That Voodoo That You Do

by Ann Yost

  “We’ll hit the E.R. in the morning.”

  Jessie put her unhurt hand against his face. Her eyes were soft and comforting.

  “The angel was special wasn’t she? She was a gift to Aunt Blanche?”

  He didn’t want her to stop touching him, and he hated himself for it. He knew his words would hurt her. “The angel was a gift to my wife.”

  “Your wife?” She looked around as if she thought Crystal might be hiding behind the trashcan or behind the refrigerator.

  “Ex-wife.”

  “Oh.”

  She sounded what? Shocked? Relieved?

  Disappointed in him? Probably all three.

  “You’re not together anymore.”

  “That’s what divorce means.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Crystal.”

  “Crystal. That’s why you bought her a glass angel.”

  The elf’s obvious emotion about his spoiled marriage was starting to get on his nerves. “I bought her the angel because I thought she’d like it. Crystal liked beautiful things.”

  “Was she beautiful?”

  Surpassingly. “Yeah.”

  “Oh, Luke. What happened?”

  He ought to tell her to mind her own business, but he didn’t. He figured it was as good a time as any for a lesson in reality. He gave her his fiercest look.

  “She divorced me, Jessie, because I was a terrible husband.”

  Jessie blinked. “That’s not why.”

  ****

  Jessie leaned against the front of the Victorian sofa. Pye moved restlessly on the nest of blankets next to her. Jessie felt certain the birth was about to begin. She wondered if she should go get Luke, but surely he’d check on the cat. A minute later he opened the glass doors that connected the parlor with the foyer.

  He kept his gaze on the animal. Jessie heard him murmur something, and then he was building up the fire. He knelt on the stone hearth and poked twists of paper in between the logs. Then he took a long match out of a box on the mantelpiece and started the blaze. Tongues of fire lit the harsh planes and angles of his face. Jessie thought she’d never seen a man so appealing, or so alone.

  He’d loved and trusted someone enough to get married. He’d wanted a picket fence and a golden retriever. She wondered what could have possessed the beautiful Crystal to divorce him. There was nothing in this world or the next that could induce her, Jessie, to leave a man like Luke. Not if he loved her.

  The truth hit her like a bolt out of the blue. It wasn’t just chemistry. She was falling in love with a man who no longer believed in it.

  She sure knew how to pick ’em.

  He turned to her, tall, fit, impossibly masculine. Jessie wondered what he would say.

  “Why,” he asked, “does it smell like toothpaste in here?”

  She blinked. “It’s a peppermint candle. The scent is supposed to be soothing. I read about it on a Lamaze website.”

  His gaze glanced over the bowl of ice chips and at Blanche’s old radio which Jessie had turned to a station playing Christmas carols.

  “You do remember she’s a cat.”

  “A special cat. She told you she was cold, didn’t she?”

  His green eyes glittered at her. She dropped her gaze and noticed, with a shock, the bulge in his pants.

  “Maybe you are a witch, Jessie Maynard,” he said. Their gazes held for what seemed like forever. He wanted her, but he wasn’t going to do anything about it. For some reason the realization was unbearably disappointing. She looked down at the cat. She peered more closely at the slimy, dark object the size of a miniature Baby Ruth.

  Was that what she thought it was?

  “First one out of the chute,” he said.

  “Oh my god,” Jessie cried. “Do you think I could touch it?” She looked at the cat. “May I?” Pyewacket blinked.

  Luke knelt next to them. “Nice job,” he said.

  The green eyes glittered.

  “I think she said ‘fuck you.’”

  “The cat version of it.”

  “Well, that’s normal for laboring moms.”

  He held Jessie’s gaze. “Good to know.”

  By the time five kittens had been born, Luke was feeding ice chips to the cat. He’d punched up the fire several times, always returning to the feline’s side. His strong fingers were gentle when he stroked Pye’s head. Jessie’s heart melted even as she worried about the mother cat. How long could all this writhing and birthing go on? “How many do you think there are?”

  “Nine,” he said.

