Moonlight and Magic

by Rebecca Paisley

  “‘The glorious gifts of the gods are not to be cast aside,’” he repeated. Where had he read that line? Despite his predicament, he searched his memory, some part of him determined to prove to her that he was not as ignorant as she apparently thought him to be. “Homer wrote that,” he said suddenly. “It’s from the Iliad.”

  “You’ve read it?”

  “Do you think you’re the only person in the world who can read? But what does the Iliad have to do with this too-high trap and the werewolf? Perhaps you think Zeus might hurt the ladder down to you?”

  “I don’t believe in Zeus. But even if I did, I’ve never heard anything as ridiculous as him tossing down a ladder. I quoted the line because it happened to pop into my mind. I say what I think.”

  “Whether it makes sense or not.”

  Irritation swept through her. “Now see here—”

  “No, you see here! I’ve been hanging upside down for almost an hour now, and I’ve no intention of discussing your sanity, your religious beliefs, or any other kind of absurdity with you. Give me that knife and step away!”

  She sighed deeply but obeyed. Sterling snatched the knife, then looked at the ground beneath him. If the crazy woman had cut him down, he’d have been able to break his fall by twisting his lower torso toward the ground before he hit it, enabling himself to land on his feet. But since he had to cut himself down, he wasn’t going to have time to do that and would land flat on his back. The knowledge didn’t thrill him.

  He swung himself upward, grabbed the rope wrapped around his foot, cut through the bond, and braced himself for the fall. As he’d known he would, he fell with a dull thud, flat on his back. The air rushed from his lungs, and it was many moments before he caught his breath again. When he opened his eyes he expected to see Chimera above him. But he was lying there alone, she and the children having gone to play with the baby. Groaning, he tried to stand but fell back to the earth, clutching at the sharp pain in his side.

  “Dammit!”

  His curse brought the triplets, whom she’d called Snig, Snag, and Snug, immediately. “Cursin’ ain’t nice, you damn trespasser,” Snig chastised him, and brandished the stick sword.

  “Well, neither is torturing a helpless man!” Sterling snapped.

  “Are you hurt?” Chimera asked, strolling to him, the baby in her arms. “Can’t you get up?” She saw his silver eyes darken, lighten, and then darken and lighten again. It seemed to her they were made of pepper and salt.

  “Well, of course I can get up,” he assured her, flashing a sardonic smirk. “It’s just that lying here on the ground, dirt grinding into the wounds your three monsters gave me and relishing the pain I feel from the rib I just cracked, is such a pleasant pastime, I thought I’d enjoy it a little longer.”

  “You don’t have to be so snippy,” Chimera retorted. “If you hadn’t been stupid enough to walk into the snare—”

  “How the hell was I supposed to know these peaceful woods were booby-trapped? But you’re right. I should have known better. Everyone knows the Arizona Territory is the werewolf capital of the world. I should have realized there would be snares set out all around for them. Why, even as we speak, there are probably at least ten of the bloodthirsty beasts watching us. Come a full moon, they’ll be sneaking out of their dens and—”

  “Make fun if you want!” Chimera yelled down at him, then held the baby closer when the infant began to cry.

  “Now look what you did!” Sterling charged. “You’ve made her cry! Give me my baby!” He held out his arms.

  “I wasn’t aware men could have babies,” Chimera replied smoothly. “Or are you of a breed that can?”

  “Give her to me,” Sterling said warningly.

  “When was the last time she ate?”

  “Ate?”

  “You haven’t given her anything to eat?”

  Sterling frowned. “Eat?”

  “Eat! You know—that thing you do when you put food in your mouth, swallow it, and are therefore enabled to live?”

  “Well,” Sterling began sheepishly, “we’ve been riding for about four hours, and—”

  “You haven’t fed her in four hours?” Chimera demanded, aghast.

  “Well what the hell could I give her? Beans and hardtack? I’m not in the habit of carrying fresh milk around in my canteen!”

  “Some hero you are!” she shouted down at him. “The spirits must have pulled you out of their bag of rejects!”

