by Cait London
Harmony pushed the bits of green pepper with her wooden spoon and wished Jonah Fargo— arrogant, moody, lone-wolf cowboy— hadn’t kissed her. She wished she hadn’t reached for him like a thirsty woman stranded on a hot, desert island reaches for a glass of iced lemonade.
She flipped the image to a cold woman reaching for a warm coat and hot, mulled cider.
Harmony braced her hands on the worn, wooden counter of the old cabin and tried to concentrate on her new cupid weather vane design. In copper it would be beautiful, gleaming in the sun and aging beautifully into rich tones.
The huge room that was now her workshop was once a cowboy bunk room. The lighting was perfect and the room’s aura was friendly and creative. Pax had installed a wood pellet stove in her workroom and in the main room, her kitchen, dining and living room. A portable generator would serve in the winter if the electric lines snapped under ice and snow.
Her bedroom— an old saddle and bridle room— was just as appealing with her huge walnut carved four-poster bed and chest of drawers and heavy patchwork quilts. She studied the small patchwork quilt covering her dinner table.
If only Jonah hadn’t said his goodbyes on Christmas Eve with a grim determination that holiday loneliness suited him.
If only he hadn’t kissed her under the mistletoe ball and complicated everything, she could—
No, she did not feel sorry for him.
Well… yes, she did. Trust good old Harmony to want to rescue a down-and-out, rangy, June-hungry, lip-sucking cowboy. Even as Jonah said his goodbyes that evening, Harmony could feel the shadows surging to enclose him. Her resolutions to leave Mr. Ho Ho alone had slanted immediately. No music in a lonely motel room would take away his desperation or the sounds that plagued him. She’d caught herself taking a step to place her hands on his face, to warm him a bit for Christmas Eve.
But then, he probably dropped into visit June for that little chore.
After her marriage, she’d learned that Mark had a “woman friend”. While his fear of Harmony kept his performance from peaking, his affair apparently satisfied him and made him feel like a superstud.
Harmony grabbed the dishcloth and scrubbed away a flour speck on her counter. She continued to scrub it thoroughly after the countertop was clean.
She concentrated on why she had summoned Jonah. She’d want to help anyone who was fighting his abilities and facing the mental echoes of his daughter crying for her doll.
When Jonah arrived, Harmony would be clinical, friendly, yet firm.
Why had she summoned him? Why had she stood in the wind, focused on her cupid wind chimes and called him to her?
Harmony studied the bells on her wrist. Somehow, Jonah could disengage her alarm systems. He also had enough ability to make her mind go blank while he was kissing her.
Harmony promised herself that the next man who kissed her would be harmonious, understanding, kind, sharing and all the rest, she thought impatiently. Jonah did not fit her pre-specifications or even the mold for a dinner date.
She sniffed the spaghetti sauce, added a dash of chili powder, a pinch of oregano, and corrected her thoughts. This was mental telepathy business. ESP business... not man-woman business. She was involved because... because she did owe him a major debt and she wouldn’t be free until she repaid him.
She tapped her fingers on the counter and inhaled the scent of freshly baked breadsticks. Jonah could prick her temper with one scowl. He had “bristling yard dog” written all over his harsh features.
Harmony shifted her weight restlessly and placed her fingers on the tiny bells. She was very careful now, expressing herself in different ways without the use of words such as aura, reading and seeing. She’d conditioned herself to use caution, using her abilities very carefully and as a last resort.
If ever a human needed a last resort— a showdown effort— it was Jonah Fargo. Harmony hoped that she could pry his mental bricks aside and open the wall for Jonah to appreciate his abilities.
That was why she had stood in the freezing wind and tossed her thoughts to Jonah, like notes in an ocean-bound bottle… because she cared and knew the pain he was experiencing.
Without the presence of Janice, Pax and the children, Harmony intended to give Jonah a demonstration of his powers. One he couldn’t deny.
Harmony would feed him and fog him and then she’d step back into the smooth-flowing groove she had chosen for her lifestyle. She’d maintain a mentoring, benign attitude throughout Jonah’s learning process.
