Spellbound Falls [5] For the Love of Magic

by Janet Chapman

  “And what did you discover?”

  Mac suddenly grinned. “It appears the colonists can’t form a consensus on what attributes their new deity should embody. The poor entity was half god, half goddess, part tree, and some tender plant.” He shrugged. “There was even an unidentifiable animal thrown into the mix.”

  Titus ran a hand over his face to hide his urge to yawn again, lest his son have him retired and lounging on some beach sipping coconut milk.

  “My guess is,” Mac continued, “the male colonists are trying to call forth a god as big and strong as an oak, but the women believe the new goddess should personify the docile side of nature and have pictured it possessing the essence of flowers.” He dropped his arms and shook his head. “The confused wretch was already dying when I caught up with it. But hearing several of the colonists searching the woods, I put it out of its misery and sent it back from whence it came.”

  “And just where would that be?”

  His son grinned. “Surely you’re not too feeble of mind to remember your own origins.”

  “Go home,” Titus repeated as he headed for the beach, “and enjoy the company of your children before they grow too big for their britches. Kitalanta, come,” he said as he approached the campfire, not having to look back to know Maximilian had silently disappeared. He crouched down and cupped the wolf’s head. “You and your pod are relieved of service, warrior, but you have my blessing to spend time as Rana’s companion if you wish. Only you must travel to the secluded point of land guarding the fiord whenever you come and go from the sea to feed.” He stood, then nudged the wolf with his knee. “Go fill your belly, orca.”

  Kit glanced toward Rana picking up clothes on the beach, then tore off up the lawn toward the camp road. Titus walked to the campfire their son had built while waiting for them to return just as Rana walked over with her arms full of clothes.

  “Thank you,” he said, taking them from her. “I think I’ll change before I head up the mountain,” he added, turning toward the boathouse to hide his smile. His wife was back to being flustered, if he’d read those beautiful brown eyes correctly. He stopped and pulled his jacket from the pile, then turned and spread it on the ground. “We could sit together and enjoy this lovely campfire for a while,” he said, gesturing for her to sit on the jacket. He gave her a wink when she eyed him suspiciously. “Since I’m fairly certain watching the sky turn magnificent colors with the sunset is one of life’s simple, everyday pleasures.”

  He strode to the small shed without waiting to see if she would sit, only to sigh when he heard footsteps racing toward the house. He turned upon entering the shed and closed the door on the sight of Rana rushing onto her porch and disappearing through the door—which she apparently hadn’t bothered to lock.

  He took his time changing, wondering what in Poseidon’s name the woman had to be flustered about. It was almost as if she expected him to— Titus stilled with the borrowed shirt halfway off. By the gods, she wanted him. Queen Rana Oceanus, the embodiment of grace and a lady to the core of her being, was lusting after her husband.

  Apparently she didn’t care to be crawling into an empty bed any more than he did. In fact, she likely hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since leaving him, considering she always spent several minutes trying to find a comfortable position and never settled down until he bundled her tightly up against him with her nose buried in his chest. And that was why she hadn’t dared enjoy the sunset with him; obviously afraid her resolve would weaken and she would ask him to stay for dinner.

  And then ask him to spend the night.

  Titus grinned the whole time he finished dressing, pleased that Rana was no happier than he was for them to be living apart. And that interesting little piece of knowledge, he decided as he sat on a dusty old trunk and put on his socks and boots, just might be the key that let him back into the castle.

  He stilled again, then dropped his head onto his hands with a groan. Sweet Zeus, he was no better than Nicholas for comparing a romantic pursuit to mounting a war campaign. But then he smiled, realizing how successful that approach had proven to be for the mythical warrior, as Julia did appear quite happily captured. As to whether the woman remained happy when she finally realized she was never having a daughter . . . well, only time would tell that tale.

