Daddy Warlock

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “They certainly take this seriously,” she observed as the two of them entered the office.

  “A bit too seriously, I’m afraid.” Not in the mood to sit, Chance leaned against his desk.

  “I hope they win a trophy or they’ll be devastated.” She folded herself onto the couch with a hint of coltishness that he found endearing. Tara’s light brown hair had acquired russet highlights, no doubt courtesy of her hairdresser girlfriend, but the frank olive eyes and expressive mouth were so familiar, they made him ache.

  “I hope they don’t forget to have fun.” He indicated his wet bar. “Would you like something?”

  “Got any cream-puff pastry or carrot cake?” she asked. “They were delicious, by the way. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” he said. “Would you settle for cream soda?” At her nod, he filled two glasses with ice and poured the soft drinks, glad to have something to do.

  “Raymond showed up at school this afternoon,” she said. “I won’t go into detail, but your father made a threatening movement toward me and Harry froze him. It was like that game children play, where they turn into statues, but this was real.”

  “Your son is amazing.” He handed her a glass. “I mean, our son.”

  Slipping off her shoes, Tara curled on the couch. The instinctive action revealed, to Chance, how much she had come to think of this place as home, and he felt himself warming. “I’ve been struggling with these concepts all afternoon. Magic can’t possibly exist, yet I saw it.”

  “It’s rare,” he conceded.

  “I don’t see how this is possible.” Tara clinked her ice cubes moodily. “If people have such powers, why aren’t they better known? Why haven’t they been studied and evaluated?”

  “Because very few people have them.” Chance sought the right words to explain. “In the past, those who displayed them openly were executed as witches.”

  “You’re saying people hide it out of fear?”

  “I’m saying very few people survived to pass on their inheritance.” He hoped she was ready to learn the rest of what he knew, but he had to broach it cautiously. “Most of the time, the abilities people possess are limited and unreliable.”

  “Why is your family different?” She clutched her glass as if hanging on to the only solid thing in the room.

  He wished he could gather her into his arms and reassure her. But Tara didn’t need comforting words. She needed the facts.

  “Some of my ancestors purposely married their own relatives to strengthen the powers,” he said. “My father and mother were cousins. Distant ones, but both had— have—some abilities.”

  She stared into space before speaking. “Is that why you wondered whether your mother regretted having you?”

  He let out a long breath. “Yes. She didn’t realize either how talented I would be, or how Raymond would seek to exploit me. Fortunately, I seem to have inherited her ethics.”

  “And Harry’s like you?” she asked.

  “Harry has much more potential than I ever did.”

  “How can that be?”

  This was the tricky part. “Even though you don’t have magic talents, there’s a psychic link between us that may have influenced him. I think it has to do with our past lives.”

  She groaned. “Now I’ve got to start believing in that, too? Chance, I don’t like this. I want us to put it aside and live like normal people.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back” Realizing from her start of alarm that she was thinking of that intimate night in the tower, Chance added, “I mean, you and Harry. Of course, you’d live in your own suite, just as before.”

  “Then you’re willing to teach him how not to use these abilities?”

  “If I can,” he said. “These aren’t parlor tricks, Tara. Our son’s urges are going to intensify as he gets older. With adolescence, they may explode.”

  “But you’ll teach him restraint?” she pressed. “And set the right example by not doing this stuff yourself?”

  Although he confined his magic to minor conveniences, Chance wasn’t looking forward to giving them up. “You mean the next time somebody lets the air out of your tires, I’ll have to call a tow truck?”

  She stared at him. “You did that yourself?”

  He shrugged. “But I won’t, if you don’t want me to.”

  “I don’t.”

  “All right,” he said. “When can you move in?”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll bring most of our things while Harry’s in school.”

  “Consider yourself rehired,” he said. “Although you don’t have to work if you’d prefer not to.”

  “Of course I’ll work!” Setting aside the glass, she stood up. “Don’t bother showing me out. I know the way.”

