by Cindy Stark
She placed her mouth near his ear, close enough that his hair tickled her lips. “I’m so sorry, Peter. I know this hurts you, and if you’d prefer, I’ll not talk about it again.”
He remained silent for several long moments, and Hazel wondered if she’d made matters worse.
She released her hold on him and peeked around front to see his expression. Sorrow shimmered in his eyes and bore a deep hole into her heart.
He pulled her onto his lap, and his mouth sought hers, giving her a desperate kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and when he ended the kiss, she tugged his head against her breast and held him.
They remained that way until a sharp rap at the door startled them. The door flew open, and Polly stopped mid-stride, obviously thinking it was her right to enter without permission.
She widened her eyes and then lowered them into a look of disgust.
Without saying a word, she retreated and slammed the door behind her.
Peter released a heavy sigh. “She does good work, but man, is she hard to be around.”
Hazel managed a light-hearted chuckle. “Gotta crack this case, I tell ya.”
He gave her another long kiss, and then nudged her off his lap so he could stand. “I guess I’d better see what she needs.”
She sighed, missing his body heat and the strong connection between them already. “I suppose.”
Before she left though, she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Call me later?”
One side of his mouth curved into a small smile, giving her hope. “You know I will.”
Polly glared at Hazel as she left his office, and Hazel imagined pulling her wand from beneath a cloak that had magically appeared and casting a fiery spray of angry bees at her.
Nine
Hazel finished tidying the cozy tea station in her shop and glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost one in the afternoon already, and she swore most of her customers had come during the first twenty minutes of Gretta’s lunch hour.
She had a feeling the dreaded heat helped her iced tea sales. Still, she wouldn’t complain. A busy day meant a profitable one, and she was grateful when her business ran in the black.
The bell on the door chimed, and she glanced over her shoulder to see who’d entered. Gretta walked in, but she wasn’t alone. Surprisingly, the town’s dark-haired and blue-eyed bank rep, Lachlan Brogan accompanied her. Hazel’s first thought was if Gretta and Lachlan had started seeing each other, Cora would be heartbroken that she never had a chance with her crush.
“Dang, it’s hot out there,” Gretta said, tucking her midnight hair behind her ear. “Look who I ran into out on the sidewalk on his way to see you.”
Hazel picked up her dust rag and dropped it in the cleaning basket as she made her way toward them. “Hello, Lachlan. I’ve actually been meaning to drop by to see you.”
His smile mirrored Gretta’s. “I’ll save you the trouble of inquiring about your home loan. We’ve reorganized the bank and finished processing your loan. All we need is for you to stop by and sign.”
Excitement poured through her. “Really? Like it’s mine?”
“We just need your signature.”
She gave a small squeal, and Gretta joined her.
“This is so exciting, Hazel. I’ve always loved the looks of that old house and can’t wait to see what you do with it.”
Gretta’s declaration surprised her. Hazel had assumed everyone would either think she was crazy to want to own it or think she was a witch. In all honesty, both were likely true.
Hazel blushed. “I’m sure it will take me a while to make it decent since it’s been vacant for so long.”
Lachlan lifted his chin to catch her attention. “I’ll let you ladies celebrate. I’m meeting my uncle for a quick bite at Cora’s and then headed back to the bank. Stop by any time after two, Hazel.”
She sent him a warm smile. “Tell Luca I said hello.”
Lachlan nodded. “Will do. It’ll make his day.”
“Well, good,” Hazel said. “Because he always makes mine.”
If she were twenty years older and not with Peter, she totally would have made a play for the hot Italian.
He waved goodbye, and Gretta turned to Hazel. “Have you thought of a theme for your house? Are you going to make the inside modern or go with an old-fashioned feel?”
If she was to live there with her grandmother’s ghost, keeping an historic atmosphere would probably be best. “I think I’d like it to look much like it might have after it was built.”
Gretta nodded. “I think that’s smart. Others have tried to change it too much, and the ghost ran them off.”
Hazel widened her eyes in surprise. “Have you seen the ghost?”
“Oh, no. I stay away from anything spooky, though if you lived there, I would dare visit. But I’ve heard many have experienced her.” Gretta lifted an interested brow. “You’ve been there a few times, right? I mean you wouldn’t purchase the place without looking inside. Did you see her?”
Hazel really hated to lie, but she’d found she had to skirt the truth on more than one occasion while living in Stonebridge. “I may have felt a presence there before, but nothing that scared me.”
Gretta blew out a breath as she wandered toward the counter. “That’s good. It would be awful to purchase the place, only to run out in the dead of night when you found a ghost hovering over you while you slept.”
Okay, that did creep her out a little. She and Clarabelle would have a talk about respecting privacy and space. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Well, I look forward to hearing about your experiences.”
Hazel hoped she looked forward to experiencing them and that this wasn’t all a big mistake.
****
Hazel barely managed to focus for the next hour. Luckily, customers kept her busy. At two, she headed into the backroom and grabbed her purse.
“I’m going to the bank, Gretta,” she called across the shop. “Call me if things get busy. Otherwise, I’m going to stop by my new house afterward.”