  Titus tiredly scrubbed his face, then lowered his hands to his knees and pushed to his feet. He stretched, glad to be back in pants that fit, and snagged the borrowed clothes off the floor and rolled them into a ball. He left the shed, intending to toss the clothes into the sea so Leviathan could deposit them on the beach near the colony’s clothesline, only to stop in mid-step—his fatigue vanishing when he spotted Rana sitting on a blanket spread out next to the campfire, pulling what appeared to be food out of a half-crushed cardboard box.

  “Did Kit leave?” she asked as he approached. “I brought him a can of tuna.”

  “He’s gone to sea to feed,” Titus said, making sure not to let his own lust show as he walked to the edge of the water. Damn, his wife was a fine-looking woman. She’d obviously taken time to run a brush through her hair, she’d exchanged her jacket for a thick pink fleece that nicely matched her blush, and she no longer appeared to be wearing one of those accursed modern brassieres. “I told Kitalanta he’s welcome to continue visiting with you,” he said as he tossed the clothes into the water before turning to her. “If that is okay with you.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “As a companion or a watchdog?”

  He walked up to the edge of the blanket and grinned down at her. “I believe I used the term companion when I gave my permission.”

  She dropped her gaze and patted the blanket beside her. “Come sit down and have some dinner. Well, what will have to pass for dinner, as I still haven’t fully stocked my cupboards. That is, what cupboards I can actually open.”

  “I could open them for you,” he offered, sitting down and reclining back on his elbow. “Why would Averill Latimer put puzzle locks on his interior doors?”

  She took a few more items out of the box. “He only put diabolical locks on the places he wanted to keep Zachary out of,” she said, “such as where he kept his liquor.” She suddenly frowned. “And also on the entrance to a small chamber under the stairs. Zach has no idea what might be in there.”

  “I could get you inside that chamber.”

  “Thank you,” she said, pulling a bottle of wine from the box, “but for now I’m enjoying the mystery of not knowing. You can open this for me, though,” she said with a cheeky grin, handing him the wine and then standing up.

  Titus straightened and also started to stand when he realized she was going to the small woodpile. “I’ll feed the fire.”

  “I’m the hostess and you’re my guest.” She gave him another cheeky smile. “Not that you’re a very good guest, as it appears you didn’t bring your hostess a gift.”

  He began taking the foil off the top of the wine bottle. “So you don’t consider that car parked in your driveway an appropriate gift?”

  She straightened while holding two pieces of wood. “You purchased that for me?”

  “Not quite,” he admitted. “I would worry myself sick knowing you were traveling these roads in something that small. It was my intention for you to drive it when I’m with you, so neither of us will have to worry about your being crushed by a loaded logging truck.”

  She tossed the wood on the fire. “Thank you—I think.” She then stood staring at the clothes being carried away on the outgoing tide. “Titus, did the world get a new god today?”

  “It almost did,” he said, nodding when she turned to him. “But apparently the good people of the colony haven’t decided exactly what they need in a god. Maximilian found their first attempt dying in the forest and helped it back to Providence,” he explained as she sat down beside him again. “They’ll get it right eventually, although we’re likely going to experience more turbulent storms this summer.”

  “And will this new
god be good for mankind?”

  He shrugged and leaned over to look in the box for a corkscrew. “It will be what it will be.” He looked up, then reached out and cupped her face, placing his thumb over her lips when she tried to speak. “Probably better than anyone, you know it’s not our place to judge mankind’s desires,” he said gently, “or interfere in their actions. As long as the Trees of Life are not threatened, we can only sit back and watch.”

  “But why here?” she asked when he caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Why does this new god have to come to this peaceful corner of the world?”

  He dropped his hand to the wine bottle. “Because Maximilian thinned the veil between reality and imagination when he brought the magic here.” He shrugged again. “We expected this to happen, so we’re not exactly surprised.”

  “Do you know anything about the new god?”

  “Only that I didn’t recognize his energy. Did you bring a corkscrew?”

  “No.”

  He arched a brow. “Is that why I’ve been invited to dinner? Because you had a thirst for wine but no corkscrew?”

