The Legacy of Buchanan's Crossing

by Rhodan, Rhea

  She pulled out an antique leather-bound book, Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque. It was the one she’d been posing with, pretending to read The Fall of the House of Usher that first crazy night he’d talked to her.

  He couldn’t help stroking the book reverently. “This can’t be what it looks like, a first edition of the first volume. There’s no way you could have possibly gotten your hands on it if it was.”

  She either missed his inadvertent slight or chose to ignore it. “It is what it appears to be. My gran gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday. Poe has always been one of my favorites. Reading about Roderick Usher’s family problems helps put mine in perspective.”

  So she hadn’t been posing. “Sixteen? And you carry it around in that backpack? Do either you or your grandmother have any idea what it’s worth?”

  “The book’s monetary value isn’t what makes it precious to me. I assure you, it’s quite safe in here.” She patted the backpack. “It possesses certain properties. It was also a gift from Gran.”

  As if that explained anything.

  “You do realize you’re crazy, right?”

  She scowled at the clock. He couldn’t have said why her preoccupation bothered him.

  “Are you expecting someone? Am I keeping you from your work?”

  “Yes, I am expecting someone. He’s late.”

  Nor did he have any label for the little pang in his gut. And no business whatsoever feeling it.

  “You’re not keeping me from anything. My relief is late, and I need to be in East Granby before midnight.”

  He immediately relaxed. “East Granby?”

  “You know, by Bradley International.”

  “That’s what, less than twenty miles from here? It’s only eleven. If he gets here in the next fifteen minutes, you should be fine.”

  “Only if I could fly.” She held out her arms, making the dress’s angel sleeves flutter.

  Did she say things like that on purpose?

  “You could just drive.”

  “Flying would be considerably less dangerous,” she said with a perfectly straight face.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I take it you either don’t have a car or don’t drive. So how were you planning to get to Connecticut tonight? The last train must be long gone.”

  “Yes, that’s why I brought my bike. Even if the guy filling in for me had been punctual, it would have been too late to skate there tonight.”

  Skate…roller skates. He recalled a well-rounded ass in a tight leather skirt, strong white thighs, black lace gloves, and a matching umbrella, for God’s sake. But it was night, dark, and certainly not safe, not all the way out there.

  “I’ll give you a ride.” The words had bypassed his struggling brain and gushed out of his mouth. He didn’t regret them though, because he felt better as soon as they hit the air.

  She considered his offer longer than he thought necessary, given her options.

  Finally, she said, “Why would you do that for me?”

  The answer came easy, the part he understood anyway. “Because it’s not safe to be bicycling or roller skating through some of the neighborhoods between here and Bradley, especially at night. Besides, I owe you one for bringing that scumsucker Dillon in here.”

  And because he was uncomfortably, inexplicably fascinated with her.

  “I don’t care about him. It was you I was disappointed in.”

  He was digesting her statement when she went on. “Okay, I accept on one condition: You have to borrow this book.”

  “You hardly know me. How do you know I won’t wreck it, or keep it, or sell it?”

  “So I should feel safe putting myself in your hands, but not an inanimate object?”

  Shit. “Well, not in my hands exactly.” Now why had he said that? What was it about her that made it so damn impossible for him to get a grip?

  Her warm laughter caressed him. “I would never have pegged you for such a serious guy. I’ll make you a deal. If you bring it back, I’ll let you borrow Volume Two, or another, if you prefer. I have a decent collection, poetry and fiction. Oh, and tea for your headaches.”

  “Lucky you’re a night clerk at a convenience store. You’re not a very good negotiator.”

  Her smile wavered. “And up until now I thought I’d taken every point.”

  Goddamnit, he’d done it again. He might as well fit his mouth for boots.

  The fading wail of a far-off siren turned both of them toward the door. A little bald guy hurried in.

  “I’m sorry, Cayden. My wife had to work late, and it took forever to find a sitter, and my cell ran out of juice, and…”

  “No problem. I’m glad you made it. I’ve stocked the shelves; you should have an easy night.”

  “So, uh, Cayden, this your boyfriend?”

  Clint’s own laugh was loud, though Cayden laughed last. It held none of the warmth of a moment ago.

  “Nope. Just my ride.” The words were clipped. “Thank you for covering the rest of my shift. I’m sorry it was such a hassle.”

  She tossed the book in the backpack. He winced, then did a double take as she pulled out a long black cape. How the hell had it fit in there? And why wasn’t it wrinkled? Not so much as a T-shirt came out of his big suitcase looking that good.

  Cayden cinched the flap and said, “Why are you staring? I told you it possesses certain qualities. One aspect is TARDIS-like in nature.”

  “As in Dr. Who’s bigger-on-the-inside TARDIS? You’re kidding, right?”

  “You keep surprising me. A former jock capable of deductive reasoning and grasping a somewhat obscure sci-fi cult reference.”

  “You know, not all current or former athletes are assholes.”

  She didn’t respond. Why should she believe him? With a twist of her wrist, she swirled the cape around her, and the intricate knotted clasp that fastened it at her neck derailed the ugly train of thought. He’d have to remember to ask her about the clasp. He could always hope he’d comprehend at least part of her answer.

