"I'm sorry, dear.” She shook her head. Then recognition passed over her face. “Wait. I seem to recall ... There are Samsons living in Massachusetts."
"Samson isn't exactly an unusual last name,” Luke said, impatiently thumping his pen on the pad again.
"These folks are supposed to be descendents of William,” Abigail informed them with a decisive nod. Tossing her hands up, she concluded, “That's all I know about William Samson."
"Abby, do you know if they had children together?” Bianca asked, closing the opened books then stacking them neatly.
"Both had children from previous marriages.” With busy hands she smoothed the apron around her stout waist. “They couldn't have children together. Rebecca fell ill with a fever."
"We read about her illness.” On his pad Luke circled that notation. “You're saying she couldn't have more children? Because of a fever?"
Abigail shrugged off-handedly. “Sickness did strange things to folks back then. The rumor was that it made her barren. Sterile."
Luke turned to Bianca, raising an eager brow. “Are you up for a trip to Massachusetts tomorrow?"
"It's one of my favorite places.” She nodded, her grin wide. “I have a feeling that finding the Samsons is important."
"I guess we're taking a little road trip then,” he decided, pushing up from the table. To Abigail he flashed a charming smile that warmed Bianca's heart. “Thank you, Abigail, for being so generous with these books and your time."
Abigail blushed, waved a hand and managed a gruff, “Land sakes, I'm pleased to help."
Bianca kissed her on the cheek and afforded Lulu a scratch behind the ears. “How's she feeling?” she queried with a tentative smile.
"Just fine, dear.” Abigail's eyes misted immediately. Her smile was sincere with gratitude. “I can't thank you enough, Bianca. Really. Thank you."
Bianca's heart soared, instant tears of appreciation springing to her eyes. Sometimes she was especially proud of her gifts—especially proud and honored to be trusted in their proper use. Giving the woman's hand a firm squeeze, she replied, “Oh, Abby, my gifts are meant to be shared. I'm just the luckiest woman alive."
Then before the tears stinging behind her eyelids had a chance to fall, she joined Luke at the top of the steps. He took her hand warmly in his.
The luckiest woman alive...
* * * *
He checked into the Clover Falls Inn under a different name. No one would ever know Cabot Halestrom had arrived.
He took a room on the ground floor, showered and poured a tumbler of cheap whiskey. Then he flattened the map of the Clover Falls area on top of the double bed and sat there, naked, drinking rotgut and making a plan.
The Honeywell place was less than ten miles away. Perfect. Tomorrow he'd drive by and check out the place. Make sure she hadn't gone on vacation. He didn't want to waste a good burning if she wouldn't be inside the house.
Cabot smiled, draining the whiskey. He'd waited years for this. Now revenge was mere hours away.
He fell asleep with the bottle of cheap whiskey in one hand and his daddy's Bible in the other.
* * * *
"I haven't had this in ages,” Bianca sighed, dunking succulent crabmeat into melted butter. Popping the delectable treat into her mouth, she licked her fingers, grinning at him from across the table. “Absolutely perfect."
Luke's gaze was centered on her mouth. “Watching you eat that is...” He cleared his throat. Looking for their waiter, he blurted, “Can we get this to go?"
She laughed, heat springing to her cheeks. “You've hardly eaten anything."
"I'm having too much fun watching you.” He leaned over the table, laying a moist kiss on her mouth that was a spicy combination of tender and tantalizing. It made her toes curl.
Bianca pulled away, lowering her eyes, licking her lips then pressing them together. Self-consciously she glanced around, relieved to find they were almost alone in the dimly lit room of The Sea Shanty, a small seafood restaurant in town.
"My mother used to bring me here,” she said casually as he glanced around the way she had.
He fixed a steady gaze on her again. A curious smile curled his mouth. “Bianca, do you have issues with public displays of affection?"
She bit her lip and shook her head. A guilty heat flooded her cheeks. She grabbed her glass of iced tea, trying to mask her reaction by gulping the cold beverage.
His brows furrowed, his smile fading. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?"
