He pushed himself upright, forcing himself away from her innocent temptation. Stuffing his hands back into his pockets, he vowed to keep them there, and out of any more trouble.
“I’ll just head down this row toward the center. I promise not to touch so much as a single speck of dirt without your permission.”
She made a noise, equal parts laugh and snort. “Go on. I’ll catch up.”
Ally bent over her cairn of aventurine, pointlessly fussing with the arrangement of rocks until Matt’s footsteps faded in the distance. She quickly scooped up the stones and cupped them in her hands until she felt their energy beginning to vibrate.
Pressing four of them into the soil, she whispered, “I plant you as I planted the corn. May you both draw deep of the nourishing earth. Thrive and flourish.”
She set the next two stones diagonally across the first layer, then two more on the opposite diagonal on top of them. “As your tower grows, so too grows the corn. May you both rise tall and sturdy. Thrive and flourish. Walls of stone and walls of love, safeguard this field from harm. Thrive and flourish.”
Carefully tucking the tiny pebbles alongside the larger stones like ears on the corn stalks, she whispered over each, “Thrive and flourish.”
The last stone, roughly pyramidal in shape, served to focus energy down on the stones already in place. Ally held her hands over it, willing even more energy into the spell.
“Aventurine, sign of luck and prosperity, attract good luck to make this field prosper and grow. Thrive and flourish.”
She closed her eyes and let her breath escape, imagining her power draining out of her palms and flooding into the tiny beacon of good fortune, until this quarter of the field was bathed in its light.
Opening her eyes, she rocked back onto her heels, content to wait until the world around her lost the overly-crisp edges and shivering texture that usually accompanied the invocation of a magical spell. Then she remembered that Matt was loose in the cornfield.
She scrambled to her feet, and jogged down the aisle. He hadn’t believed her companion plantings explanation. Fortunately, he seemed to think the rock cairns simply marked the center aisle of the cornfield, although no doubt he thought she was an anal-retentive idiot for the way she’d reacted to his dismantling of one.
The central square of every one of her fields were left open and unplanted, so that she had a convenient place to cast her circles when working field-specific spells. Some nights, she liked to just go out into the fields with a candle and meditate, surrounded by the rustle and creak of the growing corn. But last night, she’d wheeled a barrow full of soil into the center of this field and carefully raked it over the ground, hiding anything that might have been left over from previous spells.
His deep, rich laughter rang out, startling her into an answering smile that she immediately stifled. He surprised too many emotions out of her, like that irrational desire to confide in him about Susan’s possible depression. She couldn’t forget that his business, his very successful business, was all about selling to people. The connection she thought she felt with him, the rapport they seemed to share, was nothing more than techniques he’d picked up over the years to help him close sales. She couldn’t trust him with any of her secrets. Any more of her secrets, she reluctantly amended. She’d just have to hope he didn’t take advantage of the things she’d already let slip.
She found him standing in front of the scarecrow, a simple cross with rainbow colored whirligig arms and a faded hat. Matt’s hands were still in his pockets, as he’d promised, and the sight annoyed her. How dare he be trustworthy and make her think she could safely share her secrets with him? It was just another salesman’s ploy.
“What are you laughing at?” she asked, trying not to sound accusatory. She suspected she came across as petulant, which only annoyed her further.
“This is your scarecrow? It looks like a lawn ornament.”
“The crows don’t care what it looks like. Only that it’s moving. Besides, I can take down a pole more easily than wrestling around grain sacks stuffed to look like a man.”
He slanted a look at her. She wasn’t sure what his intent expression denoted, but her skin felt itchy, as if half a bushel of chaff had found its way beneath her clothing, and she couldn’t quite catch her breath.
She didn’t understand him, couldn’t predict him, and that made him dangerous. His highly developed skills of observation, no doubt honed by his real estate business, and actual knowledge of farming, made him doubly dangerous. The strange effect he had on her, of making her want to confide her secrets in him, pushed his danger meter off the charts. She needed to get him out of the field, and away from anything else suspicious.
“So, do you have everything you need to design the maze?”
She turned and started for the edge of the field, hoping he’d follow her.
“Yes. When will the corn be harvested so we can start moving stalks?”
“Soon.” She checked the base of one of the popcorn ears. It was dark brown, but not yet black. “I’ll start the day after tomorrow.”
“Saturday. Will you be able to do the whole field in one day?”
“I planned to mow the corn with a scythe, and get Cindy and Susan to help snap the ears off the fallen stalks. But Cindy can’t harvest the ears on the stalks.”
“Can Susan?”
Ally nibbled her lower lip. Susan didn’t handle change well, or anything where she had to make decisions, but she could follow directions. “I think so.”
“Tell you what. I used to do my share of farm work as a teenager. I know my way around an ear of corn. I’ll help you get your harvest in.”
No. That was impossible. Especially if he had experience harvesting corn. Admittedly, usually it was mowed and collected by machine, but he’d recognize her nonstandard practices. And this time, she doubted she could convince him they were part of organic farming.