  “Did she tell you that?”

  “I did a little weight ratio calculation. It’s an estimate.”

  “Nine. Wow. Think she’ll be all right?”

  “She’ll be fine.” Luke’s voice was confident, easy. Jessie stared at him. “What?”

  “You’re a good birth coach. You’d make a good dad.”

  He shook his head. “You are such a hopeless romantic. You’ve known me two days.”

  “Well, I might be a witch. And I’ve always had good instincts about people.” She remembered Kit. “Usually. My ex wants a second chance.”

  She didn’t know why she’d confided that. He couldn’t be interested in it.

  “You gonna give him one?”

  She shook her head. “Would you give your ex a second chance?”

  “It’s not the same. She left me.”

  “But if she came to her senses. If she came back.”

  A resigned look came over his face. “Crystal left me because I failed her, okay? I am not the knight in shining armor you think I am.”

  It was humiliating to have revealed her feelings. She wanted to deny what she’d said, but that would be even more humiliating.

  They waited for the rest of the kittens in silence.

  ****

  Dennis Prendergast pushed himself away from the kitchen table after the second helping. He could have handled a third, but then he’d have to redouble his weight loss efforts to make up for it. Not that he’d mind. His mind drifted back to this morning’s coffin sex. Lois was a sexual genius. How could he have even contemplated ending the relationship? A satisfied smile crawled across his face. It soon disappeared when he thought about all the complications.

  The deaths were already stirring people up. Folks from outside would start showing up, including the county sheriff’s department. The powers that be at the synod who usually left regional churches to themselves had started to call him to report complaints.

  He was scared to death of his partner in crime.

  Yeah. Intellectually, he knew it was time to move on, but Holy Smoke. He’d miss Lois’s talented tongue.

  They’d stay till the pay off on Christmas Eve. Maybe a day or two more. It might be awhile before he found someone like Lois. He imagined her skillful hands on him, and he moaned. It might be a long time.

  “Are you feeling well?”

  His wife’s words of concern brought him back to the present. He smiled at the milk-pale woman across from him. She’d been a perfect wife for him. He reached across to touch her cold fingers. “Great meal,” he said. “As always.”

  She got up, carried their plates to the sink, and began to scrape bits of food into a bin. She spoke without looking at him.

  “Denny, do you ever want something more?”

  He looked at the back of her head. The pink and white scalp showed through her thin strands of graying red hair.

  “Never,” he said. “I have everything I need.”

  She looked up and smiled. He felt a flash of discomfort when he realized how seldom he saw that smile. Maybe she wanted something else. Well, he’d buy it for her. This last payoff would be a big one.

  “The world’s our oyster, Ellie,” he said, expansively. “And you are my pearl.”

  “When will you hold the service for Letty?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon, weather permitting. I don’t know as we’ll be able to dig a hole in all this snow. Might ha
ve to let Mort keep the body a day or two longer.” He chuckled. “At least she’s finally shut up.”

  “Denny!”

  He winced at the sharpness in her tone.

  “Letty Appleby was a human being. One of God’s creatures. Her death isn’t something to joke about.”

  It was as close as she’d come to lecturing him. Of course she had no idea what he was up to. He hoped she never found out.

  “We’ll give her a good send-off,” he promised. “Could you get me a toothpick?” He dug at the food between his teeth for a minute while she watched him.

  “You left your cell phone here this morning.”

  He grimaced. “It’s heavy. I didn’t want to stretch out my good wool slacks.”

  She pulled something out of the pocket of her apron. It was a small, gaily wrapped gift. She placed it, shyly, in front of him.

  “What’s this?”

  “A Christmas gift. An early one.”

  “Aw, El, you shouldn’t have.” He ripped open the package to find a small, sleek cell phone.

  “Fantastic!”

  “Your pants are safe,” she said.

  Not only that, he could start over. No more stored phone numbers that someone might find.

  “You’re the best,” he said.

  ****

  “I’m worried about Jessie,” Mabel Ruth told the two women sitting at Millicent’s Formica topped table. The trio had gathered on Pine Street in the kitchen of the anorexic brownstone that was the Underhill family home.