She patted her hair, which she had pulled high on top of her head to appear more businesslike, and listened to the bracelet’s jingling bells. Temper and wild emotions did not suit her, not at all. Once Jonah was properly fogged and beginning to understand, he could borrow her books on documented paranormal experience and exploring the realms within. She’d give him a few hard-earned tips about adjustment to an abnormal power, then she’d ease away.
~**~
Jonah stopped running in his snowshoes. He paused to study the old cabin and the smoke coming from the chimney. He adjusted his ski mask against the freezing wind and resented his need to see Harmony, to talk with her.
Four o’clock in the afternoon of an icy day was not the time to drop in on neighbors. He should be holed up with Shrimp, who refused to leave her warm blanket.
Lately, Shrimp had been thinking that she needed emotional distance from Jonah. If she needed to be let out, she would use the trapdoor he had installed in the back porch.
The icy wind cut through the small cloud of his breath and he shook his head. “As long as I’m this close, I might as well check on the mind reader for Pax.”
He probably wasn’t the only cowboy roaming in the vicinity of Harmony’s house. Lucky was foaming at the mouth, waiting for Harmony to come into town. Joe Moon had plans for “the new lady in town,” and men of all ages were hounding Pax, inquiring about his little sister.
Once they discovered she was single, it was like throwing bait to hungry coyotes, Jonah thought as he shuffled his snowshoes toward the cabin. If she sprang that mind-reading swami stuff on them, they’d be emotionally damaged for life. As her rescuer and Pax’s friend, Jonah was duly obliged to protect her against the pack of bachelors... and them against her weird ideas. The next thing the bachelors knew, they’d be sitting around a candlelit table, holding hands and listening for voices of the dearly departed.
Then there was Harmony’s backside. Summer was coming, and without her bulky winter coat, Harmony’s round backside would be swaying and causing traffic jams on the one main street. Harmony’s hot-furnace kisses would probably damage Randy Phillips’s heart beyond repair.
Remembering her sweet, soft, hungry lips certainly hadn’t helped Jonah relax. Between listening to the crying, Shrimp understanding his commands before he spoke than aloud, dishes bashing against the wall and the memory of Harmony’s soft full body in his arms, Jonah wasn’t sleeping at all.
Fear of being bashed by a herd of cupids kept him awake. He tensed, realizing right now, within hearing distance of Harmony’s wind chimes, that he feared those cupids more than her psychic hogwash.
Any way he looked at the Harmony Davis situation, she presented a picture of disaster. She set him off. Rather than tangle with Harmony’s off-center ideas, he’d rather face a—
Harmony opened the door before Jonah knocked; she’d probably seen him coming.
“Come in,” she said, drawing him into the house.
Jonah blinked. Harmony hadn’t spoken or moved. She was looking at him with those huge soft wheat-gold eyes and he ached to move into her arms. Her lips moved as she said aloud, “Supper is waiting. I’ve been expecting you, Jonah. I hope you like spaghetti.”
“I like spaghetti,” he said, glancing at the table set for two, and inhaling the scent of fresh bread. “I like breadsticks and freshly made pasta, too.”
He studied her hair, piled on top of her head and the hoops in her ears. The bells on Harmony’s wrist jingled
as she lifted one hand to smooth back a curl while Jonah watched with interest and noted the trembling of her fingers. He remembered them fluttering across his shoulders when they kissed.
No kissing this time, Jonah, a tiny, firm, feminine voice warned him.
“Good. I’m glad you like spaghetti and breadsticks,” Harmony murmured. She took his coat, ski mask and hat and hung them on a brass clothes rack. She turned to face him, one hand gripping the bells on her other wrist. They tinkled slightly and her fingers tightened over them. “Just how did you know I baked breadsticks, Jonah? The frozen ones are quite good and much easier. The ‘freshly made pasta’ is from my machine.”
“The pasta machine is on the counter and I recognized the smell of spaghetti… garlic.”
Jonah shrugged as he recognized Harmony’s I’ve- got-you tone. She didn’t have him. Harmony wasn’t an easy-to-do-anything lady. If she decided to go for something, she’d pay attention to every detail. Right now, he had the notion that one of her major details and problems was himself.