“Sure thing, boss. Have fun.”
Hazel’s heart thudded in happy anticipation as she strode toward the bank. Halfway there, heat threatened to overtake her, and she swiped moisture from her forehead. This weather was becoming ridiculous.
As she neared the bank, an odd feeling crested over her like a dark wave. Prickles erupted on her skin. She glanced over her shoulder expecting to find a specter, but instead, a swarm of angry bees flew straight in her direction.
Son of a crunchy biscuit.
She released a yelp as she sprang into a sprint, running as fast as she could. She yanked open the first set of doors just as Quentin Fletcher, sweet Mr. Fletcher’s conniving grandson, was headed out of the interior doors. They met in the middle.
She put up a hand to warn him to stop as she wrestled to catch her breath. “Don’t go out there. Bees.”
He drew his brows together, peering at her as if she’d lost her mind.
After witnessing his belligerent outburst at Cora’s not long ago, she’d noticed he’d avoided her at all costs. When he couldn’t, his demeanor had been cold, if not hateful.
“I’m not afraid of bees.”
He pushed past her before she could stop him and out the door just as the swarm arrived. She watched in horror as they surrounded him, and he screamed. He turned toward her with a shocked expression and yanked open the bank door.
A couple dozen bees entered with him. He slapped and yelped as they buried their stingers in his skin. “Help me!”
She swung her purse at several but didn’t seem to do much damage.
Something sharp and painful bit into her forearm, and she gasped. Without thinking, she slapped at the bee and knocked it to the floor. She stomped the nasty bugger without hesitation and stole its life.
The interior doors swung open, and one of the female clerks peered at them with a startled expression. “What is—oh!”
S
he ran back inside, and Hazel followed.
Several men, including Lachlan, raced forward with fly swatters and rolled newspapers, yelling like heathens running into battle.
Five minutes later, all that was left of the bees was carnage on the floor. Several of the men sported swelling red welts, but they were satisfied with their accomplishments. They bantered about how they’d dodged one and chased down another.
Lachlan joined Hazel where she’d waited safely in his office and watched the epic Battle of Stonebridge play out.
“Did you see that?” he said and chuckled. “Total madness.”
Madness was right, and apparently, all caused by her grandmother. “Scary, I’d say. You were brave to fight them.”
“Best brawl I’ve had since college.”
She’d never understand men needing to prove their prowess. “You have a nasty sting on your cheek.” She touched her own to show him where.
“I’ll be all right.”
He took his seat on the opposite side of the desk and glanced over the papers in neat piles on the top. “Okay, then. Need to get my head back in the business game. Loan papers.”
He might be fine, but the sting on her arm sent lightning bolts of pain across her skin. She dug in her purse for the small jar of soothing salve she kept mostly for dry hands, but the lavender in it might calm her body’s reaction to the bee’s poison, though she’d prefer a stash of plantain leaves instead. Still, the touch of magic she’d included in this batch might just do the trick.
She dipped her finger inside and rubbed a dab on her skin. Immediately, her pain level dropped to something more manageable.
Lachlan slid a small stack of papers across the desk to her. “Here we go.”
She held the jar out to him. “I’ll sign while you rub some of this on your sting. It will help.”
He looked at it hesitantly before he stuck a finger in the jar and rubbed it on his cheek. A smile curved his lips. “Oh, yeah. Much better. Did you make this?”
She lapped up his praise like Mr. Kitty when she gave him warm milk. “I did, actually. Learning about tea has taught me a lot about the properties of herbs and other plants. It’s just something I do on the side for fun.”
She didn’t want him reading too much into her special skills.
His blue eyes sparked with appreciation. “Maybe you should go into production. It’s good stuff. Can’t imagine you wouldn’t make a bundle. The bank could give you another loan to get started. I might even invest myself.”
Hazel chuckled. “I’m very flattered, but I have my hands busy enough with the teashop and buying a new house.”
No way was she marketing something that contained magic.
He lifted a suggestive brow. “If you ever change your mind…”
“Thanks. For now, let’s tackle this.”
She turned her attention to the stack of papers and let him lead her through what each document meant before she signed. When he reached the bottom of the stack, he placed her copies inside a folder and handed the keys to her.
A huge grin split her face, and she folded her fingers around the keys. She owned her very first home. The place her long-ago family had once lived.
“Mine,” she whispered.
“It sure is.”
He gathered his stack of signed documents and tapped the edges on the desk to straighten them. “Congratulations, Hazel. Thank you for being so patient with us while we restored order to the bank.”
She stood, unable to erase the smile from her face. “Thank you, Lachlan. It’s been a pleasure.”
Hazel was so happy that she almost walked right out onto the sidewalk without checking for danger. Luckily, the sight of a dead bee on the carpet between the doors caught her attention, and she halted.
She cautiously peered through the glass but couldn’t see the dark swarm of death as she’d decided to call the bees. Her shop wasn’t that far, but it was far enough, and she wasn’t sure she dared to chance it. From there, she’d still have to make it to her house, but she did have her bike and could ride fast.
