Stepping carefully, she made her way to the edge of the driveway. Lucas was in the middle, pushing a bright red contraption, snow pluming up and away from him so it could pile up far enough away from the drive that there would still be room if he had to do this all over again. Goggles protected his eyes, and a red and white ski hat was mashed down on his head. He wore what looked like rubber wading boots, and Margot wanted to laugh at the sight of him. Not exactly the debonair figure he usually cut, but she thought she loved him even more like this.
Then she went stock-still. “Loved?” Since when did she love him? She’d barely begun to admit that she liked him. It was hard enough accepting that she was attracted to him. But it was a huge jump from liking someone and being attracted to him to thinking you were in love with him. That you loved him.
You’re not in love with him, she told herself severely. You hardly know him.
And whose fault was that?
She sighed, and although of course he couldn’t have heard such a small sound over the noise of the snowblower, something made Lucas turn toward her and wave, then give a thumbs-up sign.
Why did he have to be so adorable?
Because it would look odd if she didn’t, she lifted a hand, waving back and smiling. He paused, turning the snowblower down to a dull roar. “This is probably going to take me at least an hour,” he called out to her. “I doubt you want to be standing out in the cold all that time.”
“You are,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, but I’m working up a sweat. It’s not the same as standing still.”
He had a point. “Okay, I’ll just watch for a few minutes, and then I’ll go back inside.”
“Good idea.” He ratcheted the blower back up and continued down the driveway, appearing to cut an open path in the dead center. As she watched, he disappeared around the curve, although she could still hear the blower at work. A few minutes later he came back, and she could see better that he was going in circles, working out from the middle, so all the snow he’d just blown would keep getting pushed farther and farther to the edge.
During that time, she felt the cold beginning to seep up into her boots, sending icy little tendrils all through her body, and she realized she couldn’t stay out here much longer. She waited until Lucas was close enough to hear her, and then she called out, “I’m turning into a popsicle, so I think I’d better get inside.”
He nodded and smiled, then went back to pushing the snowblower. It felt wrong to leave him outside, working, and go back into the welcoming warmth of the house, but there really wasn’t much she could to help. At least he looked like he knew what he was doing.
Of course he does, she told herself as she went back up the front walk and climbed the steps to the porch. He’s lived in Flagstaff his entire life. He should be an expert at that sort of thing.
Since her boots were caked with snow, she paused at the door, pulled them off, and banged them on the porch floor to get the worst of it off. Dangling them from one hand, she went inside, then noticed a rack there, apparently for depositing muddy or snowy shoes. So she left the boots there and padded into the entry in her stocking feet, feeling strange to be in the house without Lucas, and doubly odd to be doing it with no shoes on.
He hadn’t really mentioned what she should do to amuse herself while he was busy. Yes, there was the TV back in the family room, but she’d never been much of one for television. She realized then, what with one thing or another, that she hadn’t checked her phone since the afternoon before. Anything could have happened during that time.
With that thought to spur her, she hurried up the stairs to her room, where she’d left her phone charging on the dresser. She picked it up.
Nothing. No calls, no texts, no emails. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Her mother had forwarded her a stuffing recipe that she thought might be something fun to try at Thanksgiving. Sylvia loved stuffing. Margot hated it, and yet invariably got stuck on the stuffing squad year after year.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as she set the phone down on the dresser. So much for having to be on call, day in and day out. Had she manufactured a need where there was none, or was Lucas right? Had her duties as elder changed irrevocably once the Wilcoxes were no longer a threat?
Her brain didn’t quite know what to do with that. She left the bedroom and paused in the hallway, hesitating. All of the doors along that corridor stood open, which seemed to indicate that Lucas didn’t mind if she looked inside them. It wouldn’t really be snooping, would it, if he’d given her tacit permission?
It felt like something of a gray area, but her feet seemed to propel her forward on their own volition. The room next to hers was clearly his home office, with built-in shelves and a big desk on which sat a silvery laptop, now closed. That room had more books in it than she would have expected of Lucas, who’d never seemed like much of a reader to her. She wouldn’t poke through them now, although if the snow decided to kick back up again, she might be in search of reading material in the near future.
I’m sure Lucas would be more than happy to entertain you.
That thought made a flush rise to her cheeks, and she made herself keep going. Next to the office was a bathroom with the same tile and slate flooring as the one she’d been using. Opposite the bathroom was another bedroom, this one apparently also intended as a guest room, although smaller than the one where she was staying. A daybed with a cover in cheerful stripes of red and orange and blue and green sat up against one wall, and directly opposite was a low dresser. A painting that looked like one of Connor’s hung over the dresser, its autumnal colors echoing the hues of the daybed cover, but that was the only furniture the room contained.
At the end of the hall was the master suite. Margot took the quickest peek inside, catching a glimpse of warm terra-cotta-painted walls and sturdy furniture similar to what was in the bedroom where she’d slept, although this set was darker in tone. The bed was large, and rumpled. Apparently Lucas hadn’t bothered to make it before he came downstairs.