But it would be worse to refuse. Then he’d want to know why, and she had no reason to offer him that wouldn’t raise far more suspicions than a few questionable farming practices.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to sound so happy about accepting my help.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I am happy you’re volunteering to help. It means the world to me that you’re doing so much for the school district. I’m just saddened that you have to make the offer.”
“I’m not.”
Chapter Three
Ally woke before dawn, when the yard was just becoming visible in the gray light of morning. She located underwear and socks by touch in her drawer. After pulling on an old pair of jeans and a faded sweatshirt, she hurried out to the barn. She’d prepared gallons of prosperity potion last night, and it had been growing in potency while she slept, ready to bless the harvest and ensure a bountiful crop of winter wheat in the field.
Normally, she’d carry the potion in a thermos bottle on her belt, sprinkling it as she moved down the row harvesting the corn, and sipping the pleasant cider drink herself when she needed to take a break. She’d refill the thermos every time she brought in a wagonload of corn. But she couldn’t do that with Matt helping her. And since she didn’t know when he was planning on arriving, she was up before the sun to bless the field in private, as quickly as possible.
She poured the first five gallons into the broadcast spreader, and wheeled it to the cornfield. As she opened the valve and began pushing the spreader, a distant bird began to sing, welcoming the dawn. Behind her, the chickens roused, and added their own distinctive clamor to the day.
Over and over again, she chanted the harvest blessing, thanking the earth for its bounty, and offering nourishment for an equally hearty crop to follow. The slightly acidic scent of the cider and vinegar mixed with the fruity fragrance of the raspberries and grapes, forming a pleasing contrast to the rich, almost nutty scent of the popcorn plants.
Ally breathed deeply, and began singing the blessing instead of merely cha
nting it. Gold and pink fingers stroked the eastern sky. She paused for a moment to admire the morning, the glorious sunrise and her place in the never-ending cycle of growth, death, and rebirth. Smiling, she turned the corner at the end of the row, and started down the next aisle. Her shadow stretched out long before her, a moving swath of darkness. Other birds added their calls and songs to the melody surrounding her, strengthening her blessing with their music.
By the time she’d refilled the spreader twice and completed the blessing, the sun had long since risen. She dragged the empty spreader into the barn, then gratefully poured out a mug of the potion from the remaining jug. Tilting her head back, she swallowed it all in three blessedly cool, sweet gulps.
The bang of a wooden gate was followed by a flutter of squawks and chirps outside the barn. Someone had just entered the hencoop and released the chickens.
Cindy’s high, piping voice greeted the noisy birds, offering them their morning ration of feed, and she continued talking to them after they fell silent. She exclaimed loudly at each egg she retrieved, praising the brooding mothers as if they’d performed a marvelously clever trick.
This was what Ally was fighting to protect. Cindy deserved a happy, stable childhood. There was no way to have stopped her father’s death, but Ally could minimize the repercussions of that tragedy and prevent any other disruption in her niece’s life. She would protect and care for Cindy, as she’d protected and cared for Susan while they were growing up. Only now she was both an adult and a witch, instead of a powerless child. Cindy would have everything she and Susan had been denied.
Smiling, Ally put away the unused potion and left the barn. She reached the chicken coop just in time to see her niece herding the last of the plump black and white birds into the run leading to the raspberry briar.
“Good morning, Cindy.”
Her niece turned quickly, her eyes widening. “Aunt Allison! You’ve started harvesting the corn already, before breakfast?”
“Just getting things ready.” She reached out and tugged playfully on one of her niece’s long blonde pigtails. “You know I promised you could watch how it was done.”
“I watched last year. I want to help.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie, but not this time. The corn’s got to be cut from the stalks in the field, and you’re not tall enough to reach.”
Cindy twisted the end of her pigtail around her finger, her forehead furrowing in deep concentration. “How are you getting the ears to the drying shed?”
“I’ll lay them in a wagon I pull behind me, then leave the full wagon at the end of the row and take an empty one. Your mother will bring the wagons to the drying shed and empty them out.”
“I could help with that! I can pull the wagons.” Cindy bounced on her feet with eagerness.
Ally eyed the egg basket in her niece’s hands, but the four brown eggs were safely nestled in soft folds of cotton.
“Are you sure? The full ones will be heavy.”
“I can do it. I know I can!”
“All right, sweetie. If they get too heavy for you, you let your mother pull the full ones to the shed, and you can bring the empty ones back to the field.”
“Okay!”
Ally nodded at the milling flock of chickens. “Go, finish your chores. I’ll see you back at the house.”
“Come on, chickens! I’ve got popcorn to help harvest!”
Her niece startled the chickens, making them squawk and flap their wings, but quickly got them moving in the direction of the briar. Ally hurried back to the house, planning to grab a quick shower before breakfast. She told herself it was because she’d already been up and active in the field, and needed to wash away the sticky potion that had splashed on her legs and soaked through her jeans. It had nothing to do with wanting to look her best for Matt Cantrell’s imminent arrival.
She knew she was lying.
* * * * *
Ally was explaining how to stack the ears for optimum drying to Susan, confirming that she understood how to carry out this crucial step of the popcorn harvesting process, when the deep-throated roar of Matt’s pickup truck interrupted her.