Since her kisses, the vision of a mole on her left breast and a strawberry birthmark on her right buttock had been moving through his nights and days, she deserved to pay. Harmony Davis was a woman locked onto a mission, and while he was curious, Jonah wasn’t making anything easy for her. “Pasta goes with spaghetti sauce. So does red wine. Maybe a cabernet sauvignon.”
“Yes, red wine is great with spaghetti. Isn’t it interesting that I do have a bottle of cabernet sauvignon ready for an early dinner?” she asked lightly and moved toward the stove. She removed a basket of breadsticks and placed them on the table beside the pasta and the spaghetti sauce.
Jonah recognized her smooth, I-have-this-planned movements as she asked quietly, “Shall we eat?”
Marching to Harmony’s tune wasn’t on his agenda, Jonah decided as he glanced around the old cabin. “Where’s your crystal ball?” he asked, noting the potted herbs on the windowsill and the comfortable warmth of her home. “You’ve got a baby quilt on your dinner table.”
“I know. It’s a current cottage decor thing. My crystal ball is still packed. If you’d like to look around before we eat, please... be my guest,” Harmony offered in a too-polite tone with a tight smile as she cast a meaningful glance at the waiting dinner.
“Thank you,” Jonah returned, recognizing the tiny ping of satisfaction zipping through him; he’d gotten to her. He enjoyed ruffling Harmony’s control. He inhaled the various fragrances of her home— a drift of cinnamon and that distinctive, fresh wildflower scent with just a nip of exotic heat. Afghans, quilts, braided rugs, a stash of dried flowers here and hanging herbs there... The room was very neat, feminine, comfortable and lacking in a man’s touch. No man would sit his bottom on that bouquet of flowers serving as her couch.
“Where are your tarot cards?” Jonah asked while considering her bookshelves. Harmony was a very neat lady, the books arranged according to subject. Psychic phenomena books spread across three shelves. Another shelf was devoted to discovering herself as a woman, feminine empowerment, retaining personality essences and relationships. There were two shelves of metal working and one of how-to’s and home remedies.
She inhaled sharply and Jonah wandered into her workroom, flipping on the bald overhead lights. He noted a calendar of things to do each hour of the day, per day of the month; neat check marks were placed opposite each task. Sheets of copper and brass hung from pegs, a neat arrangement of catalogs and tools lay in a precise line on her worktable. Bottles of chemicals stood in a big-to-small, labeled row on a wall shelf. Gloves, welding goggles, torch and lighter, were all very neatly aligned next to a huge, unfinished, copper cupid weather vane.
Jonah touched the metal lightly, reminded of the night the cupids jumped him and he’d envisioned Harmony in her black nightie.
One of his New Year’s resolutions had been to stay away from her vicinity. Yet here he was, prowling through her nest as though he were trying it on for size.
A feminine voice hit his mind: I owe you my life, buckaroo. I’m going to repay you and then you can just vamoose.
Jonah tightened his hand on a reel of copper wire. Leave it, he shot back to the empty workshop.
What? And owe you? Not on your life.
Jonah turned very carefully to Harmony, who was standing in the door to the living room. Her loose sweater and flowing slacks belonged around feed sacks—
That feminine voice warned him: I don’t particularly care for your fashion sense or your comments on my attire. I invited you here to discuss your powers. I have decided to become your mentor.
Jonah reeled with rapid, angry, precise thoughts. He refused to rub his aching temples and gripped the workbench instead.
“Jonah?” Harmony’s soft voice slid through the echoes in his mind.
“Jonah, come to supper,” she said gently as though she invited Jonah to meals every day. She flipped off the light switch and waited for him, outlined in the light of the living room.
When Jonah didn’t move, trapped in a torrent of thoughts and some of them not his own, Harmony hurried toward him. She’d invited him? How?
In the shadows, Harmony’s eyes were huge in her pale face, anxious for him. Her fingers were light, hypnotically warm on his temples, and the bells tinkled close to his ears.