  “She seems to be thriving in Mystic Hollow,” Millicent pointed out. “She’s made friends with Francine.”

  “And she seems to be getting along with Lucas,” Maude said. “You know that’s what Blanche was hoping for.”

  A long, heavy pair of earrings bearing the images of the sun and the moon tangled with Mabel Ruth’s long hair as she shook her head. She found she couldn’t shake off her concern. “Lucas hasn’t made peace with the past.”

  “Perhaps we could help things along,” Maude suggested.

  “You know that isn’t kosher, Maudie,” Mabel Ruth admonished. “No tampering with matters of the heart.”

  “Perhaps it isn’t as serious as you think,” Millicent offered.

  Mabel Ruth shook her head. “I’ve seen the way she looks at him.”

  “What way?” Millicent asked.

  “The same way he used to look at Crystal Wetherington.”

  “You mean Crystal Tanner,” Millicent said, heavily.

  “Blanche always said Luke was a one-woman man,” Mabel Ruth replied. “I’m afraid Jessie is going to get her heart broken.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The eight black kittens in the toilet paper nest looked less like bite-sized candy bars than like dark chocolate Easter eggs, Jessie decided. Either way, they were adorable.

  It had been a long night, longer for some than others. Pye was exhausted. Jessie had fortified herself with three beers—two over her limit—out of anxiety for the cat and agitation at Luke’s proximity. The room was mellow and hazy as she leaned back against the sofa. There was room for another person between her and Luke but she could still feel heat and it wasn’t coming from the fire.

  She felt curiously content, and she sighed drawing his attention.

  “What?”

  She covered her mouth as if to impart a state secret. “I think the beer is making me horny.”

  She knew instantly it was a mistake. His face hardened with a familiar tension. “So,” she said, grabbing the first topic that came to mind. “I never heard the story of how you wound up with my great aunt.”

  His gaze shifted back to the fire.

  “What happened to safe subjects like religion or politics?”

  She tilted her head to one side and squinted at him. “I’d guess you are a lapsed Protestant and socially conscious, fiscally conservative Republican.”

  A reluctant smile stretched across his face.

  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

  “I got in some trouble. She heard about it. Blanche could never resist a challenge.”

  Jessie tried to picture a teenage Luke. He’d have been heart-stoppingly attractive with his nearly black hair, his green eyes, his athletic build, the rebellious chip on his shoulder. Great-Aunt Blanche had been a brave woman.

  “Were you in the foster system a long time?”

  “Nine years. Nine homes.”

  Pain sliced saber-like through her heart. So many partings. So much rejection. Maybe his wife had left because he’d never learned to bond with people. She glanced at the fingers stroking the cat’s head. He did just fine with animals.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Petty stuff at first. Shoplifting. Weed.

  Joyriding.”

  “And when Aunt Blanche found you?”

  The green eyes met hers. “I got a girl in trouble. Her dad hauled me into court.”

  Her heart twisted.

  “Aren’t you going to ask if it was my baby?”

  Her answer was instinctive. “I know that if it was you’d take responsibility.”

  “Jesus, Jessie.” He palmed the back of his neck.

  She wondered if he was stiff.

  “Take off the rose-colored glasses.”

  “What happened?”

  He looked away. “Nothing. She got an abortion.”

  Jessie wondered if he was even aware of the regret she heard in his voice. “Hero,” she whispered.

  He moved quickly like the athlete he’d been. All at once she was on her feet, her body pressed against his so tightly she couldn’t tell whether the drumming heartbeat she heard was hers or his. She tried to tell him he could take his time, that she wanted this, but the minute she opened her mouth his came down over it. The kiss wasn’t gentle. Instantly he was in full possession, and she felt completely dominated. Her body melted like butter, and she ground herself against him with all her strength. He ripped his mouth away, panting.

  “Jesus, Jessie.”

  “You said that before,” she murmured.

