by Deanna Chase
“You can say that again.” Abby rubbed a hand over the back of her neck, praying she didn’t wake up the next morning with a severe case of whiplash. She hadn’t been going that fast had she? Fast enough. She hadn’t even pumped the brakes before running into the teenager’s car. “Hey, who do you know that drives a Mini Cooper? A white one?”
Wanda pursed her lips as she concentrated. “Here in town?”
“Yeah. The girl I hit said she was driving her aunt’s car without permission. I’d really like to find out who the car belongs to so I can apologize and make sure she has my insurance info.”
“Hmm. I can’t recall anyone off the top of my head, but if I think of someone I’ll let you know.” Wanda veered the cart to the left, steering it onto the special golf-cart-only path the town had put in specifically for the large population of golf cart riders. To the left was a large grassy grove, and to the right was the Keating Hollow magical wish-casting brook, sparkling in the late afternoon sun. It wasn’t unusual to see witches using the waters to enhance their spells. Today was no different. A dark-skinned woman stood in the middle of the brook, her arms held high, her face tilted to the sun as her lips moved in a chant.
Once again, that sense of peace washed over Abby, her heart and soul content to be home. She let out a sigh, even as the all too familiar unease and guilt started to creep in.
“Someone needs libations,” Wanda announced as she pulled over to the side of the path. She gave Abby a conspiratorial grin, jumped out of the driver’s seat, and headed for the back of the golf cart.
“What are you—?” Abby started.
“What’s your poison?” Wanda waved for Abby to join her as she lifted the back seat on the golf cart. “Chocolate Stout? Pumpkin Spice Ale? Or if you really want to get crazy, I have Caramel Fest Porter.”
Abby stared down into the cooler and recognized the Keating Hollow Brewery label. Then she laughed, shaking her head. “Since when does Dad make flavored beers?”
“Since Clay Garrison became his master brewer.”
Abby took a step back and blinked. “Clay is the master brewer?”
“Sure.” Wanda tilted her head to the side and studied Abby with a look of concern. “You didn’t know?”
“No. When did that happen?” If Clay was already bottling new brews, he had to have been promoted to brew master at least a month or more ago. Why hadn’t anyone told her? She’d admit, she’d been slightly out of touch with her family, but it wasn’t like she ever ignored their calls. And she’d spoken to or texted with Yvette at least a half dozen times over the last few months.
Wanda frowned. “Uh, I’m not sure exactly. But the last time I was in there Lin did say Clay’s been his right hand man since West left for culinary school last year.”
“West left for culinary school?” Abby gaped at her friend. The tall, linebacker-sized man wore a long beard and had spent his entire high school career working at his father’s restoration shop, grease covering him from head to toe. Imagining him whipping up delicate sauces and amuse-bouches amused her to no end. But again, why hadn’t anyone filled her in? Last she could recall, her dad had said West moved to Napa to be with his longtime girlfriend.
“You really need a refreshing on town gossip, don’t you?”
“It appears so,” Abby said, wondering what else she’d missed over the last ten years. “How did West get into cooking?”
Wanda snorted. “Vegas trip. Something about a hook-up with the assistant on the Magical Chef. You know, that cooking show that airs on the Spellbound channel. The next thing we knew, he was obsessed with cooking. He makes these crab phyllo tarts that are to die for.”
Abby’s stomach rumbled just as “House of the Rising Sun” started playing on her phone. A wave of anxiety hit her. She was not in the mood to talk to her on-again, off-again boyfriend right after running into Clay. They were currently in an off-again phase, but ever since she’d told him she was returning to Keating Hollow, he’d been acting as if everything between them was perfectly fine.
“You gonna answer that?” Wanda asked, eyeing Abby.
