Bewitching the Bachelor

by Suzanne Marie Calvin

  Rockwell Park was a huge, rambling place set on acres and acres of lush landscape. There were woody parts, cool and fragrant, with tall oak and pine trees, providing shelter from the summer sun. Greenbelts, decorated with beach towels and blankets, laden with picnic foods, provided playing space for children to enjoy games of Frisbee and kickball. At a small swimming pond, mothers let their tots wade in warm, shallow water and build miniature castles in the moist, cool sand.

  Luke picked one of many marked paths, hoping it would lead him to Bianca. Before long he saw signs that read “Tree Day” with arrows to guide him. Moments later, he spotted the rambunctious group on the outskirts of a thickly wooded area—Bianca, Miles and Fallon, along with a rowdy bunch of kids wearing bright yellow T-shirts that read “Rockwell Park Summer Camp Crew."

  Fallon stood off to the side, gnawing her thumbnail, precariously eyeing twelve children running circles around Miles.

  "Hello. Luke Hale,” he said, in case she didn't remember.

  "Well, this is a surprise.” She set wide, dark eyes on him. “Any relation to Luke Jones? You could be twins."

  He laughed, overlooked the gibe, and told her, “I need to talk to Bianca."

  "She's a little busy."

  "I can see that.” Luke shifted his attention to Bianca, where she worked with three young boys, trying to tug a liquid amber tree from its plastic bucket. Awareness, sharp and unexpected, sent a crackle of excitement zipping through him. She took his breath away.

  Sexy. Covered in dirt. And having the time of her life. Her hair was choppy and wild, her face flushed, her smile wide. She wore a thin-strapped top the color of orange sherbet, a pair of cut-off denim shorts, and hiking boots. She was slender muscle and feminine curves that made a man want nothing more than to run his hands over every square inch of that taut, creamy flesh.

  But that wasn't all. In one lightning-flash moment, he caught a glimpse of who she was. Who she really was.

  A woman with passion. She was vibrant. Beautiful. Alive.

  His heart hammered hard against his bruised ribs and heat crept up from his gut, reaching for his cheeks. “I can hang around,” he decided, over a parched throat. “Until she's done.” With a view like this, he'd be an idiot to go.

  "It might be a while.” Fallon surveyed him with wide eyes that twinkled, as if he were transparent.

  He looked away. “Your brother sure has his hands full."

  Luke watched Miles struggle to get control over the group of over-enthusiastic kids. The children were roughhousing, throwing dirt and being generally disobedient, taking full advantage of the fact that Miles was too frazzled to control them. The whistle around his neck, when blown, only incited laughter and wilder behavior.

  "He does this every year,” Fallon stated flatly. “He's the director for the parks and rec department. This—” She waved a hand at the entire slapstick scene. “—is his least favorite day. Usually he's at a desk, tapping away at his computer.” She sighed. “My brother hates to get dirty."

  "Ah.” This posed a half dozen questions in Luke's mind. For instance, what man didn't enjoy getting dirty? Moreover, if he hated Tree Day, why did he plan it?

  When Miles rested a hand on Bianca's shoulder, Luke noticed the warm smiles they exchanged. He realized then why Miles suffered through Tree Day ... He was doing it for Bianca. Earning brownie points. Every guy knew the more points earned, the more fringe benefits received.

  He'd already suspected Miles and Bianca were an item. Miles clearly couldn't keep his hands off her, not that Luke blamed him. Luke was, however, surprised that Bianca might go for someone so pristine. The guy never had a hair out of place. His wardrobe was apparently limited to designer clothing. He obviously enjoyed manicures. And, according to Fallon, he hated dirt.

  Frankly, Luke saw her with someone a bit more rugged.

  He watched with a clenched jaw while Miles said something that made her laugh. She shook her head, reached out to stroke his arm, then went back to planting the liquid amber trees.

  "They've been together a while, huh?” Luke frowned, having intended to quietly mull over the question. Instead it had slipped right off his tongue.

  "Excuse me?” Fallon seemed dumbfounded by his inquiry.

  "Forget it. It's none of my business.” He stuffed a hand through his hair. “I was just curious. You know ... with the curse and everything."