  As she opened the door to the courtyard, passionate Spanish music wafted in. A matador and his cape swirled past, stalking the moment of truth.

  Still uncharacteristically submissive, Vareena let her brother fling her about. In a way, Chance mused, he’d gotten his earlier wish for Tara to yield, as well.

  He only hoped the terms she’d set wouldn’t prove impossible to meet.

  HARRY BOUNCED on the car seat beside Tara as they wound through the canyon. Ever since she’d told him that Chance was his father, he’d been happier than if it were Christmas and his birthday rolled into one.

  “I won’t do any more tricks, I promise!” he said. “Unless someone’s trying to hurt you. Then it’s okay, isn’t it?”

  “Nobody’s going to hurt me,” she said. “I told you, Raymond Powers wouldn’t have done anything.”

  “I guess not,” mumbled her son, unconvinced. “Hey, there’s that funny mailbox.”

  “I noticed”. Today, Tara was surprised how easily she followed the route. The landmarks jumped out at her, making each turn unavoidable. She didn’t think she could have gotten lost if she’d tried.

  As they pulled into the driveway, she tried to recall the password Chance had given her earlier. He’d moved on, through some quirk of humor, to insects. Oh, yes, today it was dragonflies.

  Having brought their luggage earlier, Tara had only a few personal items to carry this time. It was fortunate she didn’t expect any help from her son, because the moment they stopped, he leapt out and began running around the grove, shouting hello to the trees.

  Watching him, she felt a tug at her heart. Harry belonged here. He loved Chance, and the feeling was clearly mutual.

  She wished she had a better idea how she felt about the man. Since seeing Chance again yesterday, Tara had been trying to avoid thinking about the feelings that he stirred, but she couldn’t any longer.

  Whenever she came near him, they were drawn toward each other instinctively. It was difficult to walk without brushing against him, and hard to look at his face without staring into his eyes.

  Being together was like finding another part of herself. Beneath the surface lay a longing to merge as they had that night when they made love.

  Since she’d learned the truth about Chance’s identity, the events of that Halloween had gradually seeped from the recesses of her brain into conscious memory. With growing clarity, Tara recalled the inevitability of their retreat into the tower and how she had experienced his sensations along with her own.

  There was no rational explanation for it, yet she had encountered the same phenomenon whenever she and Chance met, beginning with the job interview. It was his self-control that locked her out most of the time, for which she ought to be grateful.

  But she didn’t feel grateful. She felt frustrated. Never in her life had Tara wanted anything as much as she wanted to regain that closeness with Chance.

  If she expected him to honor their agreement, though, she had to resist her impulses. A deal was a deal.

  Finally Harry rejoined her and they mounted the porch. “Dragonflies,” she said.

  The door swung open. “I’ve been thinking about ships,” said the house. “I’m not too keen on being called the Queen
Mary, but how about Nautilus? Or Calypso?”

  “Don’t forget the Titanic,” Tara couldn’t resist answering. “Or the Lusitania.”

  “Ah,” said the house. “I’ve missed you.”

  She had missed it, too.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Towels?”

  “Check.”

  “Sunscreen?”

  “Right here.”

  “Beach ball, toy shovel, bucket?”

  “I got em, Mom.”

  Tara finished crossing items off her list. “I guess we’re ready to go, then.”

  Chance resembled a beast of burden as he led the way into the garage. There was no possibility of jamming the cooler, the beach chairs and the umbrella into the sports car, so everything got lashed atop the Lexus.

  “You’d think we were migrating to a foreign land instead of going to the beach for the day,” Tara muttered as she got into the passenger seat.

  Harry hopped in back, fidgeting as he fastened his seat belt. “I’m going to dig a hole to China! And make the ball fly way up high and hang there! Boy, is everybody going to stare!”

  Tara turned to face him. “You’re going to do what?”

