by Ann Gimpel
In a single fluid motion, Luke moved across the small space and sat next to her. He placed a hand on the side of her head and turned her face so she looked right at him. “You were not stupid. You were fighting for your life. She would have killed you outright, she said as much. And she forced her way into you. It’s not as if you were offered a choice. In situations like that, of course you’d try to put the best possible spin on things.”
“It’s kind of you to make excuses for me, but—”
He moved his hand from her face to her mouth. “Hush. I’m not making excuses. I know what it is to blame yourself.” He hesitated a beat before caressing the side of her face again. “And I know just how hard it is to forgive yourself afterward. It took me years,” his nostrils flared, “and some days I’m not any closer to it than I was when I was fifteen and couldn’t save my seven-year-old sister.”
She looked at him then, locked her gaze onto his. “I’m sorry. You must have felt helpless.”
He shook his head. “It was worse than that. I thought Tamra was safe, but it turned out I’d sent her to her death by telling her to knock on our neighbor’s door. There were wraiths about. Our parents had been taken.” The corners of his eyes pinched with pain. “I didn’t blame the neighbors for not letting my sister inside. Hell, I didn’t even know what they’d done until later. I heard their front door slam and believed she was safe. It was a huge relief because things were turning to shit all around me. I fought with magic I didn’t even realize I had, until everything blew up and I passed out. But if I’d been thinking, I’d have kept her with me. If I’d done that—”
“Stop.” She held his face between her hands. “You did the very best you could. You loved your sister and did your damnedest to save her.” Abigail ached for Luke, understood he’d carted guilt around for years. “None of us are perfect. It’s like what you were trying to tell me about Goody, that I put the best face on things I could once I realized what had happened.” She hurried on, aware she was babbling, but the need to comfort him trumped everything. “You made what you thought was the best decision for Tamra. I’d have done the same thing and sent a child as far out of harm’s way as I could, especially if the wraiths were our parents. Blood calls to blood. Keeping her close might have been worse.” She stopped long enough to suck in a breath. “You have no idea what would have happened if you’d done something different. You only think you do.”
Abigail dropped her hands from Luke’s face, clasped them in her lap, and looked at them. What she’d just said had been incredibly blunt and forward. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I can be pretty opinionated when I get rolling.”
“I respect that in people. Better than someone blowing smoke up my ass.” Luke covered her hands with his. “I still want to get to know you better. I’ve been staying out of your way to give you a chance to recover a little, get your bearings back. I figured what the boys did to you while we were ousting Goody might have made you squirm a bit, even if you can’t remember it.”
Warmth started in her belly and radiated outward. She risked an upward glance. His brow was furrowed and he looked determined, as if it had cost him to show any human need, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. She took a deep breath and squeaked out, “Me too.”
“Me too, what?” His voice deepened, rough with emotion.
She swallowed. “I want to get to know you better.”
Relief lightened his expression; he squeezed her hands hard enough to hurt. “Thank Christ! I thought you were interested, but then I told myself it was just Goody and her insatiable need for men and sex.”
“Goody’s gone. Really and truly. But it wasn’t just her who liked you. I did too. Not did. I still do.” Abigail grimaced. “It was one of the reasons I thought maybe she and I could coexist together.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about Goody, or think about her any more than we have to. How about if we start with that dinner you invited me to? Or maybe it’ll end up being breakfast once we’ve talked with the Girauds.”
“So long as you brought them up, we need to talk about one more thing.” Luke frowned. “While we were riding, the boys and I chewed the fat over how…absent the Girauds have been. It’s been at least a couple of years since they took an active part in Coven activities.”
Abigail considered it, and then realized she hadn’t been around enough to assess something like that. “I don’t go to the council meetings,” she said, “and I’m not very social, so I didn’t notice.”
“May have been why they picked you to escort Carolyn.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, just beware. We’ll be playing this whole thing by ear once we get to Salt Lake.”
“Carolyn did say something curious.” Abigail narrowed her eyes, remembering. “She wanted to use me to get close enough to Breana to kill her, but she didn’t mention Don.”
“Mmph. Interesting. Maybe it means only one of them joined the other side.”
An iron bar of tension settled between Abigail’s shoulder blades. She hadn’t exactly forgotten her doubts about Don and Breana Giraud, but she’d shoved them to a far corner of her mind. Surely evil couldn’t have infiltrated that high into the Coven. She set her jaw in a hard line and just looked at Luke with sad eyes.
“I know.” He patted her hands. “None of this is pleasant to contemplate, but I didn’t want you going in blind.”
“Thanks.” She tugged one of her hands from beneath his and laid it on his shoulder.
He bent his head and closed his mouth over hers. The kiss was so tender and so inexplicably sweet, it melted her heart. His scent, amber and something definitely male, eddied about them. She wound her arms around him, wove her fingers into his hair, and opened her mouth to his questing tongue.
Luke groaned. He threaded his arms around her and pulled her against him, while his tongue explored her mouth. Her nipples formed peaks where they pressed against his hard-muscled chest. Something warm, fluttery, and melty moved through her, filling her with affection and need. She sucked on his tongue and then drew back to nibble his lips.
