The Miracle Wife (Harlequin Romance)
Page 10
“PICK DIRT THAT IS SPECIAL.”
“Oh.” She rolled over onto her tummy and felt beneath the pillow, reassured when her fingers touched the cover of her Jack Rabbitt book. Gently she traced the outline of the great dragon, Nemesis. “Where do I get special dirt?”
A momentary silence greeted her question. “INSUFFICIENT INFORMATION FOR RESPONSE.”
“Huh?”
“ANSWER UNAVAILABLE.”
“You don’t know, do you?”
“AFFIRMATIVE.”
“Do all the gifts have to be special?”
“AFFIRMATIVE.”
“Oh.” River mulled that over before another question occurred to her. “Do I have to get wind first?”
“ONE MOMENT. ACCESSING.” A series of beeps issued from nearby speakers, then Gem said, “SEQUENCE NOT GIVEN. NINETY-EIGHT PERCENT PROBABILITY THAT ORDER IS UNIMPORTANT TO FINAL OUTCOME. INSTRUCTIONS REQUIRE GIFTS MUST BE OBTAINED, PLACED IN SILK BAG AND THANKS GIVEN. NO OTHER PARAMETERS SET.”
“Gem!”
“PICK ONE GIFT. PLACE IN BAG. SAY THANK YOU. ERROR CAUSES FAILURE.”
“I did that already. And Daddy said if he caught me sneaking outside again he’d punish me.”
“STEALTH IS NECESSARY TO AVOID DETECTION.”
“Huh?”
“YOU MUST BE QUIET WHEN GOING OUTSIDE.”
“I know that. I’ll be more careful next time.” She yawned, burrowing deeper into the warmth of her bed. “So if I get some fire tomorrow and put it in my purse, it’ll work?”
“WARNING. PLACING FLAME IN SILK PURSE MAY RESULT IN DANGEROUS SITUATION.”
“I’m not gonna burn up my purse,” River scoffed. “This is a special fire. Just like you said it should be.”
“UNDERSTOOD.”
“Gem?”
“PROCEED.”
“Will this work?”
“CURRENT PROBABILITY TWENTY-TWO POINT SEVEN PERCENT CHANCE OF SUCCESS.”
“Is that good?”
“NEGATIVE.”
River clutched her rag doll to her chest. “Does that mean it won’t work?” She waited anxiously for the response.
“INFORMATION UNAVAILABLE,” Gem replied. And then in a surprisingly soft voice the computer added, “BIRTHDAY WISHES ALWAYS COME TRUE.”
Sleep beckoned. “Justice will be my mommy?” she managed to ask.
“BIRTHDAY WISHES ALWAYS COME TRUE,” Gem repeated. “FAILURE UNACCEPTABLE.”
“Did you get her to bed?” J.J. asked.
“Yes.”
The word shattered the darkened hallway, harsh, bitten-off and tarnished with bleak memories. But he couldn’t help it. Finding River on the deck, standing cold and barefoot in her thin little nightie, had brought the horror of that long-ago night crashing in on him.
“Did she say what she was doing outside this late?”
“She said something about the moon and the stars and saying thank-you. Whatever the hell that means.”
He thrust a hand through his hair. For the thousandth time he assured himself that River wouldn’t be harmed from a brief outing on such a clear, if chilly, evening. She wasn’t already sick with bronchitis as Maise had been and she hadn’t gotten wet. He closed his eyes. River was safe. Perfectly safe.
But she reminded him of his wife, a fact which flat-out terrified him. Maise with her com-ripe hair and glorious silver-blue eyes, the fever giving her cheeks a rosy flush. Maise standing drenched beneath an icy downpour, enacting some crazy New Age, spiritualistic mumbo-jumbo ritual. Giving thanks for the safe birth of their daughter, she’d said between hacking coughs.
Giving thanks. Yeah, right. Foolish. Stupid. Idiotic. Pointless.
Fatal.
