“I wish you would throw that old chair out,” she said, grabbing a box from her car and walking toward the door. “It’s going to collapse and you’re going to get hurt. I’ll be very angry if you get hurt, Jenny.”
“It’s a little ragged around the edges but still strong enough to hold this ass,” Jenny replied. “Find anything good today?”
Chance held her breath as Jenny pushed herself up out of the chair and it wobbled, creaked and shifted sideways. When Jenny left today Chance was throwing that dangerous piece of crap out. “I have a few boxes we can go through and I bought some old, rough lumber at that farm sale. I should be able to make some beautiful pieces out of it.”
“I have no doubt.” Jenny followed her inside. “Debbie from the flower shop came in and bought all your vases this morning, said the vintage look was doing well for her.”
“That’s great. Did you sell anything else?” Chance moved to the computer and sat down. She checked the bids on her items listed and grinned. Not bad—two of the five items were already over the reserve. It looked as though she’d be able to pay her bills next month.
“We had a couple come in and spend a lot of time looking over that light fixture you created. My gut says they’ll come back to buy it.”
“Now that would be great.” She’d put hours into cleaning up the old strips of metal and twisting them, polishing, welding them to a base and wiring the light. “Let’s go through the boxes and see what we’ve got.”
She and Jenny spent the rest of the afternoon picking out what could be used and what needed to be tossed. She’d done well. They found a small wooden jewelry box with a few antique pieces in the clutter. Even the jewelry box could be sold for a nice profit after a little cleaning up.
“I think it’s time to call it a day, Jenny. I’m bushed.” Chance yawned and her stomach growled.
“You need to eat more,” Jenny groused. “I know you didn’t have lunch and I bet you didn’t eat breakfast either.”
“Don’t worry, Jenny. I pulled out the last of the frozen lasagna you gave me this morning. I’ll be eating just fine tonight.”
Jenny nodded. “I’ll get busy on filling your freezer tonight.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’m a big girl and can cook for myself.” She’d never admit it but having someone worry over her the way Jenny did filled her heart.
Jenny made an annoyed sound. “I’ve tasted your cooking. You’ll waste away to nothing.”
She had a point. Cooking wasn’t something Chance excelled at. Never having anyone to teach her, she simply didn’t develop an interest. “I think I’m offended.”
“Don’t care. I’ll see you tomorrow and don’t stay up all night, young lady.” Jenny waddled out the front door and when she disappeared out of sight, Chance grabbed the old lawn chair and took it around back to the garbage. Tomorrow there would be a new one to replace it.
Done for the day and ready to slip into her yoga pants and tank top, Chance locked up and headed out. It wasn’t until she pulled into her driveway and the old bottle rolled on the floor that she remembered it. Snatching it up, she went inside, put it on her counter and put the thawed lasagna in the oven.
A quick change of clothes, a nice fire in the fireplace and the day came to a pleasant close. She pulled a chilled bottle of wine from the fridge and poured a glass, and saw the old bottle again. Chance snatched it up, somewhat ignored the tingle in her arm and tried to tug the cork out. No matter how hard she twisted, pulled and stabbed the thing with a knife, it wouldn’t come out.
Abandoning the idea of opening it, she grabbed a cloth, wet it down and began to rub the thick layer of dirt away. The more she rubbed, the warmer and stronger the tingle in her arm became. It even seemed the glass itself vibrated.
“What the hell?” The bottle jumped in her hand, pulsed and then shot into the air. Chance froze in place as it hung there in front of her, suspended by nothing. The cork popped free with a thunk, releasing a thick, green mist into the air.
Unable to move, rooted to the floor and paralyzed by fear, she could only think that she’d unleashed some toxic chemical into the air. Instincts had her holding her breath as she watched the cloud roll and gather only feet from her. Oddly, it didn’t dissipate but stretched into a six-foot column as it hovered over the floor.