Abby nodded and glanced down at Logan’s handsome face flashing on the screen, his blue eyes downcast as he concentrated on one of his moody New Orleans paintings. It was her favorite picture of him, but instead of bringing her joy, all it did was make her frustrated. When they’d met two years ago, he’d been an artist who very much lived his life on his own terms—a total free spirit. But six months ago he’d tossed aside his paintbrushes and gone to work for his father’s real estate development company. Now all he talked about were permits, city council meetings, and profits.
“Abby? Where are you?” Logan’s voice sounded rushed, and there was a rustling noise over the connection.
“Keating Hollow. I just got into town about thirty minutes ago. I was going to call—”
“Good. That’s good. Glad you made it safely. How’s your dad?” A door slammed, followed by a familiar dog barking in the background.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him yet.” She frowned. “Where are you?”
“I just left your place. I had to pick up some painting supplies I left here after the store closed.”
“You’re painting again?” Abby asked, genuinely happy for him. He was so talented. It killed her that he’d all but given up after his art gallery had gone under eight months ago.
“Me?” He let out a humorless laugh. “No. There’s no time for that right now. The daughter of one of the partners is interested in learning, so I was roped into giving her a lesson. You wouldn’t believe this a-hole, Abs. He thinks painting is a fun hobby. And now I have to spend my one day off teaching some novice how to paint something other than a straight line.”
Her joy fled, and disappointment for him weighed on her heart. Still, there was a bright side. “At least you’ll get a paintbrush in your hand. It could be worse.”
He let out a humph. “You know I’m not any good at giving lessons, especially to beginners. It’s too bad you aren’t here. You’d be perfect, considering you’re still in the learning phase yourself. All those classes you took would finally come in handy.”
All of her concern for his artistic pursuits fled, and a ball of indignation formed in her gut as Abby bit back a snarky reply. ‘Still in the learning phase.’ What the hell did that mean? Abby had been painting since she’d left Keating Hollow ten years ago. And yeah, she’d taken a bunch of classes and still did when she had time. She liked to explore different techniques and approaches. As far as she was concerned, she’d always be learning. The comment itself didn’t necessarily irritate her. It was the meaning behind it. In Logan’s mind, he was an award-winning, accomplished painter, while Abby was little better than a hobbyist. Never mind that she made a living off her paintings and handmade soaps at the art market. But her work wasn’t hanging in a gallery, so clearly she wasn’t accomplished in his estimation.
“Abs?” he asked when she didn’t respond.
“I’m here.” She stared at the tranquil brook, wondering what effect the magical properties of the water would have on her healing lotions.
“Anyway, I called to ask if you think you’ll be back in New Orleans by the twenty-first.”
“Of this month?” Abby asked. “That’s like two-and-a-half weeks.”
“Right. But there’s this dinner meeting with some investors, and one of them requested your presence. I think it might mean the difference between him funding this project or not.”
Of course that’s why he’d called. Everything was all about him these days. Abby gritted her teeth and swallowed a huff of irritation. “I’m sorry, Logan, but I doubt it. I already told you that depending on how things are, I might be here through the holidays.”
“Right. Right. But if I got you a plane ticket, do you think you could come home for a few days?”
She tightened her fingers around the phone. “Can we talk about this later? I haven’t even seen my family yet.”
&nb
sp; “Of course. It’s just that…”
“Just that what?” She was all out of patience. Did he really expect her to drive more than halfway across the country and then turn around and fly back just to schmooze an investor for a development deal for his father? She had much bigger issues to deal with at the moment.
“The meeting is important. I need you here. You said if I took this job for my father that you’d be supportive.”
That was before he’d decided they needed a ‘break.’ Abby pulled the phone away from her ear, stared at it in disbelief, and then shook her head in exasperation.
“Abby,” he said. “You still there?”
“I’m here,” she said, wondering when he’d turned into such a selfish a-hole. “I just can’t make any decisions until I see my dad.”
“Well, think about it, okay? The dinner meeting is at that restaurant you said you wanted to try—August in the business district. I bet the flight would be worth it just for the duck.”