Susan nodded toward the driveway, hidden by the bulk of the barn. “I’ve got it, Ally. Not quite as much space between the ears as last year, but more space between the pallets. Go welcome Mr. Cantrell and give him his orders for the harvest. Cindy and I will get the wagons ready for you.”
“Thanks, Sue.” Ally flashed a grin at her sister, then hurried toward the now silent driveway. She heard the heavy slam of the pickup’s door, then rounded the corner of the barn to see Matt standing in the graveled drive, looking up toward the house.
Gone was the neatly tailored suit of a respectable businessman. Instead, he wore faded jeans that clung to his muscled thighs, with scarred work boots peeking out beneath their frayed hems. In deference to the morning’s slight chill, he’d pulled a long-sleeved shirt of light flannel over his white T-shirt, but he hadn’t bothered to button it.
Ally swallowed, struck by a sudden desire to slip her hands beneath the soft flannel and caress the cotton T-shirt that was molded to his chest. Her breath hitched, and eager warmth burst to life deep within her body’s core.
She’d felt a connection to him the first time they’d met, but she’d convinced herself it was an emotional reaction, prompted by the tricks he knew to put people at ease and win sales from them. This was a purely physical reaction, and couldn’t be brushed away as anything other than what it was. She wanted him.
She swallowed again, unsticking her throat. Her breasts tingled with awareness, and she shifted her weight, suddenly noticing the way that the seam of her jeans pressed between her legs. She hoped the hard work of harvesting the popcorn distracted her from her new regard for Matt’s firmly muscled body, or this was going to be an even longer day than she’d feared.
“Over here,” she called.
Matt turned, his face lighting in a broad grin, and lifted one hand in a casual wave. His flannel over-shirt rode up with the gesture, exposing his toned midriff beneath the tight T-shirt.
“Have you started already?”
“No. I was just going over the instructions with Susan again.”
Matt hesitated just a moment before asking, “So you’ve decided to let your sister help in the field after all?”
“No.” Ally shook her head more violently than necessary, hoping to dislodge some of the thoughts of his tight, toned body that were plaguing her imagination. “She and Cindy will be emptying the wagons, and stacking the ears of corn in the drying shed. We’ll be doing all the harvesting.”
He nodded, and they started walking back toward the field. “So what do you want me to do?”
The first wagon was waiting for them at the entrance to the cornfield, two freshly sharpened machetes nestled in the old towels lining its bed. Ally picked up the first knife, testing its weight and balance, then handed it to Matt and took the second knife to use herself.
“Hold the ear by the tassel, so it doesn’t fall, and cut it away at the base, where it’s black. Try not to cut through too much of stalk or the surrounding leaves, although it’ll be impossible to miss everything. Then set the ear gently in the wagon. Don’t throw it.”
“I know. The popcorn is fragile.” His lips curved in a gentle smile, and she blushed, remembering how she’d lectured him on his previous visit to her field.
“Yes. It is. You take the left side of the row, I’ll take the right side.”
Matt nodded and entered the row of corn, then stopped, tilting his head and inhaling deeply. “What’s that smell?”
Ally felt her cheeks flaring, and bent to fuss with the towels lining the wagon, ensuring they would not get tangled in the treaded plastic wheels. “Apple cider. It’s an old Vermont farming tradition, to sprinkle cider on harvested fields. It replaces nutrients in the soil for the next crop.”
“Huh. Never heard of that one.” He grabbed an ear of corn and lopped it off the stalk with a
smooth swing of his machete. “Are you originally from Vermont?”
“No. Not originally.”
She watched as he carefully set the ear in the wagon, then looked to her for approval of his technique. She nodded tersely, and began chopping off the ears on her side of the row.
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the whoosh and crack of their machetes slicing through the corn.
“So where are you from?” he asked eventually.
“I was born in Louisiana.”
“You don’t sound like you’re from the south.”
“We didn’t stay there long. We’d moved to Colorado before I was out of baby talk. Then Connecticut, Georgia, Alabama, Wisconsin, and Nevada.” She paused, certain she was forgetting one. “Oh, and Idaho. Between Wisconsin and Nevada.”
That’s where she’d gained her love of plants. So much changed from city to city, state to state, but the cycle of nature was constant, even if the timing and specific plants changed. She learned everything she could about growing things, everywhere they went. When one of the old ladies she did yard work for began teaching her secrets about the cycle of nature, Ally had no idea she was learning the basics of witchcraft. Years later, she’d seen the familiar-looking words on a notice board at college. She’d attended the gathering the notice was promoting, and become a witch.
“Was your father in the military?” Matt continued his questioning.
“No.”
Ally freed an ear of corn with a particularly vicious chop, then cried out when the machete bit right through the stalk. She dropped the knife and grabbed the falling stalk before the tender ears still clinging to it could smash against the ground.
Matt spun around and took a half step toward her. “Are you all right?”
“Fine. I just cut through the corn stalk.”
He frowned slightly, his gaze flicking over the row, assessing the damage the missing stalk would make to his maze design. “It’s the outer wall. A small gap won’t be a problem.”
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