  His little face grew solemn. “Nothing, Mom. But it would be neat, wouldn’t it?”

  Chance swung into the driver’s seat. “Everything’s lashed down. Let’s hope we don’t hit a strong wind.”

  His smile warmed Tara. This past week had gone so smoothly that it was hard to believe she’d ever been away. As for Harry, he’d skipped about the house in a state of near ecstasy.

  It had been with a sense of relief that Tara resumed her work on the computer. Although she was still getting used to Chance’s programs, she enjoyed the financial field and found it challenging.

  And nothing beat having a job, except maybe having a family. But she had that, too, in a way.

  She and Chance had agreed to act as much like a normal family as possible, for Harry’s sake. That was why, on this Saturday morning, they’d decided to take advantage of the spring weather and visit the beach.

  Tara had taken Harry on picnics before, but with just the two of them it hadn’t felt as festive as today. Leaning back, she thought of the sandwiches she’d packed, along with sodas and cupcakes. Fixing food for a man made the occasion more special.

  She was also looking forward to reading and working on her tan while Chance batted balls and assisted in the construction of a sand castle. Having a parenting partner was a definite plus.

  “What if we see somebody drowning?” Harry asked from behind her. “Can’t we use magic to rescue them?”

  “Only if the lifeguards can’t,” responded his father as they approached the freeway. “And they’re pretty darn good.”

  “What if some bad guys with guns start to shoot everybody and—”

  “Harry! That’s enough.” Tara knew better than to get sucked into playing the what-if game. Her son had been pelting her with such questions since he learned how to talk. What if he didn’t like his preschool teacher? What if he forgot his lunch? What if the rain fell up and chocolate candy was good for you?

  It was, she supposed, an attempt to feel in control of his world by rearranging the rules. Well, the world had a way of asserting itself, and sometimes mothers had to do the same thing.

  “Do you know how to swim?” Chance asked.

  “I took lessons but I’m not very good,” Harry admitted.

  “If the surfs calm, I’ll teach you. I used to swim competitively in college.”

  Tara could picture him as a swimmer. He had the right kind of body—lean and hard, the muscles firm but not bulky. Maybe that came from cross-training; she’d noticed that Chance went for jogs in the morning, as well as working out on exercise equipment in the spare bedroom of his suite.

  A sideways glance showed her the casual power of his frame, highlighted by a red T-shirt and red, white and blue swim trunks. The man exuded confidence as he steered up an on-ramp, head tilted, gray eyes hooded in the sunlight.

  She wished she remembered more of how he had felt in her arms that Halloween night. Instead, she had a jumbled impression of intense longing and fiery fulfillment. What Tara missed were the specifics: the roughness of his skin, his herbal scent, the pressure of his mouth against hers.

  Thinking about it brought back the sensations in a rush. Most of all, she remembered being inside his mind and seeing herself through his eyes.

  With a jolt, she found herself staring from another perspective, higher and to the left, at the freeway unrolling before them. She felt a masculine tightness at the core, and a twist of yearning that strained her self-control.

  Not my self-control. His.

  With a flicker of scarlet, the light glinting off a passing windshield turned to fire. For one stunned moment Tara saw herself surrounded by a circle of flames, and then cold blasted against her skin, bringing her back.

  Chance adjusted the air-conditioning vent. “You looked hot”

  Blinking off her daze, Tara said, “I had the oddest image, as if I were trapped in a fire. I must have been dozing.”

  “Or experiencing a far memory.” Chance glanced back to make sure Harry wasn’t listening. “From a past life.”

  Tara wanted to reject the explanation, but how could she? The sensation had come as she was merging into Chance’s consciousness, the way she’d done that night in the tower.

  A far memory. Past lives. Gobbledegook. She pictured Denise making circles around her temples and uttering spacy “woo-woo” noises.

  The best course was not to worry about explanations. Surely as long as she and Chance kept their distance from each other, whatever dangerous passions lay slumbering would remain there.

