“What the hell was that?” he asked Preacher.
“I don’t know,” Preacher replied, “but you might want to rethink your opinion of the witch theory.”
Player tapped a beat out on his thigh. He wanted to make things right with Zyah. He’d felt that shift in power the moment that door had opened and Hannah Harrington had stepped outside. It had been subtle, but it had been there, coming from the doorway of the Floating Hat. Maybe he’d come to the right place.
Abruptly, he made up his mind, turned his back on his Torpedo Ink brother and marched, ramrod stiff, a man going to his doom, back to the little shop sandwiched between the wine shop and the gift shop. The display windows looked harmless enough. Nothing out of the ordinary. Well, okay, a little girlie and froufrou.
He’d seen Hannah Harrington around town a few times. She was stunning. Breathtaking. She wasn’t a witch despite that little display with the boys and their hats. He wasn’t certain what that was, but he had his own talents. All of the members of Torpedo Ink did, and they knew that the Drake sisters did as well.
Hannah had been a model, the kind that graced the cover of every magazine and worked runways, in such demand that she could pick and choose which designer she worked for. She’d been considered the top model in the world, and everyone wanted her wearing their clothes. Tall, large blue eyes, high cheekbones, a generous mouth, with her signature long blond hair, which fell in natural spiral curls down her back, she had truly been one of the most beautiful women in the world until a madman attacked her with a knife and reportedly slashed her to ribbons.
The attack was caught on film, shown over and over on international television for weeks while she fought for her life and then retired to the small town of Sea Haven and the protection of her family and Jonas Harrington. Now she ran a small shop selling personal products made from organic materials she grew herself or purchased from the farm Blythe was part owner of.
Player had never actually been introduced to Hannah Drake Harrington, but he’d heard of her and he’d seen her a time or two walking down the street. She was a striking woman, very graceful, and she still walked like she was that model on a runway. There was always someone with her, usually one of her sisters but often her husband or Jackson Deveau, at least that was the report from Code when he’d asked about her. Player liked to be prepared.
He took a deep breath as he paused at the door. Was he really going to go through with this? Zyah was worth humiliating himself for. Hannah was no witch. She had strong psychic talents, no doubt about that, and she probably could wreak havoc on him, but he’d risk anything to try to find a way to get back in Zyah’s good graces. He wasn’t cheating by getting something stupid like a love potion. That might be a last resort, but he wouldn’t mind a little advice on gifts. On things women liked. Surely in a shop like Hannah had, there would be special things that appealed to women. Things with special scents.
Player glanced back at Preacher, who was nearly on his heels. “What the hell. Go away, Preacher. I mean it. I’m going in, and I don’t want you to get this woman upset at me. I’m already in enough trouble with Zyah. For all I know, they’re best friends.” He kept one hand on the door to prevent Preacher from opening it.
Movement inside caught his eye, and he turned away from Preacher’s grinning face to see that Hannah had moved away from the window and was coming to the door again.
“Damn you, Preacher,” he hissed and opened the door before the woman could get there. He had no choice now. Trying to look casual, he sauntered in. He did his best to close the door fast, but he heard the heavy, ornate wood hit Preacher’s motorcycle boot. The little floating hats tinkled merrily, and Preacher joined him in the fragrant shop. The moment Player stepped inside, he felt a tremendous shift of power sweep over him. There was nothing subtle about that energy. It passed over and through him. He glanced uneasily at Preacher to see if he’d noticed. Yeah. He’d noticed.
Hannah smiled at them and then glanced over her shoulder. Another woman, leaning on the counter, straightened slowly. She was much smaller, with pale, delicate features and a wealth of black hair that could have overpowered her face had she not pulled it back. She was smiling as well, although Player could see she wasn’t quite as genuine as Hannah. In fact, she picked up her cell phone. Player was pretty certain he knew who she was texting. He wasn’t going to have very much time if he was really going to work up the courage to ask Hannah for help.
“What was that?” Preacher asked.
Hannah looked at him with a faint frown. Mild inquiry. “What was what?”
“Outside. With the boys,” Preacher persisted.
Hannah smiled a sweet, vague smile that could have meant anything. “Aren’t they darling? They come by regularly and say hello. May I help you find something, or did you just want to look around first?” Hannah’s voice was musical.
There were very faint white lines running along her face. She could have concealed them with makeup, but she didn’t. In Player’s world, those scars were considered badges. He hoped she thought of them that way. She’d survived a vicious attack, and that meant something.
“I’d like to look around,” Preacher said, giving up on any explanation.
“You’re welcome to.” Hannah gestured around the store, half turning away.
Player cleared his throat. “I might need a little help.”
She turned back to him, that same smile in place. Now that he really looked at her closely, the smile wasn’t so genuine. It just appeared that way. It was practiced, put in place to wear like makeup, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her fingers touched her wedding band, and then she grasped it like a talisman, twisting it back and forth.
For a moment, he considered that she was nervous because he was a biker. That happened all the time, but her eyes met his without flinching and he dismissed that idea. It was more likely that the attack on her had been so public, so ferocious and fast, that she still had problems facing strangers. That made her amazingly courageous to do what she was doing, although if the power he’d felt when he walked through the door was anything to go by, she had nothing to worry about.