  “No,” she murmured as she tore open a package of crackers with her teeth. “You were invited because I believe you are in need of some wine after dealing with Murdoc all afternoon.” She set down the opened crackers and picked up a package of cheese. “I will make sure I have Scotch available the next time you come visit. So, do you think I could learn to drive your motorcycle?”

  “No,” he said, despite knowing his answer might prevent there ever being a next time. “It’s not that you couldn’t learn, but that I probably wouldn’t survive teaching you. Have you spoken with Carolina lately?”

  “As a matter of fact, Jane called me this morning,” she said, smiling smugly when she got her expected scowl from him. “Do you know your daughter is planning to spend the summer camping out at their building site?”

  “Even after she has the baby?” he asked, only to flinch when the cork shot out the end of the wine bottle he realized he was squeezing.

  “And before,” Rana said. “I don’t know if she truly is that naïve or if she’s simply determined to drive us both nuts.”

  “Is Alec aware of her intentions?”

  Rana shrugged. “Apparently the man is as clueless as our daughter about how much work a newborn is.” She suddenly laughed. “Carolina will change her mind the first time she finds herself washing dirty diapers in a pot of water over a campfire.”

  He poured wine into the paper cup she was holding. “I don’t suppose you’ve talked her into moving up the wedding date to before her due date?”

  That got him another laugh. “Don’t be so old-fashioned,” she said, nudging his shoulder with her own. “Carolina won’t be the first princess—in modern or ancient times—to walk down the aisle pregnant.”

  “I haven’t attended a wedding with one waddling down the aisle,” he muttered, guzzling his wine and quickly refilling his cup. “The way my luck has been running lately, your daughter is liable to go into labor halfway through the vows.”

  “Yes, well, about those vows,” Rana said, making him still with the cup halfway to his mouth. “I hope you realize they’re not exactly going to be . . . traditional.”

  “Then what exactly are they going to be?”

  “I’m not certain. But I hope you’re not expecting to hear Carolina promising to obey Alec.”

  He downed the contents of his cup. “Just as long as I don’t hear Alec making that promise to her.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then reclined back on his elbow again. “Let’s talk about something besides you—our daughter. So,” he continued, taking the tiny cheese and cracker sandwich she handed him, “have you begun cutting and welding metal into beautiful works of art yet?”

  “Zack is coming by after school tomorrow to give me my first lesson.” Rana looked at the large whale statue and softly sighed. “I’m not sure where I got the notion that I’m any sort of artist. Or why I chose to work with metal.” She gave him an endearingly shy glance, then looked down at the sandwich in her hand. “Watercolors and needle and thread are more feminine mediums.”

  “But nowhere near as exciting,” he said after eating his sandwich in one bite. He began assembling a new one. “And you’ve already proven yourself in paint and needlework, and are smart enough to take advantage of having a master metal craftsman at your disposal.”

  “Zack did an amazing job, didn’t he?”

  “If I didn’t know better,” Titus said, also looking at the statue, “I might think Leviathan was his model.”

  Rana’s musical laugh shot straight to his groin when the vainglorious old whale under discussion suddenly breached not two hundred yards past the statue, Leviathan’s body arching in exact mimic of his metal counterpart before splashing back into the water. Titus downed the last of his wine when he realized that if he didn’t leave now he might not leave at all, then stood up and walked around the blanket. He bent to one knee, cupped his wife’s face in both hands, and smiled into her big brown eyes. “Thank you for the lovely afternoon,” he whispered just before kissing her, being careful not to reveal how much he missed her.

  Her response was immediate and far more encouraging than he expected, making Titus realize he hadn’t thought beyond tasting her sweetness again—although he did wonder if he might be better served to give her a taste of her own medicine and be the one running away. He reluctantly broke the kiss, then pressed a finger to her lips to keep her from speaking. “I wish you sweet dreams tonight, wife.”

  He grabbed his jacket off the ground and stood, then headed up the lawn at a brisk pace, breaking into a broad grin when he heard a distinctly feminine voice mutter a very un-queenly curse.