That was enough. She certainly wasn’t going inside, and it already seemed as if she’d caught too intimate a glimpse of the space, with its unmade bed and the discarded shoes next to it. It was the first remotely messy thing she’d seen in the house, since everything else there was even tidier than her own cottage, but maybe he’d been in a hurry to come down and be with her.
Hoping for a repeat of last night? Possibly. Then again, he hadn’t made a single move yet. Or maybe his thoughts didn’t start running along those lines until later in the day.
She took in a breath, then made herself turn around and go back downstairs. From outside she could still hear the roar of the snowblower, so clearly Lucas wasn’t done yet with the driveway. All right, then she’d head on back to the family room. Television wasn’t something that interested her much, although she should be able to find something useful, like a weather report. The app on her phone could have supplied her with some of that information, but a live weather report would probably be more detailed.
Now that she had a plan, she went on into the family room, still in her stocking feet, and found the remote on the coffee table. Naturally, the television was still tuned to a sports station, but she surfed until she found a weather channel. They were talking about the weather on the East Coast, so she had to hope they’d eventually track westward and give some hint as to what might be happening next in Arizona.
In the meantime, she spied some photos sitting on one of the side tables that flanked the sofa, and went over to pick one up. It showed Lucas and an older woman with iron-gray hair cut in a chin-length bob. Their smiles were so identical that Margot guessed the woman must be his mother. Another photo showed a much younger Lucas and the same woman, this time with her dark hair as yet untouched by any gray. He looked so young that Margot wondered if the picture had been taken while he was still in college. His style was certainly far more casual than it was now — untucked flannel shirt, faded jeans.
“I’m sorry — I thought I’d try to check the weather, and I saw the photos — ”
“It’s okay,” he replied with a grin. “If I didn’t want people looking at them, I wouldn’t have them sitting out, right?”
“I suppose so.” She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been doing something illicit. Or maybe it was just that she really had been snooping upstairs a few minutes ago. “Is that your mother?”
“Yes.”
No pictures or mention of a father. Well, it wasn’t as if she didn’t have some experience of that. “Does she live close by?”
His expression clouded for just the briefest second, and then he shook his head, smile still in place. “No, she lives in Tusayan with her girlfriend. That’s up by the Grand Canyon.”
He said it in such an offhand way that at first the words didn’t quite penetrate. Then, not knowing what else to say, she replied, “Oh.” Goddess, that sounded awful….
Maybe she actually had winced, because Lucas gave a chuckle and went on, “It’s fine. She’s been out for about twenty years. Of course, it probably would’ve been better if she’d figured all that out before she married my father, but….” He trailed off, shrugging.
“And he’s…?”
“Here in Flagstaff. He remarried a couple of years after the divorce, so I have two half-brothers and a half-sister and a whole bunch of nieces and nephews.” His attention shifted to the television, where the forecasters were now discussing an early freeze in the South. “Any news on the weather? It’s getting darker out there again.”
“Not yet. I guess our part of the country is last on the list.”
“Then I’m going to run up and take another quick shower, if you don’t mind.”
She gave him a quick look. Some of his hair was sticking to his forehead, and she could see a sheen of sweat on his skin. “I have a feeling I’d mind more if you didn’t take a shower.”
“Well, I definitely don’t want to offend. I’ll be back down in a bit.”
He headed out after that, and Margot attempted to return her attention to the TV. For a moment she wondered if he’d been disturbed by her asking about his mother, but she didn’t think so. He seemed to have taken the whole thing in stride, just as he did just about everything else.
She couldn’t help wondering if she’d be able to answer his questions about her parents with the same aplomb, should the topic come up. Well, she’d just have to hope it didn’t.
10
The shower felt good, but Lucas wouldn’t allow himself to luxuriate in it. He was all too acutely aware of the woman waiting for him downstairs. He’d already lost an hour of her company dealing with that damn driveway — and if his lifetime here in Flagstaff told him anything, it was that the look of the skies indicated there would be more snow, and soon.
Oh, well.
He got out, scrubbed his hair dry, squinted at his reflection in the steamy mirror, and decided to blow off the shaving for today. In the past, he’d had women tell him they liked it when he looked a little scruffy, so he could only hope Margot had similar tastes.
The clothes he’d been wearing to clear the driveway certainly couldn’t be worn again, so he chucked them in the hamper and pulled on some clean jeans and a flannel shirt. If the weather held, maybe he’d worry about putting on a sweater or something, but this should be fine for now.
A glance at the clock told him he’d only taken about fifteen minutes to shower and get dressed. Not too bad. But it still felt like time wasted.
When he returned to the family room, Margot still had the TV tuned to the weather, but you really didn’t need the forecaster’s blather to tell you that the storm had decided to park itself over Flagstaff for a while. Outside the window, fat white flakes of snow had begun to fall again.
Margot must have noticed his pained glance outside, because she said, “I’m sorry about the driveway.”
“It’s all right. As they say, it’s better to blow six inches twice than twelve inches once.”