“I blew it big-time with my woman.” He just put it out there. He might as well get it over with. He glanced out the window at Lana and Alena. They were sitting on the sidewalk straight across from the shop and laughing together until he swore they were crying.
“I suppose you’ve come for a love potion. I really need to make one,” Hannah said, sounding disappointed, again beginning to turn away from him.
“Why does everyone keep saying that to me?” he asked. “Do I really look that hopeless? I’ll admit I was a jackass, but don’t men buy women flowers and chocolate and shit?”
Hannah turned back, her blue gaze moving over his face. This time, her eyes seemed to see right through him in the way Czar’s sometimes did. “Women don’t want men to buy them shit,” she said without a trace of a smile. “I’m Hannah.”
“Player,” he said. “And no, I didn’t cheat on her, if that’s what you think I did. And I wouldn’t. Not ever.”
“That’s a relief. Tell me about her. What is it you love about her? What makes her so special?”
She walked over to a high table-and-chairs set sitting in the corner of the shop. It looked a little more delicate than anything he was used to. He’d seen outdoor furniture that was similar but built along much sturdier lines. She flashed a smile as she stepped onto one of the mauve-and-whitestriped high-backed chairs. “They’re really quite sturdy.”
He wasn’t quite as convinced, but he took her word for it. The chair, really a stool with a back on it, was surprisingly comfortable. The seat was thick and contoured to conform to one’s bottom. “Who made these?” He could tell they hadn’t been manufactured somewhere. Now that he was close and actually sitting in the chair, he could see the work was excellent. Someone had put a great deal of time and love into handcrafting the set for Hannah.
“His name was Pheld
man. Casey Pheldman. He passed away a few years ago.”
“He owned the house I bought,” Player said. He didn’t bother to keep the admiration out of his voice. “I was so impressed with the craftsmanship. I haven’t seen that kind of work very often. I really wish I could have met him. He was truly a gifted man.”
“Yes, he was.” Hannah’s smile was much more genuine. “Would you care for coffee or tea while we talk?” She indicated a little teapot and coffee press. “No worries if you’re in a hurry. I can make it very quickly.”
“Coffee, then. Black.”
He watched, fascinated, as she waved her hand toward the two pots and both seemed to start steaming at once. He frowned, looking around to see if there was a button she’d pushed.
“Now tell me about your Zyah. What do you think makes her so special?”
There was more than one person in his club who could use their voice to compel others to do as they wished. Player was one of them. His talent was subtle, not at all like Absinthe’s or Master’s or Maestro’s, but he could still persuade others when he wanted something. Hannah was a force to be reckoned with. Player felt the need to answer her, and he knew she wasn’t deliberately using her talent on him.
Player found himself wanting Hannah to know, mostly because he felt that the woman was gentle and kind. She wasn’t the type to hurt anyone on purpose, ever. She was asking him because she genuinely wanted to help him—if he deserved it. He knew she was asking questions partially to make certain he wasn’t a man who had in any way deliberately hurt his woman.
“Before I tell you about Zyah, I’m going to let you know right up front, she’s nothing like me. I don’t in any way deserve her. I don’t. I never will. Still, she’s the one, the only one for me, and I’ll work every damn day of my life to make her happy. It’s just that, if you’re going to try to work out whether you think I’m a good man, I’ll tell you I try to be. That I have a code I live by, but I fail more than I win.”
She poured coffee into a mug. “That’s refreshing to hear. The truth. You must really love this woman.”
“I don’t know what love is. I never had it. I want to know. When I’m with her, I feel things I don’t feel for anyone else. I’d do anything for her. Anything. She’s magic. She can take away demons with her laughter. Her smile. She doesn’t judge people. She’s like her grandmother in that way. She just accepts others. That doesn’t make her a pushover. If that were the case, I wouldn’t be in trouble.” He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering why he was blurting out things to this woman he wouldn’t say so readily to a stranger. In fact, he wouldn’t be talking like this to a stranger. He took a sip of the coffee. It was excellent. More than excellent.
Those blue eyes moved over his face. She had feminine eyes, not at all like Czar’s eyes, yet Player felt she saw in the same way he did, beyond skin and bones into one’s black soul.
“You do carry demons, Player. They sit very heavy on your shoulders. I’m glad she takes them off for you. What did you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”
He’d been afraid she would. He took a deep breath. This was the part he knew he’d have to man up for. He looked around the store. It would definitely appeal to women—and evidently did to Preacher as well. He had gathered up several items and taken them to the counter, where he was smelling them and putting them aside only to pick up others to do the same thing. Some he tore the packaging off, demanding to know the ingredients from the horrified clerk.
Player suppressed a groan. Preacher was going to get them kicked out of the shop before he could get what he needed, because he had the feeling Hannah could give him exactly the right gift to help him win back Zyah.