  Chapter Eight

  Looking forward to a breakfast of more than just toast and tea before spending the day figuring out how to transform the church’s basement into a women’s clinic, Rana entered the Drunken Moose to find it was standing room only and that Vanetta was two waitresses short. Unable to simply watch her friend and one harried waitress struggle to keep up, she shed her long winter coat and donned an apron, grabbed a pad and pencil, and strode into the chaos.

  Looking up from clearing dishes off a table half an hour and a few wrong orders later to see it was still standing room only, Rana was surprised at how much she was enjoying herself—likely because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so useful. Oh, she helped Titus when he needed feminine input on whatever project or disaster he happened to be working on, but serving mankind from a distance wasn’t nearly as exhilarating as rolling up her sleeves and getting physically involved. Nor was it as lucrative, Rana realized, staring down at the five-dollar bill in her hand.

  “I know you know what a tip is,” Vanetta said, balancing a tray of dirty dishes on her shoulder as she stopped next to the table, “because you’re always generous with my girls when you come in.”

  Rana leaned closer. “But I can’t take money from these hardworking people,” she said, trying to stuff the bill in Vanetta’s apron pocket.

  The restaurateur stepped away with a laugh. “You keep giving the customers that winning smile, and maybe you’ll earn enough tips to pay for the massage you’re going to need about an hour from now.”

  Rana stuffed the money in her own apron pocket with a sigh of defeat, gave the table a good scrubbing, and set out fresh utensils and napkins just as four of the waiting patrons rushed over and sat down.

  “No need for menus, darlin’,” one of the men said. “Coffee for everyone and I’ll have a number five.”

  Rana plucked her pencil out of her hair, flipped the pad to a blank page and drew a square on it, then wrote the number five on the right side of the square. She looked at the man sitting to his right. “And you?” she asked, her pencil posed to write as she gave him a winning smile.

  “I’ll have a number two, but leave off the ham and double up the bacon.”

  She wrote the number two on the top side of t
he square, made a note next to it about the meat, then looked at the gentleman on his right. “And you, sir?”

  The man seated beside her suddenly snorted. “Sir?” he repeated, leaning back on the rear legs of his chair and grinning up at her. “You gotta be new here, ’cause everyone knows the only thing Cecil ever hears calling him sir is the handle end of a shovel. You can give me a number six.” He gave her a wink and reached over and patted her backside, catching Rana so off guard that she froze. “And then you can give me your phone number, Brown Eyes, and I’ll give you a—”

  Whatever the lech was about to offer changed to a shout of surprise when his chair suddenly skidded out from under him, making Rana scramble away from his windmilling arms as he landed on the floor hard enough to shake the building. “And you, sir?” she asked Cecil again, lowering her voice in the sudden silence. Well, it was silent but for the curses coming from the man standing up and righting his chair.

  “I’ll have a number two,” Cecil said, his grin broader than his puffed-out chest.

  Rana nodded, writing both breakfast numbers on the pad as she headed behind the counter. She rewrote the orders on a sales slip and handed it to the cook’s helper, then started to reach for the coffeepot, only to be stopped by a hand on her arm. “Well played,” Vanetta said, a gleam in her eyes as she nodded toward the table Rana had just left. “I don’t suppose I could interest you in a job?” She leaned closer, that gleam intensifying. “If not as a waitress, I could use a bouncer at the Bottoms Up.”

  Rana blinked in surprise. “I didn’t kick his chair out from under him.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Vanetta drawled. She nodded toward the kitchen just as the cook slid several plates teeming with food onto the serving shelf. “I have to go next door and take the book club’s orders, so could you run those to the table in the corner for me?” Her gleam returned. “Try not to knock any of those men on their butts, okay? They’re really big tippers,” she said as she rushed off, only to stop and turn back. “Oh, if any more people come in holding Nooks or Kindles, send them over to the Bottoms Up.”