Her lungs burned, her heart raced and a cold sweat broke out all over her body as she watched the vapor form what looked like a hand and grab the bottle. But it couldn’t be a hand, could it? Sure looked like one though. Oh shit, what the hell was happening?
Hallucinating, that’s what it was. She’d breathed in the fumes and now her brain was slowly melting. Yep, had to be because now the mist began to take the shape of a human and things like that didn’t happen. Except, legs were forming, a waist, torso, wide shoulders, thick arms and oh crap, there was the head.
Her knees wobbled and then clanked together. Every muscle in her body quivered so fiercely she thought for sure she’d shake apart. The foggy form tipped its head back and let out a low, rumbling groan that sent icy fright thundering through her bloodstream. With teeth chattering, she tried to move her legs, ordered them to run, do something.
Slowly the green haze cleared, starting at the floor. Chance shifted her gaze there and to her shock and amazement a pair of worn cowboy boots appeared along with the hem of ragged jeans. She blinked several times, reminded herself this was all a trick of her poisoned mind, but continued to follow the denim up parted legs. Strong legs with a narrow waist.
Chance sucked in a much needed gulp of air as the chest became clearer. Broad with wide shoulders, covered in a faded black shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing defined muscles in the lower arm. Wow, did she know how to hallucinate or what? And then the face cleared. Chance’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the hard, chiseled features staring back at her. Square jaw, slightly crooked nose and dark, gleaming eyes were things of fantasy. They shouldn’t be standing in her kitchen.
Not in your kitchen, she reminded herself. Hallucination, that or I’ve gone batshit crazy. Still, she couldn’t stop looking at the wavy black hair hanging past his shoulders. Damn, whatever chemical she breathed in had some powerful effects on the mind.
Suddenly those gleaming eyes snapped to her face and she felt a punch to the gut and chest that actually made her whimper. Her body rocked slightly. It took everything she had not to collapse into a puddle on the floor. Well, as imaginations went hers was stellar. If you’re gonna dream up a man, do it right.
“Good evenin’, ma’am. Hayes Martin at your service.”
The low, slow drawl wrapped around her, caressed her nerve endings and made her stomach flutter and then clench. It spoke. Her new imaginary friend just spoke and he had a dreamy bedroom voice. PCP, some new form of mind-altering drug? Whatever she’d unleashed inside her home would have an unprecedented street value. Holy cow, she could even smell him and he stank of stale whiskey.
And then he bowed, a graceful, elegant bend of the waist as if she were royalty. Too much, too damn much. Chance grew hysterical and began shaking her head, opening and closing her mouth, but words wouldn’t come. Her legs chose then to work, making her stumble backward and catch herself against the counter.
The man reached out as if wanting to catch her. She stammered, slipped to the side and almost wet herself. “No touch, no touch, no touch,” she managed, until he jerked his hand back.
“I startled you. My apologies for that, ma’am,” he told her slowly but kept his distance. “If there were some other way of leaving the bottle I assure you I would do it. Can’t tell you how many people I nearly send to an early grave with all that smoke and mirror bull.”
Chance’s gaze shot to the bottle in his hand and then back to his face. Nope, not believing it for one second. That man did not come out of that old bottle, much less a man with a Southern drawl who should be modeling underwear and tuxedos. A hysterical laugh bubbled up and out. Chance slapped her h
and over her mouth but couldn’t contain it, especially when he, it, whatever, looked a bit annoyed.
“That old couple must have been playing around with a chemical kit or something,” she muttered between laughs. “Whatever they concocted, it’s good stuff. I can actually smell you and you stink.”
He frowned, the corners of his mouth dipping and his brow furrowing slightly. He raised his arm and took a sniff of his shirt and winced. He lifted the bottle and stared at it a moment.
“I need to sit down.” Chance pushed away from the counter but her legs were still weak and she stumbled again.
This time the man stepped out and caught her. She could actually feel his arm wrap around her waist, tug her close to his solid, real body. Her hand rested on his chest and she could feel his heart beating beneath her palm. Terror the likes of which she’d never experienced struck. This man was real.