Abigail was considering rucking up her skirts and straddling his lap when she came to her senses and pulled away reluctantly. “We, that is I… Aw hell, this isn’t right, not until after we get past talking with the Girauds.”
“I agree. I wouldn’t have let things go much further, but damn, woman, you just feel so good in my arms, like you belong there.” He shook his head. “Watching Sam and Josh and Chris go at you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, even if it was just Chris kissing you and Sam holding you. Had to keep reminding myself it wasn’t you, that the part in your body that was you was still deep, deep asleep. If I’d have dashed forward and snatched you away from them like I wanted, Goody would probably have killed Chris and Sam and you—”
“—and then she would have escaped,” Abigail finished for him. “I’m glad she’s well and truly finished. Evil spirits like her don’t deserve their long lives. I have no idea how long they can survive outside a living body.”
Luke snorted. “Neither do I, but it’s likely longer than we think since there’re so many of ’em out there.”
She grinned. “Look at it as job security. For me too. If there wasn’t so much wickedness and misery in this world, they’d probably have burned all of us at the stake a couple hundred years ago.”
“There’ve always been those who believed in us,” he pointed out, still keeping her firmly clasped against his body.
“Yeah. It’s the only reason any of are still here.” She laid her head on his shoulder and just absorbed his energy. “Back before you kissed me, you said you were afraid I wasn’t interested in you. Nothing could be further from the truth. I’m not sure I understand, but you’re almost all I think about…” She broke off, self-conscious she’d let quite so much slip.
“Now that’s music to my ears.” He laid his head atop hers for a moment. “Unless the Girauds need us to stay—or there’s some other reason, like them joining up wi
th the other side—the boys and I were planning to hightail it out of Salt Lake as soon as we could. You said you’d been considering where to go. What’d you come up with?”
“Depends on how the Girauds take things. If they’re too broken up, and they’re willing, I might stay with them and help out, until they’re past the freshest part of their grief.”
“Where were you going to go if they kick you out of the Coven?” he prodded. “Or if they turn out to be evil incarnate?
“San Francisco.”
“Ah, your grandmother. I remember you said something about that at the stage station the night I made us dinner. And then you clammed up real fast.”
Abigail nodded and realized she was smiling at the thought of the woman who’d practically raised her. “I clammed up because, once I said it, I realized I couldn’t visit Gran with Goody inside me. I would never have put Gran at risk like that. She would have taken me in because she doesn’t judge and she’d have wanted to help me, but it wouldn’t have been fair to her or Pop.”
“I think I’d like her. Sounds a lot like Aethelred, the wizard who taught me how to control my magic.”
“You’ll have to tell me about him.” Abigail moved far enough away from Luke so she could look at him. “I want to know everything about you.”
He rolled his eyes. “You only think you do.”
“Yes, well, I figured my life story would bore you to tears too, but it didn’t seem to.”
He stroked the side of her face and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Not that I’m any great judge of such things, but this feels like a good beginning—for us. We’ll play what comes next as it happens. If you stay with the Girauds, I’ll ask if they can find me some work here too.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t turn you down.”
“Probably not. But if I’m too visible, I won’t be any good for the undercover work anymore.”
“Would that bother you?” She closed her teeth over her lower lip and waited for his answer, casting the slightest of truth spells.
“No. Only thing that would bother me is being separated from you.”
His words pinged sweet and clear off her spell and joy cascaded through her. “I’m not certain how we’ll do this,” she murmured, “but we’ll make things work out.”
“You damn betcha.” He grinned and her world lit up.
“You should do that more often. It makes you look a whole lot less intimidating.”
“Do what?”
“Smile.”
“Tell you what,” his grin broadened, “I’ll work on it, but just for you. And only so long as you don’t tell anyone. Wouldn’t want to ruin my image.”
The driver shouted, “Whoa, whoa,” and Abigail slowed the gears. She straightened in her seat and squared her shoulders. It was almost time to face the Girauds. Though she’d never had children of her own, she’d lived long enough to know parents never truly got over losing one of their offspring. She sent up a prayer for gentleness and compassion to deliver such horrible news. And then another for the equanimity she’d need if it turned out they’d been coopted by the other side.
“You won’t be alone,” Luke said resolutely, apparently having sensed her thoughts. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
Chapter Nine
Luke pushed open the stagecoach door and looked outside. Breana Giraud with her long, golden hair and timeless features stood off to one side, draped in a colorful shawl and a black skirt. Her husband, Don, lounged beside her. Though neither of them were particularly tall, they oozed power. Don’s copper hair was braided tight to his skull in many small rows and he wore his trademark black pants, shirt, and jacket. Stacked beside the couple were brightly wrapped packages.
Luke swallowed hard. Loving parents would bring presents to a joyful reunion with their only child, but being faced with the reality smote him. Breana rushed forward. “Carolyn, honey,” she called. “I’ve missed you, child.”
“Mrs. Giraud.” Luke leapt to the ground. “I’m afraid we have bad news.”
