Books by Nora Roberts

by Roberts, Nora

  Either way, it worked.

  He sat across from her, let Diego climb adventurously up the leg of his jeans and knead his thigh. "Eat."

  She forked up a bite, sampled. "They're better than they should be, considering you used a pound of salt per egg."

  "I like salt."

  "Don't feed the cat at the table." She sighed, ate. It was so blessedly normal, sitting like this, eating oversalted eggs and strawberry jelly squished in a piece of folded bread.

  "I'm not the mess I used to be," she said. "But I still have moments. Until I don't, I'm not prepared to complicate my life, or anyone else's."

  "That's sensible."

  "I'm going to concentrate on my work."

  "A person's got to have priorities."

  "There are things I want to do, things I need to learn. For myself."

  "Uh-huh." He polished off his eggs, sat back with his tea. "Ripley said you're scouting for a computer. The rental agency's looking to upgrade a couple of theirs. You could probably get a fair deal. You might want to stop by, ask for Marge. She manages the place."

  "Thanks. I'll check it out tomorrow. Why aren't you mad anymore?"

  "Who said I'm not?"

  "I know how to read mad."

  He studied her face. She had some color back now, but she looked exhausted. "I bet you do. Not much point in it." He took his plate to the sink, rinsed it off. "I might brood some later. I've got a real knack for that, according to my sister."

  "I used to be a champion sulker." Satisfied that they were back on an even keel, she picked up her plate. "I might see if I can get back into that. You were right about the traditional Todd meal. It did the trick."

  "Never misses. Still, grape jelly's better for it."

  "I'll stock some, just in case."

  "Good. I'm going to let you get back to work. In a minute."

  He yanked her against him, jerked her up to her toes, covered her mouth with his in a hot, possessive kiss. The blood seemed to rush to her head, then poured out of it again, leaving her dizzy, weak and achy.

  One strangled moan escaped before she was back on the flat of her feet and gripping the edge of the counter for balance.

  "Nothing sensible about that," Zack said, "but it's real. You're going to have to shuffle it into your list of priorities. Don't work too late."

  He strolled out, letting the screened door slap comfortably shut behind him.

  ~•~

  In her dream that night there was a circle. A thin line upon the earth as silver as starlight. Within that sphere there were three women, robed in white. Their voices flowed like music, though the words were strange to her. As they sang, spears of light sprang up from the circle, shimmering bars of silver against the black curtain of night.

  She saw a cup, a knife with a carved handle, and sprigs of herbs as green as summer.

  From the cup they drank, one by one. And she tasted wine, sweet and light, on her tongue. The dark-haired one drew symbols on the ground with the blade of the knife.

  And she smelled earth, fresh and dark.

  As they circled, chanted, a pure gold flame spurted in the center. The heat of it warmed her skin.

  Then they rose up, above the gold of the fire, above the cool silver of the spears of light, as if they danced on the air.

  And she knew the freedom and the joy as the wind kissed her cheeks.

  Chapter Eleven

  Closed in Mia's office, Nell sweated over facts, figures, reality, and possibilities.

  She liked the possibilities best, as they included a secondhand computer with all the capabilities she required, an attractive sales kit, professional business cards, a cozy yet functional home office, and a commercial-grade food processor.

  The fact was, she needed all of these things, and several more, in order to create a viable, reasonably profitable business.

  Her figures proved she could make this her reality if she settled for a reality without any frills—which included food, drink, and clothing—for approximately twelve months.

  As she saw it, her choices were to live like a mole for about a year, or to do without the professional tools that would help her build her business.

  Living like a mole wasn't so bad, she mused. She'd done essentially that for months before she'd come to the island. If she hadn't weakened and frittered away money on wind chimes and sandals and earrings, she wouldn't have remembered how much fun it was to fritter away money in the first place.

  Now it had to stop.