  “Let me grab my bike. It’s in the store room.”

  He hadn’t really expected her to ride a normal bicycle, had he? The big front and small back tires were right out of the nineteenth century. He wasn’t sure where the elegant padded saddle or rubber pedals had come from. After loading it into the bed of his truck, he walked around the truck to help her up to the passenger seat. Even if his mother hadn’t raised him to open car doors for women, scaling the cab of his truck wasn’t an ordeal he wanted Cayden to suffer. She already had enough discomfort to associate with him.

  Once he’d settled into the driver’s seat, he deflected the memory of her small warm hand and creamy bare legs sliding into his truck by saying, “You were going to ride that bike in those shoes?” He nodded down at her spiky heels.

  She gaped at him as if he’d been the one making crazy talk all night. “Of course not. It’s warm enough to ride barefoot. Did you notice those nice nubby massaging pedals I installed last year? I would have put my shoes in the backpack.”

  “So they could maul that priceless book?”

  “I told you, the book is safe. Everything in the backpack is safe.”

  As if to make her point, she carelessly tossed the shoes in. He refused to wince. If she was trying to get to him, he wasn’t going to let her see it was working.

  He pulled into traffic. After a minute of heavy silence, he said, “Sorry about that night clerk comment, it didn’t come out right.”

  “Forget it. You mentioned a crew. Construction?”

  “Builder, actually. Green Man Construction,” he said too fast, too loud. Well, she had him figured for dumb jock has-been and…wait—“How did you know?”

  “Your tan, your, um…body type, lucky guess. �
�Green Man?’ Cool name. Does it imply anything particular?”

  “Yeah. I’m a green builder. Everything from sustainable lumber to the latest technology in environmentally safe materials, energy creation, and conservation. What did you think it meant?”

  “I thought that might be it, although Green Man has a mythical connotation.”

  “Yeah, it does. I’m kind of surprised you’d know that.”

  “Oh? I’d ask why that would surprise you, but I prefer to be content that we’ve managed to keep surprising each other tonight.”

  He was grateful she let it go. He could hardly tell her that before Dillon had told him about Cornell, he’d figured her for someone who barely graduated high school. Why else would she be working the graveyard shift at a convenience store? The economy wasn’t that bad any more.

  When she said, “Celtic lore is sort of family interest of mine,” it was almost reassuring. Even if her mischievous grin wasn’t.

  “I should have guessed. That clasp you’re wearing appears to be a Celtic antiquity. Another gift from your gran?”

  Her laugh tickled him in places it shouldn’t. “Nice try, Mr. MacAllen. But if you wish to further disabuse me of my preconceptions, you’ll have to tell me whether your source of information is academic or familial.”

  It wasn’t scary. She’d remembered his last name, assumed a connection. Sharp maybe, not scary.

  He couldn’t come up with a reason not to answer her honestly. “Both, I guess. A visiting professor at BU gave me the treasure bug back when I was a freshman, and my mother always had this old Green Man mask in her garden. It’s what gave me the idea for the name.”

  “I think I’d like your mother.”

  He shuddered inwardly. Darcy was meeting his parents for the first time at dinner tomorrow night. Sure, he was nervous, but not terrified. Not like he would be introducing Cayden to them, if for the opposite reason. Thank God that was never going to happen.

  “This is a Celtic antiquity too.”

  The gleam in the light reflected from the dash drew his attention. Was it the same damn ring she’d asked him about before? The instant he reached for it, his forehead damn near exploded. Luckily, traffic was light on the interstate because he couldn’t prevent swerving out of his lane.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you. You can look at it later.”

  “No!”

  When he dared glance at her, the ring was gone, and she was staring straight ahead. Why couldn’t he seem to stop hurting her feelings?

  He groped lamely for something charming to say. Instead, he came up with, “So, why do you have to be in East Granby before midnight?” What if he was giving her a ride to see her boyfriend?

  “I always keep Beltane at Buchanan’s Crossing.”

  “Isn’t that a Wiccan holiday?”

  “You’re surprising me again.”

  Declining to ask himself why that should please him, he said, “Which explains the witchy black cape, I guess. I thought vampires were the goth thing.”

  “And back to the stereotypes. While we’re here, I feel compelled to inform you that although vampires do walk among us, it isn’t blood they suck.”

  Right. If she was waiting for some kind of sign he understood, she wasn’t going to get it.

  She sighed.

  He knew what that sigh meant. It was female for, “men are such idiots.” They always used it when whatever they’d been saying made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

  “Vampires suck all kinds of things: energy, happiness, hope. Anyway, I’m not much of a practicing Wiccan other than observing the major holidays. There are Wiccans who are not witches, and witches who aren’t very devout Wiccans. I’m of the latter variety.”

  What? Had she just said she was a witch, as in a real witch?

  “Let me try it another way. A person can be born Jewish and not practice Judaism, or maybe attend service only for important holidays. There are non-Jewish people who practice Judaism, too. Only the numbers here are reversed. Very few Wiccans are actually true-blood witches.”

