Imperfect Magic (Dancing Moon Ranch Book 11)

by Patricia Watters

  "…okay if we sell it?"

  He looked blankly at his sister, who was standing near the table, staring at him.

  Roberta plunked a mug of coffee in front of him. "It's not like you to be so distracted," she said, moving to sit across from him at the table. "I was talking about selling the ranch and you didn't hear a word I said. What's going on?"

  Mario shrugged. "Nothing much."

  Roberta gave an ironic huff. "Nothing much had you on another planet."

  Mario didn't want to talk to Roberta about his alien feelings for Julia. He'd never had feelings like that for a woman, mainly because he'd never been in a relationship with any long enough to care. And as long as he remained in a job that demanded he put his life on the line to protect the kind of scum that usually needed witness protection, there would never be a place in his life for a wife and family. In a sense, he was glad Julia let him know in subtle ways where he stood. But then, he didn't have the kind of face that attracted a woman like Julia. Loud, loose women, no problem, which worked for him. He'd never had to worry about ties…

  "I've lost you again," Roberta said.

  Mario eyed Roberta with annoyance, knowing she'd keep badgering him until she got some kind of answer, so he said, "Okay, I was thinking about the Oklahoma City bombing."

  "That was over twenty years ago," Roberta said. "What's got you thinking about it now?"

  "The woman I was trapped with," Mario replied. "She's here at the ranch."

  "As a guest?"

  Mario shook his head. "Her grandfather's married to the matriarch of this family."

  "Then she recognized you?"

  Mario nodded and hoped Roberta would drop the subject, which she didn't.

  "So, you must have talked to her," Roberta said.

  "Some."

  "What did she say?"

  "Nothing much."

  "You're evading things."

  Mario looked across at Roberta, who had a way of extricating things from him he didn't want to talk about. Being eight years his senior, she'd taken on the role of mother when he was twelve and their father died, and she still held onto that role. "What are you implying?" he asked.

  "Nothing," Roberta replied. "I'm just curious. You spent hours trapped with the woman, so after twenty years, I assumed you had more than just a few casual words to exchange with her."

  Mario rested back in his chair and folded his arms. "In case you have it in your head to start playing matchmaker while I'm here, forget it," he said, deciding to nip this in the bud. "She pretty much brushed me off."

  "Why? Did you pull your tough-guy stuff on her?"

  Mario eyed his sister with increasing annoyance. "I don't have to pull any of your so-called tough guy stuff for a woman like Julia Barker to tell me to shove off."

  Roberta looked at him, dubiously. "She actually did that?"

  Mario knew the only way to cut this conversation short was to lay it all out. "Not in so many words, but when I suggested we take the horses into the mountains, she made-up a half-assed excuse. I got the message. So maybe we can drop it now. What about selling the ranch?"

  Roberta's lips parted, like she was about to aggravate him more by digging deeper into something he wanted to shelve, then she gave a kind of half-shrug, and said, "Bill and I have been talking about selling. We want to find a place close to where Jeremy and Billy will be, and since the ranch is half yours, I want to make sure it's okay with you to sell."

  "I have no use for it," Mario replied. "If you want to sell, then sell."

  "Good. I'll look into having it listed," Roberta said. "When it does sell, you'll have enough money from your half to buy a house, then you can find a wife and finally settle down."

  "You know having a wife isn't compatible with the kind of work I do," Mario said.

  "Then get out of the service," Roberta replied. "You've been in long enough to retire."

  "I'm not ready to sit around twiddling my thumbs," Mario groused. He glanced out a side window when he caught sight of movement and saw Julia dragging a sack of what looked like seed toward where several bird feeders were hanging from iron brackets attached to a fir tree. He watched as she opened the sack and dipped out a can of seed and filled a couple of feeder trays, but when she stood on tiptoe and tried to dump seed into a higher tray, the tray tipped, and seeds fell in her face, so she stopped what she was doing and looked up at the tray, like she was trying to figure out how to fill it.