Jonah kissed her, gathering her close to him.
But Harmony’s worried expression continued to peer up at him, her fingers making small circles on his throbbing temples.
Jonah shook his head slightly and closed his eyes. He wasn’t holding her. He wasn’t kissing her.
“Jonah,” Harmony whispered softly aloud. “You aren’t really kissing me. You’re just thinking— mmmf,” she said, her words interrupted by Jonah’s mental kiss.
If this is in my mind, I may as well go to the end of the trail, he thought. He saw himself picking her up without breaking the kiss and carrying her into the bedroom.
He saw Harmony clinging to him, felt her lips moving warmly beneath his. He thought he heard her whisper a protest. Jonah... I’m heavy. Put me down.
But he didn’t, because Harmony was clinging too hard to him, her lips parted, waiting for his kiss. She had a good strong feel to her, as if she would last out the bad times. Jonah gathered her closer and said, “You’re sweeter than the sunrise coming over the mountains. Sweeter than the morning dew on the clover.”
“You are not holding me— carrying me,” she corrected unevenly. “We’re actually standing in my workshop. This is a vision we are sharing in our minds.”
“Am I kissing you?” he asked, closing his eyes and feeling brush his lips against has, tasting her mouth with the tip of his tongue.
“Noo...” she returned breathlessly, her head tilted back as the image of him bending to kiss the line of her throat entered his mind. “Not really. You aren’t touching me... really.”
“Are you holding me close and tight? Is that your heart racing against me, or is it some sweet little butterfly aching to be free?”
Her hand was on his heart, sliding beneath his shirt to rest over his skin. “I... uh...”
“I want you, Harmony,” he admitted shakily. “But I don’t know where I am... what is happening to me.”
“I know,” she said with a sigh, moving her face into the shelter of his throat and shoulder. She stroked his chest with one hand and smoothed the taut nape of his neck with the other.
Jonah arched against the light, timid touch. Harmony wasn’t used to touching men. She was frightened of getting close to him; she sensed he would want too much. She was right.
Do you want me? he asked with his mind, fearing that she didn’t. That she could destroy him with one word of reality. She was too precious to him now, too close, too sweet, too warm.
I can’t. I’m a person who has to plan the events in my life. I haven’t planned for this to happen and you don’t fit my pre-specifications.
Afraid? He bit her earlobe gently, then kissed it. I understand. Lov
ing is a fearful thing. Are we talking aloud now or just thinking?
Thinking. But… She trembled in his arms; she didn’t want to think about the “buts” and “ifs”, reality and nonreality. Take me to bed, Jonah. Love me.
Is this real? he asked as he envisioned lowering her to the bed.
Real enough.
Jonah lay beside her, watching her, and realized that he was caught in a daydream he didn’t want to leave. It’s been a long time, sweetheart.
You won’t hurt me, Jonah, Harmony responded as she unbuttoned his shirt.
I want you to know that there is a caring here... now.
I know, she returned with a touch of sadness.
~**~
He’d want everything. She was frightened, Harmony thought as Jonah carefully lifted away her sweater in their shared sensory perception.
Harmony stood in the workshop, her feet firmly planted on the wooden boards and knew that she wanted to be with Jonah in the bedroom. In their shared vision, she opened her mind to Jonah’s, reveling in his pleasure, feeding on his delight and her own.
She swallowed, watching desire darken his eyes as he looked at her. He bent to kiss her chin, her throat, and then lifted her hand to kiss the center of her palm. He slid his hand against hers, studying the light and dark blend of their skins, the different textures. “You are a fierce, strong woman, Harmony Davis. I fear that I shall be tested to my very limits.”
She began to tremble, cold where he was not touching her. Jonah’s eyes told her that she’d never been made love like he wanted to love her. Jonah wanted to fold her into him, to drink the sweetness from her lips and treasure her from head to toe. He wanted to hold her fine backside in his palms and he wanted her breasts etching sensual, rhythmic trails upon his skin while they made love. He wanted to drink from her lips a taste sweeter than wine and he wanted to—
Harmony gasped at Jonah’s thoughts as they moved down her body.