  “Hero? What are you talking—”

  “You’re the hero. At least I’m almost sure you are. And you’ve much to do. So—”

  “I’m not doing a damn thing for—”

  “‘Not snow, no, nor rain, nor heat, nor night keeps them from accomplishing their appointed courses with all speed,’” she broke in, and nodded smugly. “Herodotus, the Greek historian, wrote that, and he might have been thinking about heroes. You would do well to heed his advice since his knowledge, I’m sure, surpasses yours. Now, if you have a horse, find him, get on him, and follow me, mister. But stay on the path or you might squash the gnomes.”

  “Gnomes?” Sterling repeated in a whisper as he watched her disappear down the trail through the woods. The woman was mad, and she had his baby! He struggled with his pain until he was on his feet. “Where are you taking her? You come back here, lady!” He stumbled a few steps forward but was stopped by three stick swords. The triplets came at him from all sides, continuing their torture for a good ten minutes before they finally scampered away and left their tired, furious victim alone.

  Sterling stood there in the clearing, holding his side for a long time before the pain in it subsided enough for him to find the breath to whistle for Gus, who appeared instantly. Sterling mounted none too easily and tried to decide what to do.

  The knowledge that the crazy woman could care for the baby better than he could filtered into his mind. The triplets looked well cared for. And the woman herself, with her glossy black hair, glowing cheeks, and bright brown eyes, was the epitome of health. There was really no reason for him to retrieve the Apache infant. She was better off with...What had those freckled fiends called her?

  Chimera. He grinned absently. Chimera was the name of a fire-breathing female monster, if he remembered Father Tom’s mythology lessons correctly. What a fitting name, he thought, his smile advancing to a chuckle—a chuckle that died away when it suddenly dawned on him she was the only woman he’d ever met who hadn’t thrown herself at him.

  He hadn’t seemed to impress her at all. Why, she’d barely looked at him, and then she’d actually insulted him, the raving lunatic! The realization unnerved him. What was it about him she didn’t like? Was he losing his touch?

  “She’s obviously a madwoman,” he muttered to Gus, and shifted uneasily in the saddle. “Spouting off about all that Virgil and Herodotus stuff while letting me dangle from a tree. Mad, Gus. She’s mad. I’m going to Tucson, lady!” he shouted at the path she’d taken. “So why the hell should I give a damn what your opinion of me is?”

  The answer to his question came immediately. It both infuriated and worried him. He hadn’t believed there was a woman alive who was immune to his magic, and it was this fact that had given him such confidence concerning the woman he sought in Tucson. But if Chimera could resist him, wasn’t it also possible another rejection awaited him in the town that lay just on the other side of these mountains?

  Dammit, why did this have to happen to him now? Now, when it was so important that everything be perfect upon his arrival in Tucson? He was counting on his special touch with women to aid him there.

  “Well, now she’s messed up everything, Gus! Fifteen minutes was all she needed to do it. Damn her, Gus. Damn her, damn her, damn...” His voice trailed off; he raised a brow. “No, don’t damn her,” he whispered. “Seduce her.”

  His brow rose higher. He smiled. The only way to set things right again was to bed the harebrained wench. It was like knocking on wood. Superstitious, yes, but there was
no way in hell he would leave this godforsaken, gnome-infested, werewolf-haunted place until he possessed the proof that his charm hadn’t failed him. Otherwise, how could he be sure it would work for him in Tucson?

  With that thought in mind, he urged his horse down the winding path Chimera had taken. “Fifteen minutes was all the time she needed to show me she can resist my magic, Gus. I’ll need only ten to prove she can’t.”

  Chapter Two

  The triplets stood around the lopsided table watching the Indian baby howl. “What did you feed us when we were this little?” Snag asked, and slipped his finger into the infant’s open mouth, grinning when the baby sucked on it.

  Chimera took a small bag of sugar from her pantry. “I didn’t feed you. There used to be a woman who lived nearby who’d lost her baby a few days before I found you three. She nursed all three of you and must have had good milk because by the time you were a week old, you were sitting at the table eating roast chicken with a knife and fork.”

