For Her Eyes Only

by Cait London

  “Everyone has difficult times, Leona. Have patience. You’re just worried about finding a new helper at the shop, and you seem stressed. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Leona turned to smile at him. “I don’t suppose you know anything about ladies’ wear, do you?”

  “I’ll take care of your sister,” Greer Aisling said when she met Owen and Janice at Sea-Tac, Seattle’s major airport.

  Greer’s earth-green eyes were amazingly like Leona’s. Though gray touched the older woman’s hair, which Greer wore in a smooth chignon, that dark red shade was still alive, fiery when touched by bright light. A replica brooch like her daughter’s was pinned to her soft green jacket. After they’d deplaned Greer had immediately walked to Janice. Greer had hugged Janice as would a mother.

  A tall, older man stood near Greer, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. “This is Kenneth Ragnar,” Greer stated, clearly uneasy with the man. “This is Owen and Janice Shaw.”

  Kenneth nodded curtly, extending his left hand to Owen. “Shaw.”

  As they shook hands, Owen sensed that the other man was gauging him as he stepped back instantly, almost behind the women, his stance casual but his gaze alert, like that of a guard on duty. “She’ll be fine. Greer knows what to do.”

  “I see that.”

  In Greer’s embrace, Janice reacted immediately to the world-famous psychic. Her body relaxed, and her arms went around the older woman, as if grasping a lifeline. Greer touched and soothed Janice in almost the same manner as Leona had, and Owen instantly trusted her. But then he’d trusted Greer from the moment he’d spoken to her on the telephone last night.

  “How lovely to have a daughter in my home again. I see you like Claire’s work. That’s a lovely tote,” Greer said warmly as she eased away but continued to hold Janice’s hand. “Owen says you’re a graphic designer. All of my daughters are creative, too. I’ve prepared a perfect computer just for you. I’m sorry, but my Internet connection is out temporarily. But it has everything you’ll need for your graphic work. And I think some of my daughters’ clothes are going to fit you. If not, we’ll alter them. You like to sew, don’t you? Maybe you’d like to make your own.”

  “I love to sew. I’d love to make a patchwork quilt and use my own graphic designs.”

  Janice’s excitement startled Owen. He hadn’t known that Janice liked to sew; no wonder keeping scissors from her had been such a task.

  “She’ll be fine,” Greer murmured, when he’d tensed and prepared to make a financial arrangement. Owen hadn’t much to offer. The move from Montana and Janice’s depression had run his savings into a dangerous margin.

  Before Owen could reach for his wallet, Greer’s earth-green eyes locked with his. “Money doesn’t matter now. I’m glad to have Janice stay with me. We have lots to talk about…. I know this is difficult for you, Owen Wolf Shaw. But there are bigger things to worry about than your pride, aren’t there? You’ve kept Janice safe for years. You’ve done the right thing, bringing her to me. Please don’t worry.”

  Owen Wolf Shaw…. Greer had spoken his name as if it held special significance. Leona evidently had been startled by his family name when she’d first heard it. What was the connection?

  Janice gripped Owen’s hand. “Don’t worry about me, Owen. I know what to do. Please don’t let anything happen to you or to Greer’s firstborn.”

  Firstborn had been an unusual choice of words for Janice. The women seemed to be already sharing communication on a look-and-touch level that Owen didn’t understand. “Because you’re a man it’s harder for you to communicate that way,” Janice informed him quietly, as if reading his thoughts. “Women do it better…or at least the Aislings do. I’m in their circle now, Owen. I’m safe. Don’t feel bad, please. It’s just different with them.”

  Ragnar spoke up again. “Women are different…. Contrary.”

  Greer frowned at Ragnar, but his tough, lined face seemed to ease. His steel-colored eyes held humor as he looked at Owen. Apparently, Greer didn’t appreciate Ragnar’s presence. However, the older man seemed to enjoy her unease. Owen liked Ragnar immediately; he knew he could trust him.

  Since meeting Greer, Janice seemed stronger, brighter, more confident. Owen studied the two women, with Ragnar towering over them. There was the usual small talk and Owen noted Janice’s speech pattern had changed. Instead of her earlier stilted, formal style, Janice’s speech had softened to a modern flow.