  By her calculations she could, provided Marge at Island Realty was patient enough, scrape up the money for the computer within three weeks. She would need several hundred more, of course, for the printer, the phone line, the business license, the office supplies. Once she was set up, she could design and generate the sales kits and menus right on the desktop.

  With a sigh, she sat back, combed her hands through her hair. She'd left out the uniform. She could hardly cater the Macey affair in jeans and a T-shirt, or a sexy little halter. She needed good black slacks, a crisp white shirt, sensible but classy black shoes.

  She looked up when Mia walked in.

  "Hi. I'll get out of your way."

  "No need." Mia waved her back. "I just need to check something in the September catalog." She plucked it off a shelf, flipped through while watching Nell over the pages. "Financial worries?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Vibes."

  "They're not worries so much as obstacles of varying heights. I hate admitting I'm taking on too much too fast."

  "And why is that? Not hating it, but why do you say you're taking on too much?" Mia asked as she sat, stretched out like a cat on a hearth rug.

  "A few side jobs, some boxed lunches, one major party, and here I am designing logos and business cards, trying to squeeze out money for a computer when I can easily keep things organized in a spiral notebook. I need to rein myself in."

  "There's little that's more boring than reining in," Mia stated. "When I started this place, most people didn't think I could make it fly. A small community, a seasonal tourist trade. Bookstores and fancy coffee were for cities and snazzy suburbs. They were wrong. I knew what I wanted, and what I was capable of achieving. So do you."

  "In another six months or a year," Nell agreed. "But I'm getting ahead of myself."

  "Why wait? You need capital, but you can't risk going to the bank for a business loan. So many pesky questions about credit history, employment history, and so on."

  Mia inclined her head when Nell sighed. She enjoyed hitting the center of the target with the first arrow. "As careful as you've been, you may have left a hole," Mia continued, "and you're too smart to take chances there."

  "I thought about it," Nell admitted. "If I opened myself up that way, I'd never relax. Nell Channing doesn't have a credit history, and it'll take me time to establish one."

  "Which is one of the obstacles to that capital. There are spells, of course. But I dislike doing spells for financial gain. It seems so… crass."

  "It doesn't seem so crass when I'm trying to stretch my budget to buy basic office equipment."

  Pursing her lips, Mia tapped the tips of her fingers together. "I had an acquaintance who was in a bit of a financial squeeze. She worked a spell asking that her current money worries be cleared. And won fifty thousand in the lottery the next week."

  "Really?"

  "Really. She was able to pay her debts and treat herself to a week at the Doral Spa in Miami. Fabulous place, by the way. When she returned, her car broke down, her roof sprang a leak, her basement flooded, and she received an audit notice from the IRS. In the end, she'd done nothing more than trade one set of worries for another, though she did get that week at the spa, which can't be discounted."

  Nell acknowledged the humor in Mia's words with a small grin. "I hear you. Magic isn't a crutch to be used for convenience."

  "You're a quick study, little sister. So, let's talk business." Mia toed off her pretty heels, curled up he
r legs. "I'm in the market for an investment."

  "Mia, I can't tell you how much I appreciate that, but—"

  "You want to do it yourself, and blah, blah, blah." With a flick of the wrist, Mia swatted Nell's protest aside. "Please, let's behave like grown-ups."

  "Are you trying to irritate or intimidate me into accepting a loan?"

  "I don't generally try to irritate or intimidate, though I've been told I'm good at both. And I didn't say anything about a loan. We're discussing an investment."

  She uncurled lazily and got a bottle of water for each of them out of her mini-fridge. "I would consider a loan, I suppose, for your start-up costs. Say, ten thousand, payable over a period of sixty months at twelve percent interest."

  "I don't need ten thousand," Nell said, giving the bottle cap an annoyed twist. "And twelve percent is ridiculous."

  "A bank would charge less, but I'm not a bank and I wouldn't ask those pesky questions."