Her heart beat in swift, tight jerks. She cleared her throat, replacing her glass on the paper doily. In a voice that trembled more from humiliation than anxiety, she confessed, “It's more complicated than that, Luke."
Reclining in his chair, he folded his hands on the table. “I'm all ears."
Bianca snatched up a napkin and dragged it over her lips, resisting the urge to swipe it across her perspiring brow. “It's silly, really."
He shrugged. “I could use a good laugh."
She blinked, looked away, and summoned the nerve to continue. “People talk, Luke."
"Yes, I know.” He nodded. “Because you're a witch."
"Not just about that.” She sat back, swallowed hard over the dull ache in her throat, wishing her cheeks didn't feel so hot. “Some like to keep track of the men in my life."
His eyes widened slightly. “Because...?"
"I think it's because they have nothing better to do.” She sighed in frustration. “But it's probably because of the curse. And what happened with Mark Halestrom. Men have come and gone. That doesn't go unnoticed around here."
His eyes darkened. “How many men?"
"Does it really matter?” Instantly remorseful for sounding snappish, she answered in a calmer tone, “Not many. A ... few.” Shrugging, her smile was one of chagrin. “A girl's heart can only get broken so many times. Then she starts drawing imaginary lines around herself."
"Lines can be crossed."
"Only if I allow it.” She lifted her eyes, watching his features soften with understanding. “My point is, people talk.” She paused, willing herself not to get weepy, or so emotional that she might frighten him away. Then, summoning strength from an unknown resource locked deep inside, she hoisted her chin and managed, “We've already decided that what's going on between us is just a meaningless fling. I'd just like to keep it from the local gossip chain if I can, that's all."
He reached beneath the table where her hands fidgeted nervously on her lap. Taking her cool, shaky hand in his own warm, steady grasp, he reassured her. “I understand."
Her throat tightened and ached. “Thank you,” she said over the hurt.
Letting go, he settled back in his chair, his face grim, his jaw set. He surveyed the restaurant, she thought, perhaps in an effort to avoid her gaze.
Frankly, she'd expected more of a relieved expression from him, since she had just let him off the hook. If he was at all worried that she might be too wrapped up in the fantasy, Bianca wanted Luke to realize that she didn't expect him to stay. Not when he had found the answers he was searching for and finished his article.
It wouldn't have been fair of her to hope for anything more from him. He'd made it clear from the start that he couldn't love her. That they were satisfying a mutual attraction. Of course she hadn't anticipated falling for him. She should have, but she hadn't. Losing her heart wasn't his fault. It was hers.
He cleared his throat, looked at her and smiled. Taking up his fork, he stuffed it into the mound of seasoned rice on his plate. “So tell me more about your mother. Does she like England?"
Relieved that they had moved past the uncomfortable silence, Bianca replied, “She tolerates it. I suppose she feels it's a better alternative to staying here.” Thoughtfully she poked a finger at the bobbing lemon wedge in her glass of iced tea. “I don't think anyone here suspects her of Mark Halestrom's murder, but Mother always had trouble with the fact that everyone remembered. That, coupled with the pain of losing him, made her wa
nt to run far away, where no one knew her."
Pounding a beefy crab leg with his wooden mallet, he commented off-handedly, “But you wanted to stay."
Her nod was slow, purposeful. “My home is here. I like Clover Falls.” She shrugged. “I learned a long time ago that no matter where I go, I'm still the same person. I can't hide who I am. Unless I live in a cave in the middle of nowhere—and that kind of anonymity isn't very appealing."
His smile told her he understood. “Do you think your mother has figured that out yet?"
"That running solves nothing?” Bianca tilted her head, giving his question some consideration, before admitting, “I'm not sure."
"What about your biological father?"
She met his gaze with a wooden stare. “What about him?"
"Do you know where he is?” Luke dipped crabmeat into melted butter, stuffed it into his mouth, then swiped a napkin across his lips.