  “Aw, Chimera,” Archibald said, and smiled at the baby. “Week-old infants can’t eat roast chicken by themselves.”

  “Well, maybe they were two weeks old,” she teased. The door banged loudly open, and she jumped, promptly dropping the bag of sugar.

  “What have you done with my baby?” Sterling demanded as he walked into the room. He’d decided the only way to successfully handle this fire-breathing vixen was to be firm with her: show her he knew exactly how to handle women, and she’d fall at his feet, like she was supposed to.

  His lips curling, he allowed his narrowed gaze to sweep over the small room. Taking in the sight of the old and meager belongings, he realized that lunacy was about the only thing Chimera had in abundance. The exception was her collection of books. Against one cracked wall were tall stacks of what looked to be about a thousand of them. That explained why she was able to snap off all those quotations, Sterling mused, and then slid his eyes back to her.

  She met his smug look with a defiant one. “Archibald, go get the broom and give it to this man. He’s going to sweep up this sugar he made me drop.”

  Sterling threw his hat on the cot in the corner. “I didn’t come to sweep your dilapidated house.” He would, however, sweep her. Right off her dainty little feet.

  His penetrating, smoky gaze bored into her. She shuffled uncomfortably, the sugar crunching beneath her boots. This was the first time she’d seen him on his feet. She hadn’t realized he was so tall, nor had she noticed how powerfully built he was. He was still shirtless, the thick ropes of muscle in his chest and arms unveiled. His upper torso tapered down to slim hips. His buckskin breeches were tight, leaving no doubt about the power in his legs.

  And lying beside those firm thighs, she saw, was a matched brace of gleaming pistols.

  For all she knew, this man could be a dangerous outlaw! A murderer, a robber, a rapist, or all three! After all, he hadn’t done a single heroic thing since she’d found him, and though she was reasonably sure he was the man she’d conjured up, she wanted proof.

  Well, she was raised a witch, wasn’t she? She had special powers, didn’t she? Never mind that they rarely worked, she had to keep her faith in them or the spirits would never consent to help her.

  The spell. The one for warding off danger! If the gunslinger was dangerous, he’d disappear, and if he was not, he’d remain. Oh, golly darn, how did that confounded spell go? She squeezed her eyes closed, waiting for the words of the incantation to come to her. When they didn’t, she decided to make up some of her own.

  She raised her arms level with her shoulders and wiggled her fingers. “Uh...evil, danger, all perilous things—begone with you, before...before the clock goes ding-ding!”

  The triplets waited expectantly for the man in their house to vanish, Archibald shook his head in his hands, and Sterling, after a moment’s bewilderment, began to understand. “You—you think you’re a witch!” he said, and snickered. “Before the clock goes ding-ding?”

  Chimera lowered her arms. “It has to rhyme. If it doesn’t rhyme, it won’t work.”

  “Well, it rhymed just fine, but as you can see, I’m still here. And not only that, but you don’t even have a clock to go ding-ding!” Sterling chortled and then held his side when his deep laughter generated a sharp pain. He grabbed a chair and sat down. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

  Chimera noticed the dark bruise on his left side, but ignored the compassion she felt for him. First she had to make sure he was the man the spirits had sent. “Look, be honest with me, mister,” she said, and picked up the whimpering baby. “Are you a criminal, or are you my hero?”

  “What hero? Why do you keep calling me—”

  “Because I need a hero, and you’re supposed to be him!” She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “What did I ever do to deserve this, O mystical spirits? I try. Truly I try, yet look who you send me for a hero!” She looked back at Sterling.

  He was smiling broadly, his grin revealing even, white teeth that gleamed in striking contrast to his dark skin and midnight hair. His face was a strong one, his cheekbones sharply defined with deep hollows beneath them, his jaw square and ragged. And his eyes...like molten silver they were, she mused. Silver eyes. How strange. How nice. How fathomless they seemed.

  She wasn’t too familiar with men, but she suspected that the man who was smiling at her, his grin slow and easy, was handsome. Yes, she decided, the corners of her own mouth turning up just a bit, he was probably considered very handsome. Maybe her spell had worked better than she thought.