  Mia's lips curved, red and shapely over the mouth of the bottle. "But I prefer an investment. I'm a businesswoman who likes profit. You have a skill, a marketable one, which has already proven itself of interest on the island. With working capital, you can establish a viable business, which, I feel, will enhance rather than compete with my own. I've some ideas on that, actually, but we can get into that later. I make a ten K investment, become your silent partner, for a reasonable compensation of, say, eight percent of gross profits."

  "I don't need ten." It had been a very long time, Nell thought as she tapped her fingers on the desk, since she'd negotiated fees, contracts. Amazing how quickly it came back.

  Ten thousand would be welcome and would eliminate the sweat and worry. But if you avoided the sweat and worry, she thought, you eliminated the glow of satisfaction that came when you succeeded.

  "Five will do," she decided. "For six percent, of net."

  "Five, then, for seven, net."

  "Done."

  "Excellent. I'll have my lawyer draw up a contract."

  "I'll open an account for the business at the bank."

  "Would it be less sticky if I took care of that, and the license application?"

  "I'll do it. I have to take a stand sometime."

  "Little sister, you took one months ago. But I leave it to you. Nell," she said as she opened the door, "we're going to kick ass."

  ~•~

  She worked like a demon, preparing, planning, implementing. Her kitchen was a hotbed of experimentation, rejections, and successes. Her little office was the scene of hours of late-evening sessions where, on her secondhand computer and printer, she became her own desktop publisher, producing menus, flyers, business cards, invoices, and stationery, all with the inscription "Sisters Catering" and the logo she'd designed of three women standing in a circle, hands clasped.

  And every one listed Nell Channing as proprietor and carried her new phone number.

  When she finished putting her first sales kit together, she took it, along with the best bottle of champagne she could afford, and drove to Mia's to leave them on her doorstep.

  They were in business.

  ~•~

  On the day of the Macey party, Nell stood in Gladys's kitchen and surveyed the scene. She'd been working on-site since four, and had thirty minutes before the guests were due to arrive.

  For the first time since Nell had begun the setup for the party, she finally had a moment's peace and quiet. If Gladys made it through the evening without fainting from excitement and anxiety, it would be a miracle.

  Every inch of the kitchen was organized to Nell's specifications. In precisely ten minutes, she would begin setting out the appetizers. As the guest list had expanded to more than a hundred, she had used all her powers of persuasion to convince Gladys to forgo the formal, sit-down meal in favor of fun, interesting food stations set up at strategic points throughout the house and on the patio.

  She'd seen to the floral arrangements herself, and had personally helped Carl deal with the fairy lights and luminaries. There were candles in rented silver holders, and paper napkins that, at Nell's suggestion, carried a heart with the happy couple's initials inside.

  It still touched her the way Gladys's eyes had filled when she'd seen them.

  Satisfied the kitchen was ready for the battle to come, she went out to check on the rest of the field, and her troops.

  She'd hired Peg to help serve, and Betsy from the Magick Inn to tend the bar. She herself would fill in in both areas whenever she could leave the kitchen unattended.

  "It looks great," she announced and moved to the patio doors. The evening promised to be clear. Both she and Gladys had suffered untold agonies over the possibility of rain.

  Nell tugged down the black vest she'd added to her uniform selection. "One more time. Peg, you circulate, trying to make a complete circuit every fifteen minutes. When your tray's empty, or nearly so, you head back to the kitchen. If I'm not there to refill, you'll arrange the next selection the way I showed you."

  "I practiced it a zillion times."

  "I know." Nell gave her an encouraging pat on the arm. "Betsy, I'll try to keep up with the empties and discards. If I run behind, or you're running low on anything, just give me a sign."

  "Check. And everything looks great."

  "So far, so good." And she was determined it would only get better. "Carl Junior's in charge of the music, so I'm not going to worry about it. Let's get this show on the road. Peg, vegetable crudites, station one."

  It was more than just a party to Nell—it was a new beginning. As she lit the last of the candles, she thought of her mother, and the first official catering job they'd worked together.