  His sister had changed instantly, responding to these strangers with a natural warmth that surprised Owen. As Leona had asked, Janice wore none of her own clothes. She took nothing with her, but her braids and the tote from Timeless. In the feminine blouse and jeans that Leona had given her, his sister looked nothing like the troubled girl-woman she’d been.

  On his return trip hours later, Owen shifted restlessly in his airline seat. Being in the enclosed quarters of the place ignited his worries about the danger surrounding the Aisling-Bartels and his sister. When Greer’s eyes had locked with his, he’d understood immediately that she was terrified for Leona. He opened a large envelope she’d given him and pulled out a photograph of a Viking brooch that matched the Aislings’ replica, and Greer’s handwritten note: Your sister is safe. Take care of my daughter. I love her very much. Greer.

  Owen closed his eyes and leaned back into his seat. He rubbed his cheek where Janice had kissed him, a completely new gesture. As a child, she’d kissed him. But this time her affection wasn’t impulsive or quick. Her kiss had been intended to comfort, one adult to another, and it had caught him by surprise. A show of affection hadn’t been the Shaws’ family trait, and for a heartbeat, Owen hadn’t known how to respond. Stunned, he’d stood stiffly between the two women, then Greer’s hand had touched his arm. Her eyes had said she understood.

  Tears weren’t something anyone in the Shaw family shed easily, especially the men, but today they had burned in Owen’s eyes. Janice’s brilliant smile and laughter at the airport had startled him. She’d seemed as if she’d escaped an ugly cocoon, and was now a beautiful butterfly set free. For the first time, Owen had glimpsed the vibrant woman she should have been for all these years.

  Owen would kill the bastard who had taken those years away from Janice.

  Remembering how Greer had known his middle name, he took from his pocket the replica brooch Janice had asked him to return to Leona, studying the wolf’s head. Then he compared this replica Tempest had created to the glossy photograph of the original, noticing the Viking alphabet, what Janice had called “old writing.”

  As he traced the wolf’s head on the replica brooch with his thumb, he wondered why it seemed familiar. Then he realized that it was probably because as a boy, he’d seen several wolves in the mountains. However, if his family name, Wolf, had anything to do with the Aislings, he intended to find out. And he intended to protect Leona.

  Leona hadn’t answered his question about the color of his eyes. What difference did it make to her if they were blue, brown, or gray?

  As he watched the mountains of clouds outside his flight’s window seat, he suddenly longed for Leona. As soon as his plane landed for the connection in Denver, he hurried to call her. He had hours until his next flight but needed to hear her voice.

  “Timeless Vintage. Leona speaking.” Her voice was cool, crisp, and perfect. He intended to hear a different, sensual sound in a few hours—while they were making love.

  “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Oh? And who would this be?”

  Owen settled in to enjoy the flirtation. He smiled at himself, a man who rarely wasted time on unnecessary calls. Apparently, Leona was necessary. “What are you doing?”

  “Steaming down a shipment of blouses.”

  “Mm. Sounds like fun.”

  “You have no idea what I mean, do you? You probably haven’t ironed or steamed anything in your lifetime, buddy.”

  “Oh, I think I’ve steamed a little in my time, just last night as a mat
ter of fact. I’m hoping for the same thing tonight,” he returned, and smiled at Leona’s slight gasp. The reference to their lovemaking had obviously startled her.

  Neither one of them were leisurely, relaxed, playful people, and Owen was surprised at how much he enjoyed teasing Leona. “I’m busy, Owen,” she returned huskily.

  “See you tonight.”

  He waited until she replied curtly, “Fine.”

  Leona’s “Fine” wasn’t exactly a lover’s gushing welcome. But hey, she hadn’t said no. He spotted a florist shop and whistled as he walked toward it.

  On his connecting flight to Lexington, Owen glanced at the bouquet on the empty seat beside him. The flowers were worth the effort to pass the security check. The calla lilies reminded him of Leona’s creamy breasts, the rosebuds of—Owen took a deep breath and settled more comfortably in his seat, his body hardened.

  Owen picked up the bouquet and nuzzled the blooms. He found the female flight attendant smiling softly down at him. He was almost positive that no Shaw male had ever looked gooney over a florist’s bouquet. Embarrassed, Owen quickly placed the bouquet aside and picked up a magazine. As she passed again, the flight attendant patted his shoulder. “Your girlfriend will love them.”