The smile on her face crumpled. “Bad news? Whatever do you mean?”
Abigail moved in front of him and held out her hands. “Oh, Mrs. Giraud, I’m so sorry.”
“Is my baby’s body in there?” Breana’s voice held a strangled note as she raised a shaking finger to point at the stagecoach.
Don strode forward. His sharp, black eyes moved from Abigail to Luke. “I’m guessing the answer to that is no.” He clamped his jaws together and glanced at the other three enforcers who’d dismounted and come close. “Get your things,” he barked at Luke and Abigail. “We’re not going to stand out in the street discussing this.”
“No. Of course not.” Breana sounded shell-shocked; her tanned face turned ashen. She swayed on her feet and Don threaded an arm around her waist, but she yanked her body away from his, an unreadable expression on her face.
“Our house is a few miles out of town,” Don said. “Get on your horses and follow us.”
Abigail went back to the stagecoach and pulled her valise from it. “Do you mind if I put this in the back of your wagon?” she asked Don.
He looked at the four enforcers and their horses. “Fine. I’ll take it.” He levered it from her grasp. “You can catch a ride with one of the men.” He bent close and lowered his voice. “I don’t want to talk about this until we’re home. If you ride with us, Breana will drive you half mad with questions.” Don turned away. He stopped in front of the pile of presents and Luke could almost see him gird himself as he tossed Abigail’s suitcase into his wagon. Hands freed, Don bent, scooped up his daughter’s gifts, and placed them gently in the back of the wagon.
Abigail exchanged glances with Luke; her hazel eyes were rimmed with anguish for what the Girauds must be feeling. To spare her the trouble of asking, he said, “You’ll ride with me. Horse is plenty strong enough, plus he got a break this past hour.”
Luke helped her arrange herself in the saddle and squeezed in behind her. Under any other circumstances, he’d have enjoyed the press of her body against his, but all he could see was the haunted look on Don’s face when he’d put Carolyn’s gifts into his wagon. The man had placed them as reverently as if they’d been his daughter’s missing body. Abigail twisted her head so she could talk with him once they started slowly after the wagon. The other enforcers rode in a rough row on both sides of them. “My God, but they’re stoic,” she said.
“Don pulled magic right after Breana jerked away from him. It’s probably the only thing holding her together. Didn’t you feel it?”
Abigail shook her head. “I wasn’t looking, though. Those poor people. I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure what I could have done, but the die was cast even before I showed up in New York.”
“Hush.” He shook his head slightly. “Don might be using magic to listen to us.”
“I doubt it. For all his aplomb, he’s shattered and probably blaming himself for not bringing the child when they first moved.”
“You’re likely right.” A sad, slow ache thrummed through Luke, as if their failure to protect Carolyn mirrored his loss of Tamra. They didn’t talk anymore after that. Luke gazed at Don and Breana from time to time. Rather than sitting next to one another, as grieving parents might, they were just as far apart as they could get with one at each end of the wagon’s seat. The ride felt as if it took forever, but probably not more than an hour passed before Don turned the wagon down a bumpy side road. In another half mile, a two-story log house sitting atop a rise came into view. The Girauds had picked a lovely piece of property on thickly-wooded land, with a rushing creek not far from the house.
Luke drew his horse up, jumped off, and made space for Abigail to dismount. The other enforcers joined them. “I’ll hobble ’em near the creek,” Sam said. “That way they can graze a bit and drink what they need.”
“Don’t be long.” Luke recoiled at the pleading in his voice, but Sam’s quiet strength complemented his own. There
weren’t very many people Luke was comfortable asking for help and something about the Girauds’ ignoring one another on the drive didn’t sit right. Not a single word had passed between them, either out loud or telepathically.
“No longer than I have to.” Sam gathered four sets of reins and set off at a brisk pace with the horses trailing behind him.
Abigail pushed toward the Giraud’s wagon and offered a hand to help Breana down. When the other woman was on the ground, Abigail opened her arms and she stepped into them. A sob escaped her, followed by another before Breana straightened. “I am not going to do this,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’ll have years to mourn, the rest of my natural life. Right now, what I’m needing is information. What happened to my baby?”
“Maybe we ought to go inside,” Don said, but he looked uncertain, as if getting them home had drained what strength he had.
Luke stepped forward. “Some stories go best in the clean, clear light of day.”
“All right.” Don sat heavily on one of the lower porch steps. Breana stumbled to an upturned log end and sat on it, still keeping distance between her and her husband.
Because he wanted to be at eye level with the Girauds, Luke hunkered in the dirt in front of them and motioned to Abigail to do the same. He took a steadying breath, met Don’s direct, dark gaze, and started talking. “I got on the coach in Sterling, Colorado, just like my orders said. First thing that went wrong is we got attacked by wraiths. Abby and I, we did okay. Driver was killed, and one of the horses, but I hitched up the three that were left and got us to the next Overland Stage Station. We were pretty done in, had a bite to eat, and went to sleep. The stationmaster offered to let us sleep inside, but I figured I could protect the women better if we stayed in the coach.”