Chance released a high-pitched scream, shoved away and went running into her bedroom where she retrieved her small handgun. He was real and standing in her house. For what? Half-crazed and out of her mind, Chance held the gun out in front of her, rushed back out into the kitchen and pointed it at his chest.
“Who the hell are you and what do you want?” Oh boy, if he didn’t leave she’d be forced to shoot and the way her hands were shaking, she’d hit everything but him.
“Whoa,” he said, putting his hands out in front of him. “Take it easy. No need for violence. I don’t mean you no harm, ma’am.”
“Stop calling me ma’am,” she snapped. “I’m not even thirty yet.” Chance groaned. Why the hell did she tell him that? She had to pull it together. Get her head straight.
“Just bein’ respectful,” he said in that slow drawl. “Don’t mean nothin’ by it. Please, put the gun down.”
“Get out.”
“Well, now, I can’t do that.” He lowered his arms to his sides, still holding that old bottle as if it were a lifeline.
“Yes you can. Turn yourself around and walk out the door.” Her finger twitched on the trigger.
“It ain’t that easy. Believe me, if I could, I’d be makin’ tracks.”
Chance frowned at the sad look in his eyes. He reminded her of a puppy pouting and, damn it, it tugged at her heart. “Oh no you don’t,” she groused. “I don’t know what your story is but it doesn’t involve me.”
He sighed, a heavy sound that made his chest rise and fall. Using his free hand, he scratched his jaw and then jammed his fists on his hips. “I’m afraid it does. See, you rubbed my bottle and released me. That makes you my master for a while. Until I fulfill your wishes, like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” And she thought she’d lost her mind? This guy had gone off the edge, wallowed in insanity and come back for more. That made him dangerous.
“Okay, let me explain it this way. I’m a genie. I live in this bottle. You rubbed the bottle and released me. That means I have to grant you three wishes before I go back into my bottle and wait for the next person to rub it. Simple.”
A genie? “You’re crazy.” She needed to call the police, tell them to bring the white coat that lets you hug yourself. This guy was delusional in a grand way.
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I thought the same thing when I was inside this infernal thing looking out.” He waved the bottle around. “After a hundred years I was forced into acceptin’ it.” He rubbed his temple. “Look, let me show you.”
With a point of his finger toward her, the gun vanished out of her hands and appeared in his. Just like that. Chance gasped, ran into her bedroom, slammed the door and locked it. Before she could grab her phone, he appeared right in front of her. With a screech she rushed out and ran for the front door. He appeared out of thin air, blocking her way.
“I can do this all night, ma’am.” He jammed his fists onto his hips again and grinned. “Although watchin’ you run around is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”
Chance backed away slowly, shivering beneath his lazy gaze roaming down her body. Oh yeah, she was in trouble. A perverted lunatic and she had no way of escaping. Well, he’d have one hell of a fight on his hands if he had visions of violating her body. She may not be able to stop it but she sure as hell could do some damage to him.
“Stay away from me unless you want to lose vital parts of your anatomy.” She kept moving, one small step at a time.
He frowned again, tilted his head to the side and then sighed. “I’m afraid you got me all wrong, ma’am. I ain’t that kinda man. Never forced a woman to do anythin’ against her will.”
“Uh huh.” Chance was near the small hallway. She could run into her bedroom and hopefully be halfway out the window before he popped in. If she ran fast she could make it to the neighbor’s before he figured out where she’d gone.
“We really started out on the wrong foot,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead.
Chance took that single moment of distraction and dashed inside her room, slammed the door, turned the lock and ran to her window. After pushing it up she slipped her legs through and heaved her body. It wasn’t a big drop to the ground but seconds before her feet hit earth he appeared, held out his arms and caught her. She kicked, swung her arms, thrashed, did everything she could to free herself, but his strong arms held tight.
“Stop overreactin’,” he grumbled.