  “Oh, I see.” This girl wasn’t just crazy, she was batshit crazy.

  He spotted the airport exit and turned off I-91. None too soon, either, from the direction this conversation had taken. “So where exactly am I dropping you?”

  “East Granby’s just past the airport. Buchanan’s Crossing is just past town.”

  Not far. Good.

  They passed the airport in silence. After they drove through East Granby, Cayden said, “We’re almost there. You should pull over soon.”

  Great, except—“I don’t see a house anywhere, or a light.”

  Crazy or not, he couldn’t just leave her out here in the middle of nowhere late at night.

  Then his truck, his beautiful not-yet-paid-off truck, sputtered and died.

  Silence reigned briefly before Cayden whispered, “Oops. Too late.”

  Whatever the hell that meant. He turned the key. Nothing. Not even the click-click-click of a dead battery. He didn’t know what to do or say. So he just sat there, listening to the crickets through his open window. They couldn’t possibly be chanting, “Clueless, clueless.” It had to be his irritated imagination.

  When Cayden said, “Isn’t this the part where you make a pass at me?” it registered that he’d been quiet too long and that his gaze had strayed to the bare expanse of thighs her short dress revealed. And that he was completely, inappropriately, hard as a steel stake.

  Then she laughed. A little too high, a little too nervous, like she had back at the HandiMart. He could hardly blame her, out here like this, alone with a guy she didn’t know. Thank God it was too dark for her to see his condition.

  “I’m kidding. While we’re being all trite, I’m going to say, ‘Oh, Clint, it’s not you, it’s me,’” she said in a breathy, overly dramatic voice.

  Even though the quip had been an obvious attempt by Cayden to ease the tension, her seductive tone shot straight to the wrong place.

  Blessedly oblivious to the effect she was having on him, she laughed again, warmer this time. “Don’t worry, it’ll start in a few minutes. Now, if you’ll lift my bike out, I can ride the rest of the way.”

  He began reciting multiplication tables to himself. The trick had worked back in high school, though he hadn’t needed it since. A hint of her cool green scent wafted over to him. Now that they were parked, without the wind whipping through the windows, he could smell it. The head on his shoulders may have stopped throbbing, but the other one was making up for it.

  “I’ll be fine. The moon’s out and my bike’s got a light. What time is it?”

  Yeah, the moon was out. So when he got out of the truck, if she happened to look down, she could hardly miss—Wait, she’d asked him a question. He tapped the button on his watch, hoping it would be a sufficient distraction.

  “Eleven thirty-five.”

  “Oh, I better hurry.” She was scrambling out the door before he could think of a way to stop her. Not that he wanted to, right?

  He climbed out carefully, rearranging himself before joining her at the back of the truck.

  Cayden’s fair skin almost glowed in the moonlight. Without the high heels she was always wearing, the top of her head didn’t even make it to his shoulder. Driving with the windows open had whipped her wild sexy curls wilder. No breeze stirred it now. The crickets had stopped too. The air was still, as though it were waiting.

  Her face tilted up to him, glowing in the soft silver light, eyes wide, lush lips parted. Like she thought he might bend down to kiss her. Like maybe she wanted him to. Like he wanted to so badly it hurt.

  Like hell. He shook his head, pretty sure he was losing his mind. Even if he didn’t have a girlfriend… Darcy’s angry face snapped the spell. T
he crickets were chirping again. The world resumed its turning.

  “Thank you so much for the ride. I feel guilty leaving you stranded, but your engine won’t start as long as I’m around.” Cayden’s crisp, distant tone implied a logic the words didn’t deliver, along with a hint of disappointment. “Here.” She held the book out to him. “Keep it for as long as you need, or until you’re ready for Volume Two. It should help you sleep. It’s magic that way. You’ll see.”

  “If you’re sure. I mean, you don’t have to.” It was simply too valuable, and he didn’t feel worthy of her trust at the moment.

  “Of course I don’t. I want to.”

  How was he supposed to respond to that? He didn’t want to hurt her feelings yet again, and damned if he didn’t want a chance to examine that book.

  “Uh, thanks. I’ll take good care of it.”

  With a torturous amount of flashing white thighs and not enough black cape to cover them, she climbed on the strange bicycle. He rearranged himself again while her back was turned.

  “Wait. You’ve got somewhere to stay out here tonight, right?” he called out as she slowly pedaled away.

  “Gran’s. Good night, Clint,” she called back.

  The light on her bike bobbed against the brush as she rounded the curve, the black cape billowing in her wake. It was one hell of a bizarre sight. God, it suited her though.

  He hopped back in his truck and tried the ignition. Nothing. At least his jeans weren’t so goddamn tight any more. He pulled out his cell to call the auto club. No bars, damn it. He was screwed. So what they said was true: No good deed went unpunished.

  A cloud passed over the moon, blanketing him in darkness. It felt good, gave him a minute to think, to try to make some sense out of Cayden, and well, all of it. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there before the moon reappeared, finding him no more enlightened than when it had left.