  “If I were a criminal, I’d lie and say yes, I’m your—uh...hero,” Sterling said merrily. “And if I’m your hero, I’d be truthful and confirm that I am, indeed, who you want me to be. So how are you going to know the difference?”

  “‘Liars when they speak the truth are not believed.’ Aristotle,” she said firmly.

  “Far be it from me to even pretend to have the boundless knowledge that you do,” Sterling began, forcing down his laughter, “but I’d think that guy was referring to known liars. You’ve no such proof about me, so the question remains as to how you will know whether or not I’m telling the truth.”

  He was right, she realized, her mind working furiously. Quickly, she handed the baby to Archibald and went back to her pantry, taking down a small flask. “Truth potion!” she declared proudly. “I’ve never used it before, and now’s the perfect time to see if it works! Snig, Snag, and Snug are the best fibbers to try it out on, but I can’t ever hold them long enough to pour it down their lying throats.” She took a tin cup from a shelf, poured a bit of the liquid into it, and handed it to Sterling.

  He looked down at the murky mess and smiled again. “But how are you really going to know if it works? I could still lie, and if your potion doesn’t work, how will you know?”

  She looked at him blankly. “Well...oh, golly darn! Just what the devil do you know about witchcraft?”

  He noticed that the brown of her eyes darkened with her ire. Like the whiskey from which it borrowed its color, her gaze was potent. A man could become drunk just staring back into it. Having her in his arms might prove to be quite pleasurable, he mused. “Golly darn? Madam, you should refrain from using such offensive language around children. And as for witchcraft, I know as much about it as you do—nothing.”

  She gasped with outrage. “I’ll have you know that—”

  Sterling slammed the cup of potion onto the table. It sloshed onto his hand. He glanced down at the pea-green liquid, and disgust shuddered through him. “I’m not going to hurt any of you. If I had planned on doing that, I’d already have done it.”

  She looked at him skeptically.

  “When you handed me that knife in the woods, couldn’t I have stabbed you right then and there? Or couldn’t I have shot all of you the second I walked into this room?” He stood and took the infant from Archibald. “Now, did you feed my baby yet, or not?”

  Chimera took one short moment to deliberate. Surely a dange
rous outlaw wouldn’t be so gentle and concerned about a newborn baby. Relief washed over her. The man was her knight. And although he seemed an unlikely one, her magic, the spell that had brought him here, would make everything turn out the way it was supposed to. She had no doubt about it. Faith. She had to keep faith.

  That decided, she turned from him and set to work preparing a formula made of cow’s milk, sugar, and herb tea. Then she took one of Archibald’s freshly boiled socks and filled it with clean cornmeal.

  “The meal will keep the milk from coming out too fast,” she explained, and pushed Sterling back into the chair. She poured some of the concoction into the sock and, holding the tip of it over the baby’s mouth, she gently touched it to the infant’s lips.

  But the baby continued to scream, kicking Sterling’s forearms with her tiny feet. “She’s not going to eat!” he yelled, his voice barely rising above the infant’s wailing. “And why would she? I wouldn’t want my supper in a sock either—not even if it is a nourishing one! Can’t we use a spoon?”

  Chimera’s shoulders slumped. “If we did, it would take a week to get one feeding into her.” She stared down at the hungry little girl, her mind spinning with possible solutions to the problem. “Do you know what I’m thinking?”

  Sterling looked up at her and saw the gleam in her uptilted brown eyes. “I’m not sure I want to know what you’re thinking. You believe in werewolves and gnomes, you think you’re a witch, but your spells don’t work, you’re raising monster children—”

  “And you got caught in a werewolf trap, were helpless to defend yourself against three small boys, and are suffering an injured rib! I suppose you think yourself more capable than I?”

  Sterling stood and glared down at her. “You’re crazy! At least my feet are on the ground!”

  His looming above her made her feel like a dwarf, but she returned his glare with fury. “You weren’t on your feet when I met you! You were dangling and spinning from a tree! A tree, may I remind you, that you fell out of!”