  "Oh, Miles isn't afraid of the curse."

  "He's not?” Well, that was a twist.

  "Why should he be?” Her expression was peculiar. He couldn't decipher it.

  "I heard most men were afraid of Honeywell women. You know, because of the ... curse."

  Her eyes widened and her laughter was ear-splitting. When she caught her breath, she gasped, “Maybe most men who aren't—"

  "You have to come now,” a young blond-haired boy interrupted, grabbing Fallon's hand and tugging hard. “Bianca says to stop sulking on the sidelines and do something."

  Disgruntled, Fallon let the child lead her away while Luke watched with unmasked amusement. When Bianca glanced up, their gazes connected. His heart dipped low as her face paled then reddened. Her mouth pulled into a tight line of disapproval.

  She and Fallon exchanged words and shrugs. Then Bianca thrust the shovel at her friend. As she marched toward Luke, her fists were clenched and swinging at her sides, her body language matching the indignant gleam in her eyes.

  "What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  "Hello to you, too.” He flashed his most handsome smile.

  She glowered at him. “You know, when I agreed to answer a few questions, I didn't think you'd be stalking me."

  Curling thumbs into his belt loops, Luke shook his head. “I'm not stalking you, Bianca."

  She eyed him suspiciously, hands propped on her hips. “Then how do you explain the fact that I keep running into you everywhere I go?"

  "Luck?” He grinned.

  "I usually don't have this much bad luck,” she snapped crossly. “You really should call me to set up an appointment. I don't like being followed."

  "Again, I'm really not following you.” Actually this time he had come looking for her. However, under the scrutiny of her stare, he wasn't about to admit it.

  She looked away, drew a breath, and seemed to calm down a little. When she settled her gaze back on him, her eyes were less angry. “You shouldn't be here right now."

  Managing a cheery tone, he claimed, “But it's Tree Day."

  She lifted her chin. “For nine year old summer camp kids."

  "I need to talk to you.” He set his jaw. “It's important."

  "I'm busy right now.” With an emphatic wave of her hand, she gestured toward the unplanted trees. “It'll have to wait."

  "Okay...” he considered with a pensive nod. “I've got nothing else to do and it looks like you have...” He wagged a finger at the trees still in buckets. “...one, two, three more trees to plant.” With a boyish grin, he boasted, “I'm great with a shovel."

  "I'll have to agree, but we're shoveling dirt here, not bullsh—"

  "Ouch,” he interjected with a spontaneous laugh, stopping her before she could spit out the rest. “Another zinger. I'm not sure my ego can stand it.” He patted a hand over his heart and winked at her.

  She gave him a critical squint, while Luke laughed, rolled his eyes, and ran fingers through his hair, managing nonchalance it had taken years of bachelorhood to finesse.

  "Your ego could suffer a nuclear attack and still survive, I'm sure. Like a cockroach.” Her smile was a thin line of disapproval, but amusement flickered in her eyes.

  Was she calling him a cockroach?

  "Listen, going at it like this with you is ... exciting...” He paused a split-second because he thought she may have blushed. When she looked away, he finished, “But there are little kids running around here. I'm not sure we're setting a very good example.” He chewed on his bottom lip to keep from breaking into a silly grin.

  She
tossed a frustrated glance at Miles, who watched them with a swarthy glare of disapproval. Luke could take him. With one hand tied behind his back, a blindfold and—

  "All right. You can help,” she conceded with moderate reluctance.

  Bianca must have realized she was in over her head. Miles was a less-than-adequate zookeeper. While Fallon, queen of darkness, clearly out of her element what with having to be out in broad daylight and all, needed to return to her coffin, at least until sundown.

  Luke tilted his chin, studying her from beneath furrowed brows. “And we can talk afterwards?” he pressed, just to be sure where they stood.

  It was no surprise to him that she would vie to keep the ball in her court. With a sideways glance, she turned and walked away, tossing over her shoulder, “That depends on how good you are at shoveling dirt, Luke."

  "Oh, Miss Honeywell,” he murmured to himself as he watched her sashay away,” I'm good at many things. And one of these days, I'll prove it to you..."