Chance watched in terror as he dipped his head. Warm breath washed over her ear. “Sleep.”
Chapter Three
Hayes shifted her in his arms, looked down at her sleeping face and sighed. A pretty woman, she reminded him of someone with her wavy brown hair, pale skin and large eyes. Shrugging off the odd feeling of familiarity, he whisked them back inside with a single thought and laid her down on the couch.
Damn, but he messed this one up. Not once in over a hundred years of this nightmare life had a person responded so wildly to him. A few moments of shock followed by a quick demonstration of his powers and people were foaming at the mouth, eager to start making wishes. This one, she goes plumb off her rocker and pulls a weapon. He’d never encountered a woman like her before.
Kneeling down by the couch, he pushed a few strands of her hair back out of her face. Sleeping made her appear more docile but appearances could be deceiving. He’d learned that over his incarceration in the bottle. It didn’t matter what year, the most timid-looking person could become vindictive and dangerous when faced with any possible wish they could have.
Rules said you couldn’t end a being’s life personally, but there weren’t any regulations against giving the master the power to do so. The first time a person wished for strength to physically whip a man’s ass into the grave, Hayes refused and paid the price. Horrid, organ-twisting pain racked his body, brought him to his knees and made him sweat bullets until he granted the wish. At that moment he realized it wasn’t his place to judge. Nope, the judging would come later and by a greater power. He’d heard it called karma by some.
Would this woman turn out to be like those? Would she wish to destroy another’s life? He gazed at her pretty pink lips formed like a bow. How could anyone so beautiful harbor such hate inside? But yeah, looks could be deceiving.
Hayes pushed to his feet and looked around the house—clean, comfortable, touches of the owner here and there. Some of the old knickknacks he recognized. What year did he emerge in anyway? Surely she had a paper or something around that gave a date.
He quietly poked around until he found a paper in the kitchen area. After tossing it on the table, he pulled out a chair and sat.
The first thing he did was look at the date. October, two-thousand thirteen. Hayes whistled softly. Fifty years he’d been sealed up inside that bottle. No wonder he stank of stale whiskey. His last master must have hidden the bottle away after receiving his last wish. How’d that work out anyway? Did the guy’s harem of beautiful women granting his every whim give him the life he expected?
Hayes laughed. Most likely not. Wishes had
a way of backfiring on people. Put twenty women together and war broke out. The poor bastard probably ran to the other side of the earth to get away from them. Served him right. He had a lovely lady already. What the hell did he need more for?
Shoot, if he had a chance for one beautiful, loving woman he wouldn’t risk it. A face from his past popped into his head—long brown hair, supple body and, what? He couldn’t remember anymore. The passage of a century played hell on a man’s memory.
Pushing it aside, he continued glancing through the paper. Violence, hatred, men stealing from others. Time moved on but nothing changed. People with more thought they should rule the people with less, and those with nothing wanted to take what others had. Sometimes he didn’t understand why the greater power didn’t slingshot this planet right out of the solar system.
Still, he’d met enough decent people over the years to balance out the bad. Caring, helpful people, but not caring enough to free him from his bottle for good and it didn’t appear this one would be any different. So he’d do his deed and hope the next one saw his plight.
He heard rustling on the couch. Yep, about time for her come out of the sleep he put her in. Hayes braced for another round of threats and shouting. He watched, waited and when he thought maybe she’d drifted back off for the night, fingers curled around the back of the cushion and the top of her head appeared along with two wide, brown eyes peering at him.
He couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his lips. Damn, but she was a looker. “Mornin’,” he said with a tip of his head. She glanced out the window and then back at him. “Just an expression. You’ve only been out ten minutes.”
Her relief was plain and visible on her face. She sat up, pushed her long locks back and then rolled her head. “What did you do to me?”
“Just gave you some downtime before you hurt yourself. Hope you don’t mind but I needed to catch up on the last fifty years.” He lifted the paper, showing her.
WhiskeyBottleLover Page 3