  His big hands came up to her face, and he held it still as his tongue, his clever, talented tongue, tasted her lips and explored the moist warmth behind her teeth. Her knees trembled.

  “Put your arms around my neck,” he suggested in a husky whisper.

  Brilliant idea. The move gave him free access to the skin under her sweater. His hands—strong, rough, calloused—gently abraded the soft flesh, caused a heaviness in her breasts.

  “Higher,” she murmured. “Harder.”

  He let out a choked sound and deftly unhooked her bra. How much experience had he had with this? The question died when the masculine fingers found the undersides of her breasts, found the tightly furled tips. Every stroke triggered a small explosion inside her. She gasped. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!”

  Jessie’s response seemed to galvanize him. He snaked one hand up her back while the other continued its tantalizing work. She felt surrounded by this man, owned by him.

  “Wait,” she puffed.

  He froze. “You don’t want this.”

  She held his gaze while her hands found his belt. “I want this and more.”

  Her words sent a tremor through his body.

  Or maybe it was her action. He seemed to hold his breath while she fumbled with his belt buckle. “I’ll do it,” he bit out.

  An instant later she lifted him in her hands. He was heavy, hot, pulsing with need. She ran her fingers up and down the hard length, marveling at the thick vein, the smooth stretched skin, the velvet tip, and the heavy sacs underneath. He was fiercely male, and at the moment, he was all hers.

  He endured the exploration at first but need seemed to crash in on him and he thrust heavily into her hands.

  “Jessie,” he moaned.

  She had a sudden, irresistible urge to pleasure him. Without letting go she dropped to her knees and cautiously took him into her mouth. His fingers tightened in her curls, and he breathe
d another curse. A sense of power ignited her and she sucked. Hard. His cry didn’t mask the other sound in the room, a cat’s frightened whimper. Jessie felt a moment’s regret then all her attention centered on the animal. She quickly detached herself and moved closer to Pye.

  Pyewacket’s sides bellowed in and out like an overworked racehorse. Her beautiful green eyes were slits in the feline face.

  Fear replaced lust, and tears gathered behind Jessie’s eyes. Was Luke’s cat going to die?

  “I’m going to call a vet,” she said, even knowing Santa Claus himself couldn’t get out in the storm.

  “Wait.” Luke, with his pants still unzipped, focused on the patient. His fingers worked over her swollen body, his voice was gentle, soothing.

  “You can do this, girl. Just one more.”

  He kept up soft, encouraging words in a way that made Jessie’s heart melt. She was sure no female would be immune to his tenderness, and as the seconds passed and Pye’s pitiful whimpers eased, it looked like she was right. Luke continued to massage the cat, but he muttered to Jessie. “Sing. It’ll divert her attention.” Sing? Sing what? Inna Gadda Davita?

  She watched Luke push on the cat’s belly. If he could do that she could sing. She opened her mouth then heard an off key melody and the words of an old song.

  “What’s new pussycat? Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa…”

  The last kitten dropped. Its fur was pale gray.

  “Busted,” Luke whispered. “Now we know the papa is that old tom of Maude’s.”

  The tenderness in his deep voice filled Jessie’s eyes. She hid the emotion by offering Pyewacket an ice chip. The small pink tongue licked at it a few times then Pyewacket closed her eyes and went to sleep. They checked the newborns and leaned back against the sofa.

  “Thank God that’s over,” Luke murmured.

  “You saved her. Hero.”

  He lifted one dark brow. “Don’t you ever learn?”

  She held his gaze. “Hero, hero, hero, hero, hero.”

  And then she was on her back on Blanche’s thin carpet. This time the clothes were shoved out of the way without any words. He rose up over her, wide shoulders blocking the glow of the fire, his fierce expression disappearing as his mouth took hers in a thrusting, searing kiss. His fingers dropped to his swollen flesh, and he surged into her. The entry was tight but slick, and Jessie’s hips came up to meet him. A harsh groan rumbled up through his rib cage and shook her. His muscles stiffened and he lifted his head. She felt the pleasure zephyr through him and her heart swelled.