advantage over Boone. I have a feeling those equal terms would be important, to both of us.”