Raven set his jaw. Fantasies had killed his wife, but they sure as hell weren’t going to harm his daughter. He’d done everything within his powers to eradicate their influence in her life—with one notable exception: Jack Rabbitt. Clearly that single indulgence had been a dangerous mistake, one he intended to correct at his earliest convenience.
He shifted away from the closed door of his daughter’s bedroom and headed for the steps leading downstairs. J.J. trailed him. “Did you tell her that I’d agreed to fulfill her wish? Could that be it?”
“No. I decided to wait until morning so she wouldn’t get too excited at bedtime.” He frowned. “Something else has set her off. I just don’t know what, yet.” He stalked into the kitchen and snatched a canister of coffee from the countertop. “Want some?”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate it.”
Good. Let her stay. He wanted her nearby. He wanted to curse her for coming into their lives, even as he wanted to scoop her up in his arms and love her until dawn splintered the horizon. He balked at the knowledge, at the solace she could provide. Instead he embraced the richness of his anger, embraced the storm swirling relentlessly closer.
“It’s this damn wish business. It’s feeding into her fantasies.” He dumped several scoops of ground beans into a filter, his movements a picture of muted violence. “She probably thinks anything’s possible now.”
“I...I’m sorry.” So soft. So sweet. A gentle breeze attempting to calm a raging tempest. “I had no idea that River would make the wish she did.”
“Blackstone knew.” And the bastard would pay for his interference.
“You can’t be sure of that. He probably thought he was doing you a favor.”
Ah. Much better. She’d decided to buffet the storm instead of redirect it. He turned, his warning smile a flash of white in the darkness of his face. “A favor?” He gave her a taste of the elemental forces driving him, allowing a hint of temper to sweep into his voice. “By presuming to give my daughter a wish without asking me first?”
“Under other circumstances—”
“No!” The vortex drew ever closer, pulling, tugging, driving. “Under these circumstances. It’s a wish you can never fulfill. A wish that, ultimately, will bring my daughter nothing but misery.”
Her anger rose to match his. He could see it in those expressive brown eyes. Feel it reach out for him. And he reveled in it, needing the emotional turbulence to cleanse him of past guilt.
She planted her hands on her hips and faced him down. Heaven help him, but she was beautiful. Her cheeks blossomed as vividly as winter roses against a pallet of ebony hair. Her eyes burned like hot, sweet honey, and her mouth glistened damply, waiting to be plundered again. Only the butcher block in the center of the kitchen separated them—a barrier he could vault in two seconds flat. What would she do if he came over it after her? Would she resist... or submit? Or would she turn the aggressor, thrusting her hands into his hair and demanding he kiss her again? The memory of their earlier encounter shuddered through him.
“If you don’t think I can fulfill River’s wish, then why didn’t you drop me off at the airport instead of bringing me here?” she asked.
Because he couldn’t let her go. Because some dangerous part of him wanted a fairy lady in his life every bit as much as his daughter. And that knowledge infuriated him. “Because River believes in you. She’s obsessed with this fantasy of hers. I’ve done everything I can to discourage it—”
“Like buying her the painting? Like reading her the Jack Rabbitt books?”
It was the flash of lightning he needed to set off his roar of thunder. “None of that was a problem until you and Blackstone offered to fulfill her wish.”
“All children have fantasies.”
“My kid doesn’t. Not if I can help it.”
She dared to approach. “Why are you so opposed to it?”
“Fantasies don’t come true.” Closer and closer still. So close he could smell her delicate fragrance. So close he could taste her sweet breath. “Fantasies are dangerous.”
“They’re dreams,” she protested. “Harmless wishes.”
His muscles bunched and he planted his hands on the butcher block, desperate to pounce. “Not all children have adults who appear like fairy godmothers and offer
to bring those fantasies to life.”
“Maybe they should! Maybe that’s what Mathias knew that you didn’t.”
Tension vibrated through him and he drew himself up, a millisecond from taking her. Only gut instinct, held him in place for that vital extra moment, and he thanked all that was holy that, for once, he listened to that despised inner voice.
“Daddy?” River appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, her ever-present rag doll clutched protectively to her chest. “It’s too noisy. I can’t sleep.” Her gaze shifted from one to the other, her eyes apprehensive and just a bit tearful. “I want Justice to tuck me in.”