Abby didn’t respond. What would she say? That she couldn’t give two flying pigs about the restaurant and that there was no way on the goddess’s green earth that she would be there? She didn’t have the energy to deal with Logan’s guilt trip and certainly not in front of Wanda. Ever since Logan’s art gallery closed, he’d changed in small ways. Instead of the easygoing artist who had charmed her with his art, he now spent most of his time on the phone, in front of a computer, or at business meetings that all too often ended up at the strip clubs. It wasn’t what she’d signed up for. Still, out of some sense of loyalty and friendship, she’d supported his decision and had been his plus-one more often than not. But right now, she needed to focus on her family.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” he said.
“Sure. Tomorrow.” Her voice sounded flat to her own ears and she cringed, not wanting to create a rift between them when she was two thousand miles away.
“Hey, Abs?” Logan said, his voice suddenly soft and full of concern.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t worry until there’s something to worry about, okay? No use borrowing trouble.”
It was what her dad used to always say when she was a kid. “You’re right. Thanks for that.”
“I’m glad you’re home. It’s where you need to be,” he added.
“Really?” That wasn’t the impression he’d given when he’d been asking her to come right back to New Orleans.
“Of course. As much as I’d like you to be here, I know you have to do this for you and your family. I didn’t mean for it to sound like I didn’t get that. I do. And if it works out you can come back for a few days, great. If not, I get it and I’ll survive… somehow.” There was humor in his tone now, and she found her lips curving into a ghost of a smile.
“I’ll see how it goes. In the meantime, I’m sure Lily can rescue you from being dateless to any scary business dinners.”
Logan snorted. “I think I’d rather take crazy Aunt Polly. At least she wouldn’t tell them to stop their dick-waving.”
Abby laughed. The one time they’d run into her roommate while at one of the insufferable meetings, Logan had asked her to join them. Within five minutes, two of the investors had hit on her, then in a stroke of idiocy, started discussing who had the bigger real estate portfolio, as if that would impress her. She’d stood up, announced she wasn’t interested in the size of any of their assets, accused them of shameless dick-waving, and left before her dinner had even arrived. “I hope they like the smell of patchouli oil.”
Chuckling, he said, “How is it possible Aunt Polly and my father are from the same parents?”
“It’s one of those cosmic questions that will forever remain unanswered.”
“You’ve got that right.”
Silence fell between them for a moment until Abby cleared her throat. “I better go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Abs?”
“Yeah?”
“That thing I said about us taking a break?”
“Forget it, Logan. We’ll talk about it later,” she said, seriously tired and in no mood to rehash their relationship status.
“It’s just that I wanted to say I was wrong. I think I was stressed, but now that you’re not here… damn. You’ve only been gone for three days, and I’m a mess.” He chuckled softly. “Stupid, right? Anyway, forget what I said about a break. I miss you… I—I love you, Abby. When you get home I think we should move in together.”
Abigail blinked, staring at nothing as shock reverberated through her. Had she heard him right? Had he just uttered the word love for the first time in their two-year relationship over the phone? And ask her to move in with him? She tried to respond, but the words got caught in her throat and all that came out was an annoying squeak. She cleared her throat. “I… um…”
“Abby, didn’t you just hear me? I said I love you.”
“I heard,” she said softly. “I just wasn’t expecting that. I think I’m overwhelmed. The long drive, and my dad, and everything. I’m not sure what to say.”
“You could just say you love me too,” he said, sounding irritated.
“Right. I—me, too, Logan. We’ll talk about moving in together later, okay? I have to go. My ride is waiting.” Me, too. Was that even true? Did she love him? At one point, she’d thought she did, but what did it mean that she couldn’t say the words?
There was a long, pregnant pause. Then he let out a sigh and said, “Okay, Abby. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Logan.”
The phone line disconnected without Logan saying another word. Abby closed her eyes, mentally exhausted. After taking a deep breath, she turned to find Wanda watching her.