  Chapter Eight

  Two hours later, the new saplings were planted. Afterwards, Miles led the children in an agonizing, severely off-pitch tree song that tormented the birds from their roosts.

  Trying to be polite, Luke listened, a tense smile plastered on his face. He did, however, find sincere amusement in watching the tyke in the front row aggressively pick his nose through most of the song.

  When Tree Day came to a close, Miles gave Bianca an affectionate peck on the cheek and hugged his sister. He afforded Luke no more than a half-wave before leading the summer camp group back to the lodge. Fallon skulked away, muttering under her breath that she'd rather have teeth pulled—without anesthesia—than endure another Tree Day.

  Luke helped Bianca load shovels and supplies into her old Chevy pick-up truck. When everything was in, she wiped her hands on the back of her denim shorts and, with an easy smile, suggested, “Let's walk."

  "Great!” Realizing he sounded too eager, Luke smoothed it over with a nonchalant shrug.

  Bianca picked a path, seemingly at random, while he focused on kicking a rock, watching it tumble along the dirt trail until he kicked it again. The dusty walkway wove through dense trees and foliage, cool and fragrant with scents of the forest.

  It reminded Luke of his childhood and summer days spent in the woods behind the house he'd lived in with his parents, of building forts from old sheets of plywood, torn blankets his mother had tossed aside for rags, and anything else he and his friends could scrape up. They would spend endless afternoons as pirates, sailing the seven seas, pilfering treasures. Or brave knights slaying dragons. Even lost boys on a deserted island.

  "This is nice,” he said, smiling, his words a hazy reflection of his thoughts.

  He heard her breathe in deeply, watched her tranquil expression and noticed the fond, faraway gleam in her eyes. “I love this place. I've come here since I was a child.” Her cheeks glowed from an afternoon spent in the warm sunshine and her jade eyes sparkled. “My mother used to bring me to swim in the pond. We'd spend long afternoons here."

  "It reminds me of where I grew up.” When she glanced at him, Luke met her curiosity with a grin. “Massachusetts."

  "One of my favorite places.” She clasped her hands behind her and tilted her head back, gazing up to where tall, leafy treetops framed the blue sky. “I have this crazy fantasy. One day, when I'm old and wrinkly, I'd love to live in a Cape Cod lighthouse."

  Feeling uncharacteristically mellow, Luke went with it, unable to remember the last time he'd been so at ease with life. Or himself, for that matter. “A lighthouse? I can see you doing that."

  She beamed at him, the twinkle in her eyes giving his heart a swift nudge. “Helping today with the kids was nice of you, Luke.” She looked away and the color in her cheeks deepened. “I wouldn't have expected you to be so ... child-friendly."

  Luke's laughter was spontaneous. “Don't underestimate me.” His words were husky and came from somewhere below the surface. “Though I rarely allow them to be exposed, I do have a few redeeming qualities."

  She met his gaze squarely. Her tone, heaven help him, was soft and sultry. “I don't doubt it."

  "What you did here today was great."

  "Tree Day?” She chuckled, her sideways glance skeptical. “You thought it was odd."

  "At first,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But I guess if people didn't plant trees, parks wouldn't be so ... nice.” When she laughed again, his cheeks blistered. With a low, throaty snicker, he muttered, “It sounded poetic in my head."

  "I'm glad to have an idea of what's rolling around in that head of yours.” She didn't look at him. Instead, she studied a flock of birds, fluttering from one oak tree to another, squawking loudly. “Rain's coming again. The birds can always tell."

  "Really?” He'd never known that. With a tender smile, he recalled, “My mother had a bad finger. She'd broken it once, somehow, I forget. Anyway, when rain was on its way, her finger would ache.” He shook his head, sighing. “Some days I'd be the only kid walking to school in a slicker and galoshes."

  Bianca's laughter sang its way into his heart. Even when the sound subsided, the warmth it brought to him remained.

  How incredible she looked, just then. Before he could stop himself, he reached out, gently brushing her cheek with his fingertips. Her skin was like silk and his fingers tingled when he touched her. His voice was thick with the ache of desire. Tense with his struggle to stop the agony. “Dirt. On your cheek."