J.J. glanced at him and he nodded curtly. “Take her.”
She gave River a gentle smile, a smile he’d kill to have turned his way, and held out a hand. “Come on, sweetie. I’d love to tuck you in.”
Raven watched them go. With a groan, he leaned against the butcher block, his head lowered as he struggled for control. The storm swept past, screaming through him, leaving him buffeted and battered and totally exhausted.
But as always, it drained him of everything... everything except his guilt.
“Will you be here tomorrow when I wake up?” River asked, climbing onto her bed and slipping beneath the covers.
J.J. perched on the edge of her mattress. “Of course, I’ll be here. I told you that at dinner.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
There was a long pause and then, “Dolly was afraid you might turn back into a fairy and fly away.”
“Who’s Dolly?”
River held up her rag doll. “Nawna made her for me. Nawna was my great-grandma. She died.”
“Well, you tell Dolly that I won’t leave without saying goodbye first.”
“Promise?”
J.J. smiled at the childish ritual. “I promise.”
“She won’t leave, Dolly,” River said, carefully straightening a black strand of the doll’s yarn hair. “She promises.”
J.J. pitched in, gently loosening the knots and smoothing the tangles. “Your grandmother did a beautiful job making her.”
“Dolly’s a fairy, too. Nawna sewed her up so she’d look just like you.”
“Really?” The confession moved her unbearably. “That was a very sweet thing to do.”
“Nawna even made Dolly wings. But I don’t let her wear them very much.”
“Why not?”
River nibbled on her lip. “I’m afraid she’ll fly away.”
“I don’t think she’d do that,” J.J. said gently. “She looks very happy to be with you. But it’s okay to leave her wings off if you’re worried. I’m sure Dolly doesn’t mind.”
Huge silver-blue eyes studied her anxiously. “Are your wings off?”
“Yes, sweetheart,” J.J. reassured. “My wings are off. I’m not going anywhere until after I give you your wish.”
River yawned, her eyes fluttering closed and she hugged Dolly. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
J.J. sat in the darkened room for a while, watching as River drifted off to sleep. This couldn’t continue. She and Raven were going to have to reach a truce for River’s sake, if not their own. As soon as she was certain the little girl wouldn’t wake, she slipped from the room.
Raven waited for her, a spent warrior exhausted from a particularly vicious battle. He handed her a scalding cup of coffee. “I see you’ve come to the same conclusion I have.”
“Truce?” she asked dryly.
He nodded. “We don’t have any choice. We can’t keep locking horns or somebody’s going to get hurt.”
“I agree,” she said, relieved. “Either we give River her wish or we end this.”
He sipped his coffee, studying her through a haze of steam. “Are you willing to play the part of her mother for the next few days?”
A few days. A few weeks. She gazed up at Raven. A few years. She buried her nose in her mug. “I’ll do my best.”
His mouth tugged to one side. A mouth she’d taken great delight in kissing. A mouth that had consumed her with delicious ferocity. “No conditions, fairy lady?”
A thousand leapt to mind. “I’m too tired to think of any right now,” she demurred. She hedged her bets, just to be on the safe side. “I’m sure I’ll come up with one or two tomorrow.”
He inclined his head. “Would you like another cup of coffee?”
Good heavens, had she emptied it already? “No, thanks. I’d like to sleep tonight.” She placed her empty mug on a nearby table and took a quick breath. “Speaking of which...”
A devilish look sparked within his dark eyes. “You want me to put you to bed?”
“Raven—”
He relented. “There’s a fold-out couch in the den.”
“You have a den?” She didn’t bother concealing her relief and he chuckled, the sound as rich and dark and delicious as the coffee he’d fixed.
“Off the living room. Did you really think I was going to force you to sleep with me?”
Yes, please. She shut her eyes so he wouldn’t read the unspoken wish. She’d never felt so vulnerable before, so stripped of her usual protective veneer. “No, of course not,” she said. But they both knew she lied.
“You could sleep with me.”
