A Little Something Extra
Page 20
Connor squeezed her hand. “We will be, lass, we will be. And speaking of odd pairings, here’s another one for you.”
Stayle and Amaranth strolled up, arm in arm, chattering away as if they were the best of friends. They were, too, now that Stayle was teaching Amaranth magic.
P.J. just shook her head. Ever since her family had learned they were faerie, they’d realized what they’d been searching for all their lives and had entered wholeheartedly into the life of the Fae, including magic lessons. Her father had proven an apt pupil and was even now showing the Magnificent Ambrose a trick or two on the other side of the room. P.J. took after her father and was fast perfecting her own glamarye to help in her investigative reporting.
Her mother, living up to her pillywiggins name, had discovered a bent for growing flowers magically and had delighted in showing off her new powers by providing a profusion of fresh blooms for the wedding.
Amaranth had shown a remarkable aptitude for growing things, as well. But, not to anyone’s surprise, she preferred to concentrate on fruit. She’d contributed her skills to the wedding, too, and exotic fresh fruit interspersed with ordinary apples and oranges lay piled in enormous pyramids around the room.
P.J. and Connor turned to greet their sisters, and Stayle smiled at them. “‘Tis a lovely weddin’, P.J., and you’re a lovely bride.”
P.J. smiled back at her, liking her new sister-in-law now that she’d regained her talisman. “Thank you, and thank you also for my wonderful shoes.” P.J. lifted her long white dress and held out her foot, gazing in appreciation once more at the beautiful, elegant shoes Stayle had designed for her.
Stayle had outdone herself this time. Made of a supple white leather that never seemed to scratch or mar, the pumps had a tiny print that consisted of the initials of her name intertwined with Connor’s. Three dainty straps arched diagonally across her instep to meet high on the low-cut toe, providing tantalizing glimpses of the skin beneath. The heel cup flowed into the shoe in an elegant undulating line that made her look soft and feminine, yet competent and sure of herself. And as a crowning touch, the straps were anchored in place by a single delicate diamond-studded heart.
The shoes gave the overall impression of a sensible, classy career woman who had a touch of whimsy and love, if you only looked close enough. Charmed anew, P.J. said, “Is this really how you see me?”
“Nay, ‘tis how you are,” Stayle said, then hugged her.
P.J. smiled. “Thank you. I feel very lucky to have a pair of Stayle O’Flaherty shoes.” She glanced around. “And it appears most of the people here feel the same—there are very few without them.”
“Aye, due primarily to that wonderful article ye wrote about me store. I’ve had more business than I know what to do with. Thank you again, and the best of luck to ye.”
Stayle stepped back and let Amaranth come forward. Tears filled P.J.’s eyes as her sister gave her a fierce hug and whispered, “You’ll be happy, I know you will.”
These past couple of months, P.J. had come to know her sister better than she ever had before. Strangely, learning she had magic of her own had brought Amaranth down from the clouds, and they found they had a lot more in common than they’d thought. That was another blessing she had to thank Connor for.
P.J. glanced up at her husband and returned his smile. “I know we will, too.”
Amaranth looked up at Connor. “There’s just one thing that puzzles me.”
“What’s that?” Connor asked.
She nodded toward the dance floor, where Melissa and Neil danced past Bernard and the Irish innkeeper. “Of all people, why’d you pick Neil Chalmers as your best man?”
Connor chuckled deep in his throat. “Well, he did bring us together, after all.”
Amaranth just shook her head in bewilderment and walked away. The dance ended, and Jarvis claimed Melissa for the next dance. Now minus a dancing partner, Neil strode over to shake Connor’s hand. “Man, I can’t thank you enough.”
“It was nothing.”
“No,” Neil insisted. “It wasn’t. If it weren’t for those boggarts you sent after me, I’d probably still be stuck in my own private hell.”
Curious to hear the whole story, P.J. asked, “What do you mean?”
Neil lowered his voice. “Well, after Connor magicked me away to that jail cell, he could have done anything he liked with me. Instead, he chose to cure me, and am I glad he did! After a few nasty moments, the boggarts realized the kleptomania was a recent thing—a spell—so they called Connor.”
“A spell?” P.J. echoed.
“Aye,” Connor said. “It seems Neil here angered the elves when he wrote his screenplay depicting them as nasty, cold creatures, so they laid this spell on him to discredit him.”
“So how did you cure him?”
“Well, I sent Stayle to him, to give him a pair of shoes, though he didn’t much care for the idea at first.”
Neil turned red. “You got that right. I didn’t know what she was going to do and her magic terrified me. I was kicking and screaming so hard, she had to call some trolls to sit on me. I felt pretty silly when all she did was force some shoes on my feet.”
P.J. chuckled. “Well, I’m glad that everything came out all right in the end.”
Neil nodded vehemently. “I’ll say it did. They cured me. And, say, I’m sorry about treating you the way I did. I—I wasn’t myself. Can you forgive me?”
She smiled. “Yes, of course. You were under the influence of the elves’ spell—you didn’t have any choice.”
Neil nodded in relief. “Yes, and now Connor’s convinced some of them to advise me on the film, to make sure I’ve got it right. It’s gonna be great. Make sure you see it.”
They promised to do so, and Neil said his goodbyes and left.
P.J. glanced around the room. “Connor, our guests are having a wonderful time and they don’t really need us. Do you think we could slip away and…start our honeymoon a little early?” She couldn’t wait to have him all to herself in that little Irish valley he’d purchased for their people.
“Aye, lass, but first there’s someone else who wants to talk to us.” He nodded at Madame Cherelle, who was slowly making her way to their side.
“Bonjour,” Madame Cherelle said. “I can see you are leaving so I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to give you your wedding gift, ma petite.”
“That’s not necessary—” P.J. began.
“Ah, but it is,” Madame said. “Please, hold out your hand.”
Remembering the last time Madame had read her future, P.J. was a little reluctant, but Connor encouraged her with a wink and a nod.
With a sigh, P.J. gave Madame her hand and Madame placed her amethyst talisman against it, closing her eyes as she concentrated on seeing P.J.’s future.
After a few minutes Madame’s lips curved in a smile and she dropped P.J.’s hand.
“What did you see?” P.J. asked.
“Congratulations. You and your new husband will be very happy. Within the year, Connor will get his wish for new additions to the Fae.”
Joy welled up within P.J. “You mean…we’re going to have a baby?” she asked in awe.
Madame Cherelle shook her head. “No, ma petite. Not a baby. Three of them. You’re going to have triplets!”
eISBN 978-14592-7473-0
A LITTLE SOMETHING EXTRA
Copyright © 1996 by Pam McCutcheon.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the Imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the
same name or names. They are not even distantly Inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Copyright