Bianca wagged her head. “He disappeared.” In an icy tone that gave away her animosity for the man she'd never met, she said, “I doubt we'll see him again. He's on the FBI's Most Wanted list.” She sighed. “Not something I'm proud of."
"His mistakes aren't yours, Bianca.” He whacked another crab leg with his mallet.
"I know.” She swirled her fork through the melted butter with a gentle smile. “Thanks for the reminder, though."
"My pleasure.” He grinned, enjoying another bite of crabmeat then washing it down with iced tea.
She shifted in her chair. “Luke, what has it been like for you—living under the curse?"
His brows pulled together. For a moment Bianca thought she'd struck a nerve. But his response was willing and without rancor. “To be honest, I didn't know about the curse until I went to college. My parents didn't talk about it. I'm not even sure they knew."
"How could they not know?” She eyed him skeptically.
"I don't know.” He lifted his shoulders. “No one in my family ever spoke of it. I finally persuaded my grandmother to tell me the truth, which, I might add, she wasn't happy about.” With a fond faraway grin, he added, “But that was Grams. Very feisty. You would've liked her.” Bianca smiled. He lowered his eyes, lifted his fork, and admitted, “At the time, I wasn't about to believe a three hundred year old curse had killed my father."
"You've waited a long time to investigate things,” she commented, her curiosity too robust to ignore.
With a crooked grin he confessed, “I'm going to be thirty in a few days.” Connecting with her gaze, he made his point clearer. “Mark Halestrom was thirty when he died."
"Celia's curse wasn't age-specific, Luke."
He waved a hand. “I know. I'm just—...freaking out a little, I suppose."
"I really don't think the curse is what killed Mark,” she reminded him, scooping seasoned rice into her mouth.
He arched a brow. “Still ... he fell in love with a witch ... and he died."
Her rice went down in one thick lump. She cleared her throat and insisted, “You need a charm."
One brow shot up. “Excuse me?"
"A charm,” she repeated. “To protect you. I can give you one."
"I'd rather end this curse once and for all,” he stated.
"Well, you won't find a Halestrom or a Honeywell anywhere who doesn't. But we witches believe in covering all the bases.” She flashed him an impish grin. “When we get back to my house, I'll give you something you can wear, to protect you."
He remembered the electric shocks from before. “Like an asbestos suit?” he teased, his eyes twinkling.
With a wink, she replied, “If that's what it takes.” Waving a hand at their waiter, she called out, “Check please."
* * * *
"This stone is a black agate.” Bianca held the charm in her palm so that Luke could see it. “My great-great-great-grandmother Brenna found it at the foot of Celia's hanging tree.” Pinching the stone between her thumb and index finger, she explained. “Black agate is often used for charms. Its magical properties are almost limitless. See the hole?” She lifted the stone to the light, so that Luke could inspect the small hole in its center. “Stones that have natural holes in them are both lucky and powerful."
"What kind of magical properties does it have?” he asked, peering somewhat dubiously at the rock in her hand.
Her smile was patient. “Too many to list. Besides, the only one you need to be concerned with is its ability to protect.” Sifting through the contents of the wooden box on her table, Bianca found black string. “This stone protects its bearer."
"But I'm not its bearer."
She held his gaze, her tone resolute. “You are now. I'm giving it to you."
He shook his head. “Bianca, no. That rock—It belongs to you. To your family. I can't—"
Arching a brow, she insisted. “You can't turn it down."
Shoving hands into his back pockets, he hesitated then asked, “Why not?"
Making her voice intentionally ominous she replied, “The repercussions are ... detrimental."
He gave her a blank stare, his cheeks pale. “Really?"
Laughing, she stroked his arm. “I'm sorry. I was joking.” As he rolled his eyes and exhaled the breath he'd been holding, she added, “I just didn't think a ‘because I said so’ would be enough to convince you."
Bianca slipped one end of the black string through the hole in the center of the stone then dangled the charm at eye level. With an imploring gaze she told him, “You have to take this, Luke."
His brows pulled together. “Are you sure?"