  She was a beautiful woman, no question, and the ironic thing was, she did look like a Barbie doll, which was the way she'd described herself during a time when he'd sat in total darkness, with his arm around her to offer security. She'd sat close against him, not in a romantic way, but because she needed a warm body to remind her she wasn't alone...

  "Is that the woman?" Roberta asked.

  Mario realized he'd been staring at Julia. "Yeah, and she needs help with the feeders." He shoved his chair back and stood.

  "You might try smiling this time," Roberta said.

  "I'm not trying to get something going with her if that's what you're suggesting," Mario snapped, "so whatever you're thinking, you can forget."

  "Don't be so touchy," Roberta said. "What you need is to socialize some while you're here, go to the lodge and meet the guests. And you also need to get rid of the rough edges."

  Mario didn't respond, his attention focused on Julia, who he couldn't seem to let go, never mind that he was about to make an asshole out of himself again, by coming up with some lame-brained excuse to see her, like filling bird feeders.

  ***

  When Julia saw Mario walk out of the cabin where his sister and brother-in-law were staying and head toward her, the sight of him set off a series of reactions she recognized, not as the lead into a panic attack, but because he stirred things inside, the kind of things she once felt when she was with Cole. It was good, in a way, because for years she'd felt dead inside when it came to the kind of emotions a woman should have for the normal, male-female reasons. Mario definitely stirred those feelings.

  "You need some help?" he called out, as he walked toward her.

  "My bird friends do," Julia replied. "They're waiting for dinner, and every feeder was empty, and I'm a bird person. If you could reach the high feeders, they'd appreciate it."

  Mario smiled, which took Julia back to a time that now brought mixed feelings because that same smile was what she remembered most about him.

  "Hand me the can," he said.

  What caught Julia's eye as she handed Mario the can was a broad, muscular chest in a snug black T-shirt, evident beneath his unzipped jacket. He was exceptionally fit for a man in his mid-forties, like he must work out regularly to stay that way, or maybe his job demanded he stay fit. Whatever the reason, she liked what she saw. She stepped back and watched as he filled the can with sunflower seeds from the sack her grandfather brought over, and dumped the seeds into the first of three feeder trays hanging out of her reach.

  It was strange watching a man she'd once been trapped with, but had no idea what he looked like until they began to hear noises, like rubble being moved, and a dog barking, incessant barking, and ultimately scratching as the dog continued searching and guiding the rescue workers to where she and Mario had been imprisoned. But once the rubble was cleared and there was an opening, Mario closed his arm around her so she was tight against him, and crawled through an opening barely high and wide enough to get through. Once out, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to where rescue workers had a waiting stretcher. She had no more than five minutes to look at him before he told her goodbye, then turned and walked away…

  "That should keep them fed for a couple of days," Mario said, after filling the last feeder. He tossed the can into the sack of birdseed, twisted the top of the sack, and hefted it onto his shoulder. "Where do you want this?" he asked.

  "Just on the porch," Julia replied.

  Mario headed for the covered porch of her cabin and set the bag down. Julia tho
ught he'd leave then, but he remained where he was, and for a moment he acted like he had when he entered the lodge the day before, looking as if he didn't know what to do next, which was understandable. From the way Maddy talked, his visits to the ranch had been far from social, and now he was there as a guest, or at least there on the urging of Jeremy and Billy, so he was completely out of his element. "Thank you for filling those high feeders," she said. "The birds will appreciate it, and if they've flown south, the squirrels will finish what they left, and by tomorrow they'll probably be tapping on your window for more."

  Mario laughed, and stepped down off the porch. "Yell if you need my help again," he said.

  When he turned to leave, Julia found herself saying, "Mario, please don't go."

  Mario stopped and turned, then waited for her to continue.

  "I never had a chance to thank you for what you did, years ago," she said.

  Mario shrugged. "I'm glad I was there when you needed someone."