With Peter’s warning firmly in her mind, she decided he wouldn’t mind if she called and asked for a ride. His office phone rang without answer, and she could picture Polly checking the caller I.D. and then promptly ignoring it.
Next, she tried Peter’s cell, but no answer there, either. If the bees hadn’t just been outside, she wouldn’t be nearly as nervous. Still, she couldn’t stand there all day. She’d have to hope for the best and make a run for it.
She’d be fine.
Later, when Peter was free, he could meet her there to celebrate her new house. Before she dared a jailbreak, she fired off a text to Peter, telling him exactly that.
Just as she lifted a hand to push the door open, a dark-haired man with a super-hot Harley and a body to die for pulled up next to the curb outside the bank.
Ten
Hazel groaned. Why her? Why him? Quite frankly, Victor was a bigger nuisance to her than those darned bees. Except he didn’t sting and leave a painful welt.
Forget that. He’d done exactly those things to her heart.
She pushed open the door, not sparing him a glance as she rotated and strode down the sidewalk.
“Hey goddess,” he called. “Want a ride?”
She ignored him and kept walking as fast as she could, scanning the horizon for a dark and dangerous mass.
The motorcycle’s engine revved, and she could hear him creeping up behind her.
“Let me give you a lift.”
“I’m not your goddess, and I don’t want a ride.”
“I heard about the bees that were just here. Let me give you a lift. You’ve already been stung. You don’t want one or more to get you again.”
That caught her attention, and she rounded on him. “How on Earth do you know I got stung?”
The venom in her voice could have rivaled the bees.
He shrugged. “I know things.”
“Are you having me followed? Am I somehow bugged?” She ran her hands through her hair, not wanting to think about the image of having bugs or bees all over her, whether real or electronic.
A wounded look crossed his face, and a twinge of empathy pinched her. She wished she could rip out her emotions like a wasp’s stinger and stomp them, too.
“I didn’t bug you.”
“Then you are following me.”
A suspicious smile curved his lips. “Might be keeping loose tabs on you, but I’m not following you. I just need to know that you’re safe. Your mother expects me to.”
Ugh. Why did her mother have to be in every awful thing that happened in her life?
“My…mother can mind her own life and stay out of mine.” She used the word mother very loosely in that instance.
He opened his hands palms up. “Look, there are crazy bees circling the area. Someone saw them a few blocks down not long ago. Your mother would have my hide if I let them attack you.”
The thought of running head-first into a swarm of bees frightened her, especially if she ended up like Peter with fifty stings.
“Get on the back of my bike. I promise it will hurt a lot less than those bees. Let me take you wherever you want to be, wherever you feel safe.”
“My house isn’t that far away. I can walk.”
“You don’t need to be afraid.”
She wasn’t afraid of Victor. She just didn’t want to be anywhere near him. But the part of her that didn’t want any more stings reminded her that a ride to her house would only take a couple of minutes. She supposed she could stand him that long. A few moments of torture would be better than the alternative.
She huffed. “Fine.”
He grinned. “I love it when you get that fiery look in your eye.”
“Stop with the creepy act, or I’m not going anywhere near you.”
He looked wounded. “Creepy? I’ve never been creepy in my life. Women are thrilled to be around me.”
“Only the dumb ones.�
�
Victor jerked his gaze over his shoulder. The stiffness of his body put her on alert. “I hear them.”
She gasped. “You can hear them?”
He kept his gaze on the road behind her. “They don’t call me the most powerful male witch along the Eastern Seaboard for nothing. Get on.”
Dang it. She sensed he might be trying to scare her into action, but then again, he might not.
“Now,” he said with a more forceful tone that got her moving.
She hurried toward his bike, threw a leg over the seat, and settled behind him.
He revved the engine, sending a delicious rumble through her body. She did love a powerful machine.
“Hang on tight,” he said and took off.
She resisted wrapping her arms around his waist for all of two seconds, until she feared she’d fall off.
The moment she touched him, something sexy and familiar reached out for her, and it took everything she had to block it.
The man’s magic wasn’t the only powerful thing about him, and she understood why he’d fascinated her younger self. That girl hadn’t had much life experience and had sadly mistaken infatuation for love.
She couldn’t be more grateful that she recognized that now.
Victor took the long way home, winding through the gorgeous tree-lined streets. If she could pretend the black pavement was dirt instead, she imagined that certain parts of Stonebridge looked very similar to how it had in Clarabelle’s time.
She closed her eyes for a long moment and let the breeze make the heat of the day tolerable. Fresh oxygen infused her lungs, cleansing the life force inside her. She could certainly understand why people grew addicted to motorcycles despite the danger driving them.
Still, what should have been a five-minute ride had turned into fifteen. The longer she sat on the back of his bike, the more certain she was that he’d tricked her into riding with him. If he’d been so concerned with her safety, let alone his, he wouldn’t be gallivanting all over town where everyone could see them including the dark swarm of death.
She’d bet her favorite citrine crystal that he’d had two motivations for offering her a ride. One, to be close to her in hopes of winning her back, which seemed oddly weird now that she thought of it. He couldn’t possibly love her and break her heart like he had. So, what was his game?