  Owen stared blankly at the travel magazine in his hands. A girlfriend. That’s what he had, a real girlfriend, for the first time in his life.

  Seven hours after he’d talked to Leona, Owen hurriedly checked on Moon Shadow and Willow; he glanced at the dark house and headed for the barn. Opening the side door, he stood in the entryway, a flashlight in his hand. He had to secure that revolver where no one else could find it. Then tonight and tomorrow, he could relax with Leona.

  Owen smiled at himself. He hadn’t considered himself to be a relaxed sort of guy, playing house on a Sunday afternoon.

  He realized he was grinning again and hurried to finish his task. He didn’t want anyone else getting that revolver, not with trouble afoot. Clicking on the overhead light, he went straight to the wooden ladder leading up to the loft. He moved up the worn boards serving as rungs. Suddenly a board creaked beneath his weight and broke. He grabbed the edge of the loft above him and worked his way over the top.

  Owen gauged the fall he could have taken. It was enough to have broken a few bones, or maybe his neck. The ladder was old, and he should have already replaced it.

  After easing aside that concealing bale of hay, Owen lifted the rough wooden planking where he had hidden the handgun. His father’s revolver wasn’t there.

  Who had it now? The carpenter was the only other person with a key to the barn. Owen had already cautioned him about locking the door.

  Owen skimmed the shadows with his flashlight beam, searching…Then a fresh nick in the barn’s old wood caught his eye. He went to the board, noted the splintering where nails had been, as if something had been pulled free.

  He put his back to the wall, bent his knees a little to place his head level with the freshly disturbed wood, and looked around the loft.

  From that angle, the place where Owen had hidden the revolver could plainly be seen.

  Owen straightened suddenly. Someone was playing a very ugly game.

  Since they’d moved, several people had been on the place: deliverymen, the carpenter, Vernon O’Malley, and the veterinarian. Robyn had lived with them, though she still kept an apartment in town.

  Owen frowned as he remembered how desperately Robyn White had wanted to go with Janice. Robyn had been unusually upset and persistent, almost clinging to Janice last night. Before she left, Robyn had whispered furiously to Janice. Later, his sister had found the revolver. Had Robyn known where he’d hidden the handgun?

  Owen walked to the edge of the loft, tracing the shadows with his flashlight beam. The standing saw and the handyman’s toolbox were in the same place.

  After carefully making his way down, Owen picked up the broken board and noted the too-even saw marks halfway through the center. As he thought about the trauma last night, Owen rhythmically slapped that piece against his thigh. He’d been up in the loft just last night, and the board had held his weight. Someone had damaged that board while he was away.

  If anything happened to Leona…Owen hurried out into the moonlight, glanced at the fog layering the pond, and knew he had to get to Leona—fast.

  After a long hard day, Leona stripped off her clothes, pulled on a T-shirt, and settled onto her living room’s yoga mat. Owen’s message on her machine had said he had a few tasks to do before coming to her house, but he would hurry. He’d said that Janice had responded warmly to Greer, but his tone had seemed distracted. He was probably very tired after last night’s episode, and the early-morning and return flights in one day.

  At ten o’clock at night, Leona was determined to find her inner calm. She took the lotus position, folding her bare legs; she rested her forearms on them and formed circles with her fingers. With the melodic strands of her meditation music in her sound system, Leona focused on tension relief.

  The prickle up her neck said Tempest was calling. With a resigned sigh, Leona picked up the telephone. Lying on her back she did leg lifts while talking to her sister. Tempest wasted no time in getting to the point. “I’ve just talked to Mom. You didn’t say anything about Owen Wolf Shaw having gray eyes. You deliberately skipped that part, didn’t you?”

  Leona sighed again and turned off her meditation music. Tempest’s accusatory tone said she was just getting warmed up, and Leona would definitely need the music later. “Maybe.”