“I was overtired, too long without sleep. I wasn’t doing well. I’d just met her and thought she was a dream. The best kind of a dream, but still a dream.” He shook his head. “The things I said to her were insulting. Very insulting. I apologized, and she accepted. She’s like that. But then . . .” He sighed. “We were so connected and she saw things about me I didn’t want her to see. I was too embarrassed. It shouldn’t have mattered. I just kept pushing her away. I can spend a lifetime apologizing, but actions speak much louder than words. I want to be that man of action, but I don’t have a lot of experience when it comes to relationships. Neither do my friends. We’re sort of winging it. I can’t afford to do that with her. I don’t want to make any more mistakes. I really hurt her. She fuckin’ cried.”
He forced himself to drink the coffee so he wouldn’t make more of a fool of himself.
Hannah nodded. “I see. Tell me more about her. Anything at all. That will help me.”
“She manages the grocery store in Caspar, and she has a great work ethic. I wanted to close the store down for the weekend, but she refused, even though she’s exhausted, because she said people counted on the store being open on the weekends. Our club has always worked when we felt like it. We don’t think about things like that. She’s teaching me that we’re responsible to others for those things.”
Hannah nodded, sipping at her tea. Both pretended to ignore the growing heated exchange between the clerk and Preacher.
“She totally loves her grandmother. Zyah gave up an amazing, great-paying job to come here and take care of her after she was robbed and beaten.”
Hannah gasped. “I read about those robberies. How terrible. Her grandmother was one of the victims?”
Player nodded. “Yeah. Zyah quit a lucrative job with an international food chain and came straight home to take care of her grandmother. She’s that kind of woman. No regrets. She smells like this exotic combination of very subtle but definite jasmine, with a distinctive cinnamic-honey background.” He looked up at her. “It’s not perfume. I’m not kidding. It’s her skin. I know I sound like an idiot, but we learned all this stuff from Alena, all the different types of herbs and spices. The citruses. When I get close to her or . . .” He trailed off. He wasn’t about to start talking sex with Hannah.
“Is there more to her scent?”
He didn’t want to sound like an idiot. He looked around the shop and dropped his voice almost to a whisper because unless you were a chef, you didn’t talk like this. “Sort of a cassis-raspberry facet blending with rich green floral mimosa. All those scents blend together very subtly. I’ve got a really heightened sense of smell.”
“And it isn’t perfume?”
He shook his head.
“And she’s on her feet all day?”
“She’s a dancer. She likes to be barefoot. She has an affinity with the earth. A gift. She feels things when she’s barefoot. And she can heal when she’s dancing.”
“So, on top of everything else, she’s gifted. She really is special, which means you are as well or you wouldn’t have recognized that in her,” Hannah murmured aloud. Her mind was already moving away from him and around her shop, clearly looking at the various things she had on her shelves.
Player hadn’t meant to reveal anything about himself, and yet he’d given away quite a bit. He turned his attention to Preacher, who was usually one of the most easygoing of all the Torpedo Ink members. At least on the surface he seemed so. Right now, he seemed so furious, Player feared the shop might explode, blowing the walls from the inside out.
“I told you to stop tearing off the packaging. The ingredients are clearly marked on the outside of the packages,” the clerk enunciated.
“And I told you, if you had the IQ of more than a donkey and could actually listen, that I would pay for all of these products, so it doesn’t matter if I take off the packaging, that you haven’t listed the amounts. I need the exact amounts. I know the ingredients you’ve put in. Well, not you. Clearly, you had nothing whatsoever to do with making these products because you can’t tell me anything at all about them.”
“If you tear off the packaging on one more item, I’m calling the sheriff.”
“You already called the sheriff the moment we walked into the store because we’re wearing Torpedo Ink jacke
ts and you’re a fucking coward.”
Player sighed. Preacher rarely swore. Most of them did, but he hadn’t wanted to swear around Lana, and he had never really gotten into the habit. Player was going to have to defuse the situation before it really got out of hand.
“Don’t you dare call me a coward. You can’t possibly know I called the sheriff when you walked in. And give me that bath bomb right this minute.”
There was a little scuffle. Preacher won, yanking the package. “I told you, I’m buying these things. You can’t deny a paying customer. Go find something to do until the cops get here. You’re annoying the holy hell out of me, and you’re worthless as far as being a salesman.”
“Probably because I’m a woman and not a man, you moron. Can’t you tell the difference? A woman, for your information, has breasts and a vagina. A man has a penis.”
Player nearly spewed coffee across the table. He was very thankful that Hannah had gone into the back room.
“Well, thank you very much for that enlightening information,” Preacher said. “I’m glad you have an education in something. I should have known it would be in sex.”
The clerk rolled her eyes. “That wasn’t sex, you moron, that was anatomy. Get it right. And if you keep smelling that bath bomb, you perv, touching it with your nose, which, by the way, is now covered in a nice shade of shimmery purple, I’ll have to charge you extra.”
“Why would you have to charge me extra?”
“Makeup costs far more than bath products,” the clerk answered smugly.
Hannah returned with a basket as Player was drinking the last of his coffee. The clerk was more than keeping up with Preacher. He had the feeling the woman was a stick of dynamite and if Preacher tore off any more packaging, she might really throw him out of the store. That would really be a show. Lana and Alena would never let Preacher hear the end of it.
Reckless Road Page 28