The words hung between them, words that should never have been uttered. “Don’t say it,” she whispered. “Don’t even suggest it. Neither of us is capable of that sort of affair. We’re not casual people.”
“We could make an exception.”
“Take me to bed,” an inner voice screamed. But aloud she forced herself to request, “Show me the den.”
“Okay.” He inclined his head toward the living room. “This way, Ms. Randell.”
She latched onto the formality as though it were a lifeline. “Thank you, Mr. Sierra.”
But he wasn’t done tempting her. He caught her arm as she started past. Bending his head, his mouth brushed the curve of her cheek. “Just remember. You can change your mind. My door’s always open.”
The impact of his soft comment shivered through her. Carefully she eased from his hold. “I won’t be walking through it,” she insisted.
But she couldn’t help wondering how long she’d be able to maintain that particular lie.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nemesis waited in his lair, sharply aware that his life hung in the balance. Soon he’d be forced to fight the prince—paying the ultimate price for a crime he hadn’t committed.
Until recently, he’d assumed the battle was inevitable. But he’d just learned of a second quest, one which might insure his salvation. It offered him one small glimmer of hope in an otherwise bleak future.
A small fairy, an insignificant creature really, held his life within her hands. Small, soft, dainty hands. Though she didn’t know it, she had the power to change his destiny. But only if her love was true.
Page 29, The Great Dragon Hunt
by Jack Rabbitt
“GOOD morning, Mommy!”
J.J. groaned at the far-too cheerful greeting and buried her head deeper under a pillow. “It is not a good morning,” she muttered crossly. Who had the unmitigated gall to talk to her at such an ungodly hour? And where the hell was her coffee? Check that. Where the hell was she?
“What’s wrong with the morning?” The voice whined louder, darting in close to her ear with all the irritating persistence of a hungry mosquito. If she’d had the energy, J.J. would have whacked the pesky critter straight to Kingdom Come. “Mommy? Can’t you talk? Are you awake? Mom-my?” The questions continued in a high-pitched, rapid-fire stream that the goose down comforter failed to block.
“Who are you?” J.J. growled, unable to bear the noise any longer. “Where am I?” One particular word nagged at her and she finally managed to key in on it. Mommy. “And why do you keep calling me Mommy?” As far as she could remember, she wasn’t anyone’s mother. At least, she didn’t think so. At this horrendous hour, who could tell anything for certain?
“I don’t think so.”
A brain cell or two came on-line and J.J. wedged open an eye. She peered out from beneath her pillow, squinting against the ruthless stab of sunlight. Damned sun. She glared at the little girl hovering nearby—an adorable sprite in a lacy nightie and a pair of inky braids. Man, did she hate “adorable” first thing in the morning.
“I know you,” she admitted grudgingly. “I think.”
The little girl whirled around, her perky little braids flying in a circle around her equally perky little head. J.J. grimaced. Jeez. Maybe it was perky she hated.
“Daddy, what’s wrong with her?”
“Apparently fairies aren’t too friendly first thing in the morning. Give her a few minutes to wake up.” The deliciously masculine voice was connected to an equally delicious odor. J.J.’s nose twitched. “I brought a magic elixir that should help.”
“What’s a ’lixir?”
“A magic drink.”
“Coffee,” J.J. said with a moan.
She thrust a hand out from under her blanket and snatched the proffered mug, retreating under the pillow and blanket with it. It was the perfect temperature and she didn’t waste any time pouring it down her throat. She thrust the empty mug into the middle of all that horrible light and shook it, hoping the nice hand would take it and fetch another helping of nice coffee.
“More,” she demanded, just in case kind Mr. Hand didn’t understand the purpose of poor, empty Mr. Mug.
Mr. Hand turned nasty, taking Mr. Mug and relegating him to the arctic netherlands of a nearby table. Damn! If she ever got hold of Mr. Hand, he was gonna lose a few Mr. Fingers.
“Really, Ms. Randell,” the masculine voice murmured. “I told you to discourage the kid with a dose of reality. But you didn’t have to be quite so brutal about it.”