  There was no better cure for dark thoughts than a trip to the beach, Tara reflected as they exited the freeway. Rolling down her window, she inhaled the zest of salt air and heard the mewing of gulls.

  Funky cottage-style buildings pressed close, their signs advertising bikinis, in-line skates and surfing gear. In the back seat, Harry stopped playing a hand-held video game and began bouncing.

  “I haven’t been to the beach in years,” Chance admitted as he watched for a parking lot. “What shall we do first, Harry?”

  “Dig!” said the little boy. “No, swim! But let’s toss the ball before that.”

  Regret skewed Chance’s smile. “I wish I could have watched him at every stage. I’ll bet he’s been a delight.”

  “You could have helped change diapers, too,” teased Tara.

  “Diapers? My son?” he murmured. “I’m sure he was born potty-trained.”

  “That sign says Beach Parking!” Harry announced. “See? I can read it!”

  Beaming like the proud father he was, Chance angled into the lot, paid the attendant and wedged the car between a motor home and a van. “Let’s hit the sand!”

  What they hit instead was reality. It took at least ten minutes to unstrap the gear and drag it to an open space on the beach. Several times, Tara noticed Chance eyeing the equipment as if wishing he could waft it into place.

  Once a strap nearly smacked him in the face, but stopped in midair. “Oops,” he said, and let the thing whap his cheek. The sight of the red mark gave Tara a twinge of guilt, but she forced herself to remember that there were larger issues at stake.

  With some help from her, Chance got the umbrella unfurled, the chairs set up and the cooler positioned. But spreading a blanket on the sand nearly proved his undoing.

  His antagonist was a gusty breeze. Every time he flung out the blanket, a mischievous zephyr would catch the corner and pile it into a heap. When Tara grasped the far end, the center of the blanket wrapped around itself as if trying to form a figure eight.

  “Is it always this hard?” Chance wiped a film of sweat from his forehead. “I’ve taken it for granted that the thing would lie down when I told it to.”

  “I seem to recall battling quite a few blankets in my time,” she admitted.

&nbs
p; “I guess I’m spoiled.” Laying the cover on the ground, he began tugging it into shape.

  “Dad!” Harry loved using the nickname although he still seemed shy about it. “Let’s play ball!”

  Giving up on the spread, Chance shrugged off his shirt and ran to join his son. The green-and-white ball flew between them.

  After an application of sunscreen, Tara stretched out on the lumpy blanket, propping her head on a cushion. She could feel her skin cells browning one degree at a time, and the tension easing from her body.

  Occasionally, using her hand as shade, she would check on her son. It was an old habit, and now, even though she trusted Chance to supervise him, she couldn’t help monitoring his activities.

  After a while, Harry became impatient and whacked the ball wildly. It flew over Chance’s head and, to Tara’s dismay, flew toward a baby crawling on the sand.

  With a lunge, Chance flung himself forward and smacked the ball away in the nick of time. Wrenching himself to avoid falling atop the child, he landed heavily on one hip.

  The baby clapped in delight. Buried in a magazine, its mother remained oblivious.

  While Harry raced after the ball, Chance rubbed his side. It would have been a lot easier to use magic, and Tara felt responsible for his soreness.

  “Need a rub?” she called.

  With a pained smile, he shook his head. “Not in public, anyway!”

  Did she detect some wishful thinking? “Don’t push your luck!” she teased back.

  He wouldn’t, of course. He knew as well as she did that they had to keep their distance. Not that Tara quite believed Aunt Cynda’s story about them stirring up old dangers, but she had seen those flames on the freeway.

  Hauling out plastic shovels and buckets, father and son settled onto the sand near her. Under Chance’s direction, they began constructing a castle.

  Harry ran happily back and forth fetching water to shape the sand, while his father laid the foundations of an impressive structure. Other children wandered over to watch and soon joined in the work.