Her mouth twitched, and he grinned.
“Margot Emory, you have a dirty mind.”
“I do not,” she protested. “I think you have a dirty mind for thinking that I have a dirty mind.”
“Fair enough.” He came and sat down on the couch next to her, and he couldn’t help noticing that she made no effort to move away. “It looks like it’s TV and Parcheesi. Or something. I’ll admit I’m not much of a board game kind of guy.”
“Video games?”
“Not really. I bought a console, but shooting pretend people really isn’t my thing. I ended up giving it to my nephews.” Most people probably would have thought of the whole situation as a waste, but Lucas didn’t look at it that way. At least he’d learned that he really wasn’t into video games. “I like to read,” he went on.
“You do?” she asked, looking surprised.
“Should I be offended that you don’t think I’d be the literary type?”
A faint tinge of color flushed the fair skin along her cheekbones. “That’s not what I meant. But with the golf and everything — ”
“I like golf. It relaxes me.”
“You don’t seem like someone in much need of relaxation.”
Her voice had the faintest teasing note, so Lucas couldn’t take offense. Anyway, he knew he had a reputation for being laid-back and easygoing to a fault. Nothing ruffled Lucas Wilcox. Or that’s what his family and friends thought. It wasn’t necessarily true, though. He was just better at hiding it than some people.
“Depends on the day,” he told her. “Anyway, there are members of my clan who work pretty hard at their magic, practicing and so on, but that’s not how my talent works. The best thing is to just let it…be.”
“That sounds…relaxing.”
Beneath her light tone, he thought he heard a touch of envy. “Do you have to practice with yours much?”
She hesitated. “Well, if it’s an illusion I’ve never cast before, I want to try it in advance, just so I know it will be effective.” Again a pause, as if she was weighing how much she should tell him. “I have a lot of little illusions set up all over Jerome — harmless things, really, more there to keep the tourists safe and out of our business than anything else. But since they have to trick outsiders on a daily basis, they have to be perfect. So I do practice first, to be safe.”
“Can I see one?” Her gift fascinated him. Yes, Connor could change his appearance, but no one else in his clan seemed to have Margot’s gift of illusions. He wanted to see it in action.
At first she didn’t reply, and he wondered if he’d offended her somehow. Was it not considered kosher amongst the McAllisters to ask for displays of one another’s powers?
“Okay,” she said at last. “How about this?”
In the next instant, the wall where the TV was embedded above the fireplace turned blank and white, and heavy crimson velvet curtains hung on either side, framing what Lucas realized was a miniature movie screen, sized to fit the space perfectly. An image flickered on that screen, and he saw it was the same weather forecast they’d just been watching, only at a size that dwarfed the sixty-inch screen of his television.
It all looked so real that Lucas wanted to get up so he could run his fingers over the nap of the velvet curtains. “That’s…amazing.”
“Thank you,” she replied calmly. Whatever it took for her to cast that illusion, it didn’t seem to be requiring too much of her energy.
“How long will it last?”
“Until I stop it. That is, if I wanted the illusion to stay in place permanently, like the ones back in Jerome, I’d need to refresh it about once a week, because it would start to fade after a while. But otherwise it’s basically set it and forget it.”
It was a display that staggered him a little. T
hat is, he’d known Margot had to be a very strong witch in order to be tapped as an elder, but this was the first time he’d really seen her powers in action. “Well,” he said, attempting to sound casual, “color me impressed. Are both your parents strong witches, too?”
At the question, she stiffened a little. “My mother has a knack with plants. If it’s green, she can make it grow. She’s a big hit with our neighbors.”
Lucas sent her a questioning look, and she smiled, albeit rather unwillingly.
“They grow a lot of pot.”
He felt his eyebrows lift even further.
“Pot’s kind of a thing in Jerome,” she explained. “I mean, it’s not as if everyone partakes, as it were, but it’s definitely part of the culture.”
Well, that would explain the slightly off nature of some of the smoke he’d smelled outside the Halloween dance….
“Anyway,” she went on, “I’m not sure why my power turned out to be so strong. My father was a civilian.”
“Was?” Lucas asked delicately, not sure of what else to say.
“Is,” she clarified. “That is, he’s still alive. I’ve just never met him.”
Since he couldn’t think of a remotely intelligent way to respond to that, Lucas remained silent, waiting to see if she would say anything else, or whether she’d clam up once again.
Then she seemed to give the smallest of sighs. “Oh, I suppose it doesn’t make much of a difference one way or another.” A small silence, as if she were gathering her thoughts, and then she went on, “My mother wanted a child, but she really didn’t want to get married. Didn’t want to be tied down, although I have a hard time figuring out what she thought she’d do with a child if she wanted to continue with her free and easy life. Anyway, my father was — is — an Italian artist. He was traveling through the Southwest one summer, painting as he went, and then he came to Jerome and met my mother. They had quite the fling, I guess, and in September his visa was up, and back to Italy he went.”
Sympathetic Magic (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 4) Page 13