  "I've made a circle, Mom," she murmured. "And I'm going to make it shine." Touching the flame to wick, with her mother in her mind, Nell made that vow.

  She glanced over and beamed as Gladys Macey came out of the master bedroom. "You look beautiful."

  "Nervous as a bride." She fluffed at her hair. "I went into Boston for this getup. Not too fussy, is it?"

  The cocktail suit was a pale mint green with a sparkle of beads glittering on the lapels and cuffs.

  "It's gorgeous, and so are you. And there's nothing for you to be nervous about. All you have to do is enjoy yourself."

  "Are you sure there's going to be enough cocktail shrimp?"

  "I'm sure."

  "I just don't know what people are going to think of that chicken in peanut sauce."

  "They'll love it."

  "What about—"

  "Gladys, stop haranguing the girl." Scowling, dragging at the knot of his tie, Carl stepped out. "Let her do her job."

  "Mr. Macey, you make a picture." Unable to resist, Nell reached over and straightened his tie herself.

  "Made me buy a new suit."

  "And you look very handsome in it," Nell assured him.

  "Done nothing but complain about it since he got home from work."

  Well used to their squabbling by now, Nell smiled. "Personally, I like a man who's not too comfortable in suits and ties. It's very sexy."

  At Nell's statement Carl's face went bright pink. "Don't know why we couldn't have had a barbecue and a couple of kegs."

  Before Gladys could snap back at him, Nell lifted a tray of appetizers. "I think you're going to have a wonderful time, starting right now."

  Manners forced Carl to take one of the fancy salmon bites. The minute it hit his tongue, he pursed his lips. "Got a nice flavor to it," he admitted. "Guess it'd go down nice with a beer."

  "You step right into the living room and Betsy will fix you up. I think I hear the first guests arriving."

  "Oh, my! Oh, my goodness." Patting her hair again, Gladys shot quick looks everywhere. "I meant to see if everything was as it should be before—"

  "Everything's exactly as it should be. You greet your guests, leave the rest to me."

  It took less than fifteen minutes for the initial party stiffness to unbend. Music began to pump, conversation began to roll, and
as Nell made her circuit with the chicken kabobs, she saw that she'd been right. People loved them.

  It was fun to see the familiar island residents in their festive best, knotted into conversational groups or wandering out to the patio. She kept her ears open for comments about the food and the atmosphere, and felt a quick tingle with each positive remark. But best of all was seeing her client glow like a candle.

  Within an hour the house was jammed, and she was working at top speed.

  "They're going through these trays like starving hordes," Peg told her as she scrambled into the kitchen. "You'd think every one of them fasted a week before tonight."

  "It'll slow down after the dancing starts." Moving quickly, Nell refilled the tray.

  "Station… hell, I can never remember the numbers. The meatballs are about half gone. You said I should tell you."

  "I'll take care of it. Is anything not going over?"

  "Not that I've seen." Peg hefted the tray. "The way it's moving, I'd say this crowd would eat the paper napkins if you put sauce on them."

  Amused, Nell took out the miniature egg rolls she had warming in the oven. As she arranged them on a tray, Ripley strolled in.

  "Some party."

  "It's great, isn't it?"

  "Yeah, swank."

  "You look pretty swank yourself," Nell commented.

  Ripley looked down at her basic black dress. It was short, satisfactorily clingy, and had the advantage of being able to go to a party or, with a blazer, double as meeting attire.

  "I got this number in black and in white. Figure that covers the bases as far as dresses go." She glanced around, saw absolute order, heard the hum of the dishwasher, smelled the scent of spice. "How do you keep everything organized in here?"

  "I'm brilliant."

  "Seems like." Ripley plucked up one of the egg rolls, popped it into her mouth. "Food's fabulous," she said with her mouth full. "I never told you, but that picnic deal you fixed for me was really great."

  "Oh, yeah? How did that work out?"