  “No ‘maybe’ about it. Owen Shaw is just like Neil and Marcus. He’s a ‘Protector,’ the same as Claire’s husband, Neil…and mine. Owen’s very protective of his sister, and you’ve bonded with him. You know it, and so do we. Owen could be descended from one of Thorgood’s men…. You know: Thorgood, the Wolf, Men of the Wolf, Aisling’s protectors, sworn to protect, and all that stuff Mom and you have seen in your visions. You could have said something about this ‘Wolf’ business. But oh, no, you blocked me, didn’t you? You’re getting stronger, and you know it. That’s not fair, Leona Fiona.”

  Leona settled into the gentle, rhythmic hum underlying Tempest’s frustration. Sensations had flown between the triplets since birth, but this vibration emanating from Tempest was very new and different.

  Leona caught one soft, pastel thread. She separated it from the rest and traced it down to a quivering tiny egg, already fertilized. In her mind, an image of a tiny girl, her hair blazing red in the sun, leaping from rock to rock, suddenly turned. She stared at Leona with those green Aisling eyes. Tempest was pregnant and didn’t know it yet.

  “Don’t play with me, Leona Fiona,” Tempest ordered unevenly. “You’re feeling around inside me, aren’t you? Stop it.”

  Leona smiled and stretched on her yoga mat. Images of red-haired tomboys, scrambling over rocks and grinning, danced around her; Tempest would be a mother in nine months. Leona would be an aunt spoiling every one of her nieces and nephews. “Tempest Best, I wouldn’t do a thing like that.”

  “The hell you wouldn’t. What are you so damn happy about? Here you are, in danger from some creep, and you sound like you’re grinning. What’s up?”

  “Um…nothing. Talked to Claire recently?”

  “Minutes ago. She sounded funny, like she had some sort of a happy polka-dot secret, too. They seem to bubble out of her when she’s happy.”

  “Oh, it’s probably just a little something she has going on with Neil,” Leona said lightly. As an empath, Claire would have already sensed that Tempest had just become pregnant.

  “We’ve got to get this guy. I’m coming to help. I can take off my gloves and feel around and see if—”

  Leona stopped smiling and sat up. She couldn’t endanger Tempest. “The hell you are. You stay exactly where you are. I’ve got this under control.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Tempest singsonged. “And the only way that I’m staying out of this is if you admit what everyone knows now. Owen Shaw
is your Protector. I have Marcus, Claire has Neil, and now you’ve got Owen. You’ve already bonded with him. We can feel it. You’re all feline and sensual now, practically purring when his name is mentioned. So the sex must have been real good. You’re excited now and waiting for him, aren’t you? Bet you nail him on the doorstep. Don’t embarrass your neighbors, will you? That seems like a nice neighborhood, kids and all.”

  There were limits to what a three-minute-younger sister should know. “Stay out of this, Tempest.”

  Leona frowned at Tempest’s burst of laughter. “Got you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Unlike Claire, who was very sensitive to personal privacy, Tempest immediately challenged her. “Oh. So you can feel around inside me, block me, and I can’t point out to you that this Owen-guy is different?”

  “Lay off.”

  “Sure. Can’t wait to see him, can you? Is your little heart pitter-pattering, just waiting until you see Owen again?”

  “Good night, Tempest.”

  Leona hung up the phone. She studied the picture of the Aisling triplets, all wearing pink T-shirts and grins and holding cakes with seven candles on them. Tempest’s pregnancy put an even-more-urgent light on catching the beast stalking their family. She folded her arms around her knees and looked at the picture of her mother, snuggled to Daniel Bartel.

  Leona had loved Joel just as deeply. She’d been devastated by his death. Now she was uneasy about the emotions that Owen raised in her. What if something happened to him because of the curse? Every trauma in a psychic’s life rebounded and rippled and affected those around them. She should have stopped Joel from going to Colorado; she should have stopped him from taking that snowmobile trip. She should have warned her sisters about the parapsychologists’ coming to take them…

  Leona focused on her mother’s glowing expression in the photograph. Greer had lost the love of her life, too. But were they linked, Daniel Bartel’s death and Joel’s?

  Leona always been uneasy about her father’s death and what had caused his deadly accident. She concentrated on those images, sliding through her memories of a father who had died when the triplets were only four. Suddenly her father’s face appeared; Leona closed her eyes and pressed her hands over them, sealing his image into her mind. She’d seen shards of him tumbling through her mind, but she could never truly put the pieces together.