"I'm very sure. But first...” Clasping the stone in both hands, Bianca shut her eyes, quietly chanting, “By purity of heart and energy of intention, this talisman I imbue with boundless protection. That its bearer wear this charm and know he will be safe from harm, until what curses him is ceased. As I say, so mote it be."
Slowly she opened her eyes. Luke, his jaw dropped, stared in disbelief at her hands where she still clasped the black agate.
"Are you okay? You look a little pale.” She angled her head, watching him, concerned.
He licked his dry lips. “I'm ... fine."
Then she realized what it was. “Oh. I'm sorry. I should've warned you about the—"
"Glow?” he supplied, jerking a shaky hand through his hair. “I guess I should be used to it by now.” His grin was a little unsteady.
Laughing, she asked, “What color was it this time?"
"White. Very bright. And white."
"Good. That means I didn't mess up.” She winked. “Here, let me tie this around your neck."
When he turned she knotted the string at the back of his neck. Then taking his shoulders she pivoted him around to face her again. Adjusting the stone, she placed it over his heart, resting her hand there as well. She smiled. “Perfect."
He laid his hand over hers. His eyes were warm, deep enough for her to drown in, and his gaze stirred the flutters in her belly.
"Luke...” She barely whispered his name before his mouth claimed hers, searching, needing and taking, until the room careened and her knees buckled.
Gently he caressed her face, his fingertip strokes so tender, so intimate, Bianca's eyes burned with hot, painful tears. The ache in her chest was a throbbing reminder of her heart's betrayal. Still, no pain was worse than the agony she felt when she considered turning him away. She realized then—it was far too late to save herself.
Luke skimmed his caress up her arms, removing them from where they were curled around his neck. Taking her hand he led her to the bedroom. Slowly he eased her onto the bed. Straddling Bianca with his legs, they lay hip to hip, torso to torso. A breath away, his eyes searched hers so powerfully, she wondered what he hoped to discover there.
"Bianca...” When he said her name, she sensed there was a tumult of emotions inside of him. His mouth was a tight line, his jaw hard, as he decided, she guessed, that some things were better left unsaid.
In the last twenty-four hours, she'd considered—too
many times for comfort—the prospect of taking a quick peek. To see what was going on inside of him. They were so close she could have seen his entire lifetime in just one kiss, one caress. But she didn't. And she wouldn't.
It wouldn't be fair to either of them. Not to mention it went against her promise, as a witch, to never abuse someone's free will. Looking without Luke's consent would be a gross abuse of his free will.
Most of all, she was afraid. She couldn't bear to search his heart and discover he really felt nothing for her but insatiable lust. Bianca wanted Luke to take her back to the sweet abyss. To make love, to bring her the mind-numbing fulfillment that, at least momentarily, swept aside any lingering misgivings. She didn't want to consider the reality of a one-sided love. Or the possibility that she would come out of this broken and never knowing love again. Even more, she didn't want to imagine what a lifetime of tomorrows would be like without him.
As the full moon slipped into a starlit sky, Bianca savored that night with Luke. Cherished it as if it might be her last, knowing, at some point, it would be.
Together they made magic in her bed while dancing candle flames teased the silvery moonlight filtering into her room. And when the steady, fervent hum of their lovemaking filled her head, Bianca imagined that Luke whispered, husky and low, in her ear, “Bianca ... I love you..."
For a single moment, the fantasy felt real. Gasping, she wrapped herself around him, soaring off the cliff, and into a sky spangled with stars.
Chapter Fifteen
Hell. He was stupid.
Luke had almost blurted the three little words he'd promised himself he wouldn't say. Bianca, I love you had filled his head and pulsed through him, steady as a heartbeat.
Those words had scrambled up this throat, but he'd swallowed them back. Painfully. Even regretfully. Because Bianca didn't want to hear them. She'd made that perfectly clear at dinner. This, as they had agreed, was a fling. Nothing more.
Still on the fence about whether or not to believe Celia's curse really existed, Luke knew he should've better controlled himself. Falling in love with a witch was a stupid, reckless thing to do, under almost any circumstances.
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