“The boyfriend?” Wanda asked.
“Sort of... We’re kind of on a break. His name’s Logan.”
She arched one eyebrow. “I didn’t intend to eavesdrop but… it sounds like someone’s finding out what it means to be on his own and he’s not happy about it.”
Abby shrugged. “He’s got a lot going on, and apparently he’s having a bit of trouble adjusting to me being out of town.”
“Humph. Well, he’s a big boy, he’ll figure it out.”
“No doubt.” Abby reached down into the golf cart’s cooler and grabbed a chocolate stout.
Without a word, Wanda handed her a bottle opener then fished out a bottle of the Caramel Fest Porter. She held it up in a salute. “Thank the powers that be for the special golf cart path, where beer flows just as freely as the river.”
Abby snickered and climbed back into the cart. When Wanda joined her, Abby asked, “How fast does this thing go?”
With a wicked gleam, Wanda pressed her foot all the way down on the pedal and said, “There’s only one way to find out.”
Chapter 5
“Dad?” Abigail called, her spirits lifted after Wanda finished the drive to the house in a hilarious series of golf cart donuts out in the circular driveway. She strolled through the redwood log cabin and let out a sigh of contentment as she gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the view of three hundred rolling acres of the Alchemy River Valley. The Townsends had been the first family to settle in the valley that was surrounded by a glorious redwood forest over a century ago. And no matter how far she ran, there was no escaping the deep roots she always felt when she was home.
At that moment, she thought she’d be content to stay forever. But she knew that within a few days, her flight reflex would kick in and she’d be plotting how to get out of dodge. Maybe she should consider going back to New Orleans for a few days. It wasn’t like she’d be gone long.
She tucked the thought into the back of her mind and walked through the living room, noting that nothing had changed since her last visit. Not the worn leather sectional couch, the old rocking chair that creaked every time it moved, nor the impressive amount of beeswax candles covering practically every spare surface. Even the wrought iron pentacle her father had hung over the stone fire place on her eighth birthday�
�the day after her mother had left them—was still in place.
A sharp pain sliced through her as if a scab had just been ripped off, revealing an old festering wound. Dammit. Would she ever get over her mother’s selfish abandonment? Considering it’d been twenty years since she’d watched her mother’s old Volvo disappear down the street for the last time, she highly doubted she’d find peace any time soon.
Abigail crossed the threshold into the glass sunporch and instantly felt better. Outside, her father’s yard was as glorious as ever. Three different varieties of berry bushes filled one side of the clearing, while an apple orchard covered the other. Right in the middle was her father’s private vegetable garden. If she knew her father, he’d planted every kind of winter vegetable imaginable plus a few summer varieties only he could manage to grow in such a cool climate.
Her fingers itched to touch the dirt, to help weed the beds, to connect with the soft earth. The magic inside her swelled to overwhelming levels, and she made herself take a step back. This was her father’s domain. Not hers. She cast a glance to the east of the garden and spotted the pretty little studio her father had built for her and quickly averted her eyes. There were too many memories locked in those walls. Memories she wasn’t ready to face.
“Abby!” a cheerful voice called from behind her. “You’re here!”
Abby spun, her heart swelling as she smiled at her sister, Faith. The waif-thin blonde was the youngest of the four Townsend sisters. And even though she’d just turned twenty-five, she didn’t look a day over eighteen in her faded jeans, long-sleeved dragon T-shirt, and sheepskin Ugg boots.
Faith launched herself at her sister, her long, wavy blond hair flying out behind her. She hugged Abby with such force, Abby found it hard to breathe. “Whoa,” she said. “Don’t bruise a rib, okay?”
“Sorry,” Faith said with a chuckle. “It’s just been so long since you’ve been home.”
Abby pulled back and smoothed her T-shirt. “I just saw you a few months ago when you came to New Orleans.”