  "You were more than just there," Julia said. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd been alone. You literally helped me hold onto my sanity. And I hope you didn't misconstrue what I said yesterday when you wanted to go riding. I do want to spend time with you. Maybe you could come for dinner tonight. It won't be much, but I want to do something for you."

  "You don't have to do anything for me," Mario said.

  "I know I don't, but I want to," Julia replied. "Just humor me and come for dinner."

  Mario eyed her with curiosity. "Don't you eat in the lodge?"

  Julia looked toward the lodge, which was again filled with guests and family. The last thing she wanted was to suddenly become claustrophobic and start spacing out while guests were present. She'd wondered, over the years, how Mario had managed to remain calm when he was facing the same grisly fate as she, of being crushed beneath tons of concrete and iron beams, yet his focus had been solely on keeping her hopes up. "I'd like to be able to talk to you and catch up on what you've been doing over the years," she said, "but with all the excitement of Jeremy and Billy being home, it's very noisy in there."

  "I'd offer to take you to a quiet restaurant in town," Mario said, "but I won't have a vehicle until tomorrow, when I'm getting a rental."

  In a perfect world, the thought of going out to dinner with Mario would have been a dream come true for Julia, but this was far from a perfect world right now. "I actually like eating at home," she replied, "and there's no need for you to rent a car. I have one you can use. I've always worked from home so I only use it to go to the grocery, and since I don't drive in snow, I won't be needing it while you're here. My grandfather just had snow tires put on it."

  Mario looked to where her silver, 1995 Honda Civic was parked alongside the cabin, and said, "I'm guessing that's the same car you had twenty years ago."

  Julia looked at Mario with a start, surprised he'd pegged it with the car she'd bought just prior to the bombing, and which, over the years, spent increasingly more time being parked. "I'm not a car person," she replied. "All I need is something to get me from point A to point B."

  "If you're sure," Mario said. "I need to go to Portland tomorrow morning and check in at the Federal Building, and it would save a lot of hassle."

  "I'm absolutely sure," Julia replied. "And if you want to pick up some groceries for me on your way back, that would be much appreciated." It would be more than appreciated. It would accomplish the thing she hated most, going to the grocery, where aisles were lined with shelves filled with cans, boxes and bottles. Her logical mind told her the shelves were perfectly safe, but in an instant, her phobic mind could distort those shelves into moving, twisting, bending forms, closing in around her. It only happened once, but the shakes and sweats and pounding heart, and the trembling that took over her body and immobilized her for the better part of ten minutes in the grocery, while customers looked on, was enough to make her visits scarce, and short.

  "Just give me a list," Mario said.

  "I'll have one ready for you tonight," Julia replied.

  Mario smiled again, a wonderful smile she was certain few had the pleasure of seeing because the lines in his face told her otherwise. She was glad to be the recipient of that smile.

  "I'd offer to bring something along," Mario said, "but all I have are Granola bars."

  Julia laughed. "Bring them if you want. I haven't fed a man in years and you might not get enough." Which was the understatement of all times, she realized, and wondered how she could make a meal for two out of the meager rations in her small cupboard.

  "I'll survive," Mario said. "So I'll see you around…?"

  "Six, if that's okay," Julia replied, and felt a little flutter of anticipation.

  "Six, it is." Mario gave her a very appealing half-smile this time, like he was pleased too, and turned and walked away.

  Julia stood for few moments to watch him from behind. He walked with confidence—back straight, head high, shoulders squared—the way a man who feared nothing walked. So her biggest question to herself was, why would a man like Mario want to burden himself with a woman who feared things that had no reality except in her mind. But even if she was able to keep Mario from knowing about her phobias during his visit, if things began to develop into a relationship and he tried to hold her and kiss her, she could react the way she had with Cole, when even the feel of his arms closing around her made her feel threatened.

  Yet, over the years, she'd wondered if it would be the same with Mario, whose arms had literally kept her from having a breakdown.