  Blushing, she ran anxious hands over her clothing. “I'm probably covered with dirt.” She shrugged, her grin sexy and staggering. “Typical for me."

  Stuffing his hands into his pockets before he caved and touched her again, Luke teased, “Typical on Tree Day?"

  "Tree Day?” Her giggle was impulsive. “Typical on just about any day, actually.” The carefree humor in her tone reminded Luke of how it felt to be young, impetuous, and eager to drink life, to satisfy the unquenchable thirst of being alive. He laughed too, felt it rumble up from someplace deep inside, as if he'd kept it locked away all these years. For the first time in a very long while, Luke enjoyed the intoxication of a laughter that was genuine—not cynical, wry or merely polite.

  Meandering along, wordless silence enveloped them. Every crackle of a twig beneath their feet seemed earth-shattering. Their steady pace, foot to rocky path, cut into the quiet hush of nature doing what it did best—which, outwardly, wasn't much at all. But it was done, however, with extraordinary perfection.

  Bianca cleared her throat, then spoke, her words humming gently into his thoughts. “What's on your mind, Luke?"

  He'd nearly forgotten. It had been nice to simply enjoy the moment. To take some time off from obsessing about his article. To be Luke. With Bianca. No curses. No talk of witchcraft and death. Pretending, for a while, that things were normal.

  But she really didn't need to know exactly what was on his mind just then. Not just then. The time would come, and soon, he hoped. But there were still things he needed to know. So he just started at random and said, “Isn't Miles afraid of the curse?"

  She surveyed him out of the corner of her eye. “Why should he be?"

  "Does he believe it exists?"

  She smiled. “Of course he does."

  "Well, considering he believes the curse is real, why isn't he afraid? Abigail said that even men who aren't Halestroms run from that curse."

  Bianca's sigh was resigned. “Abigail's right.” Her brows knit together. “But what does this have to do with Miles?"

  "Well, if I believed in the curse, I'd be afraid."

  "But you don't believe in the curse,” she countered. “And, if you did believe, you're a Hale. You should be afraid."

  He shook his head vehemently. “But I don't believe and that's not the point I was trying to make.” His exasperation was mounting.

  She stopped, pivoted one half-turn, and faced him. “For a writer, you seem to have a hard time making your point clear."


  He stroked a hand through his hair, then cocked his head to one side. Wasn't his point obvious? “Well ... you and Miles..."

  "Me and Miles ... what?” Her forehead creased above eyes that grew dark and fixated on him.

  He cleared his throat, loudly and with frustration. She wasn't going to make this easy, was she? “You know ... he's with you and ... the curse..."

  She tilted her head. “You think Miles and I are ... a couple?” An interested smile tugged at her alluring mouth.

  His brows furrowed. “Aren't you?"

  "Why would you think that?"

  "Well ... he's always...” Touching you. Not the best observation to cite, probably.

  "He's always what?” she prompted, visibly amused.

  Was she enjoying this? Fingers of discomfort tightened around his throat. His heart punched in quick, agitated jerks. He never flustered this easily. Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, trying for a casual offhandedness and failing, he finally came clean. “You and Miles just look like a couple.” He set his jaw and kept confident eyes on her, hoping his appearance would mask the obvious lack of assurance in his tone.

  "We look like a couple...” she repeated with a slow grin, her eyes unwavering. “He's gay, Luke."

  "Gay?” The word sprang from his lips. “Like ... happy?"

  One side of her mouth lifted. “Gay like...you're probably more his type than I am.” She quirked a brow. “Understand?"

  "Yes. Definitely.” His throat was dry and his pulse thrummed at his temples.

  She studied him pointedly. “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?"

  He wagged his head, his mouth clamped shut. He didn't trust himself to speak yet. It seemed he lost whatever meager amount of eloquence he had when he was with Bianca.

  "Then what, Luke?"

  He sighed. “It's about your mother."

  Her lips pressed together in a thin angry line and her gaze tightened until he was certain she could stare holes right through him. Continuing down the path, several strides ahead, she waved him away. “I'm not going to talk to you about my mother."