  CHAPTER 3

  Four hours later, Julia stood back and admired her table, which was set with burgundy placemats and color-coordinated cloth napkins, and included a pair of myrtlewood candlestick holders with burgundy candles in them. The items had been packed away for two decades, stored in a plastic container, along with other table items she'd bought when she was soon to be a bride, and her mother kept for her for reasons that no longer applied, except her mother probably thought they were a last thread to a life that might have been. But on packing for their move to Korea, her mother presented her with the container. Now she was glad to have it.

  She also made a table centerpiece out of the tips of fir branches she'd picked up outside and tied with a red ribbon that came on one of the Christmas presents the Hansen family had waiting for her the day she arrived. Another present had several sprigs of fake holly with shiny red berries on them, so she slipped them out of the package and tucked them into the fir spray. She'd never been one to fuss over things like table settings, but she wanted this night to be special, because the man who was coming was unlike any man she'd ever met, and ever hoped to meet.

  The downside of her meal was the menu. She'd managed to make a casserole from three frozen tamales covered in taco sauce and grated cheese, and once baked, she'd sprinkle it with crushed corn chips. Three tamales would hardly hold a big man like Mario, which was actually two tamales because he'd feel bad if she didn't eat one of them, so she baked cornbread muffins from a box mix, and she planned to include canned creamed corn as a side dish.

  She gazed around a room filled with Christmas cheer, even a fire flickering in the wood stove. A few days ago her grandfather arrived with a small tree, which she set on an end table in one corner of the room, then trimmed with candy canes and cookies Grace brought over—an assortment of bells, stars, and gingerbread men, each wrapped in clear plastic, that some of the guests had decorated for the lodge tree, a custom that went back to the early years when Grace started the tradition. And resting against the end table were an assortment of colorfully-wrapped presents. It seemed everyone in the family wanted her to feel welcome, and she did. Yet, during Christmas, three years before, she almost took her own life because her fears had become overwhelming, the thought of insanity too close. Because she was starting to have hallucinations.

  The phobias had come on gradually. At first she didn't perceive them as phobias. She thought of them as a non-existent thing that lived insi
de her since the bombing, and would eventually fade and die. But it didn't fade and die, and in her mind there was no place to run from the ogre. That's what she began calling the thing that had robbed her of her hopes and dreams. She knew her soul was still there, because the fear of being swallowed up in claustrophobic darkness remained. So she began to hate her soul, that tiny voice inside that spoke to her of things that could have been, of a life that had been possible before the bombing.

  Time worsened her phobias, which no one seemed to understand. But all this paled in comparison to the hallucinations that began to plague her. Hallucinations she knew were not real, like shelves in a supermarket closing in around her. That's when she knew the ogre had won because it was taking the only thing she had left. It was taking her mind.

  She'd read that when considering suicide you should wait and take time to reevaluate your decision, but by Christmas, three years ago, she had already been thinking about it for some time. By then, agoraphobia had become a part of her life and she dreaded going places, feared interacting with people, came up with reasons to stay home. Above all, she hated the tiny, persistent voice inside that kept telling her with time everything would be okay.

  What time? Already seventeen years had passed. So she began to have a new fear. With time there might be no separation between her and her hallucinations. They'd take over her mind and become the reality, and she'd be locked up and she'd lose the option of suicide. So at age thirty-eight she gave God an ultimatum. She said, "I don't know where you are or if you exist, but if you're out there, you have until my thirty-ninth birthday to fix me or I'll kill myself. I've heard you're not okay with that, but I'm not asking, I'm telling, and as far as I'm concerned, you and that cloud you sit on surrounded by angels can take a hike!"

  Strangely, things seemed to get better after that, like a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her Children's Club video games became important, her desire to help kids cope with their fears through her games, overruling her fear of what could lie ahead for her. That glimmer of hope, that tiny voice inside that kept whispering to her, had not yet died. The tiny voice of her soul. So she made peace with her phobias and hallucinations and decided to live with them and do her best, which she was. As long as she wasn't required to stray too far from home.