Cowboy's Cupid

by Niki Mitchell

  But Mia steals his heart—and then says she’s from the future.

  COMING in 2019

  REBEL’S CUPID

  Read a sample of the Niki Mitchell’s second Love’s Magic Series.

  Chapter One

  Realm of Cupid’s Corner

  Belle Brooks long to see the world—not flutter along Bliss Avenue on her way to work.

  She should be content with her town’s beautiful setting, suspended above puffy cumulus clouds and nestled between majestic snowcapped mountains. She should be content living close to the grassy meadows surrounding Lake Aphrodite. She should be soothed as she breathed in fresh air, resplendent with the scent of poppies, lupines, pansies, zinnias, and pink lady slippers.

  She should be content.

  Nevertheless, she wasn’t. If anything, her yearnings for an adventure far from the confines of her community grew stronger with each breath. Only the most accurate Cupid archers visited Earth and shot arrows that infused humans with love. Since Belle couldn’t hit the side of a castle, she was stuck here. It just didn’t seem fair.

  Fate gifted her with a high IQ. She appreciated being smart, but that didn’t stop her from longing for more.

  Veering onto Paramour Street, she glanced at the clock tower. At ten minutes to nine, she’d better fly faster. If she didn’t hurry, she’d be late for work. Her promotion to Innovative Productions took two years. She was not about to blow it.

  Zooming past Cupid’s Daily Press and the high school, she arrived at Truelove Headquarters. An enormous six-foot Cupid statue dominated the front entrance of the white four-story building. She glided toward a bow-and-arrow icon on the wall and waved her heart-shaped wrist emblem at the sensor. A coral-pink light flashed, and the cloud-covered door parted.

  By habit, she headed to the right toward her former office. Realizing her error, she managed to angle her wings in the open atrium to the second level and soared several feet above the white marble floor inlayed with ruby hearts. On the third level, four engineers rotated and spun three-dimensional gears and pulleys while working on a modern version of a Pegasus-drawn carriage. They waved at her, and she smiled and waved back. If she had a few minutes to stop, she’d love to see the eccentric Cupid’s new invention.

  Instead, she entered her department, furled her wings, and gazed out the bay windows at the Fates River as it zigzagged toward Aphrodite’s Lake. What a view!

  “Hey,” her friend, Serenity, called.

  Belle turned. Serenity sat at a long white table next to the boss.

  “We’re revising your schedule,” he said. The male, not much older than Serenity, wore a toga.

  Belle liked the casual atmosphere here said to free creative vibes.

  “You two have fun testing the holographic human this morning,” he said.

  “We will.” Serenity flipped her shoulder-length hair behind her ear—her new longer pixie style accented her heart-shaped face. She nonchalantly glanced over her shoulder.

  “You dating him?” Belle asked, having witnessed a flicker of attraction in the boss’ eyes.

  “Not my type.”

  “If you say so.” Later, Belle would grill her friend.

  “We’re working in one of the Experimental Rooms on the third floor. Wait ’till you see the new prototype.

  Belle could use a break from analyzing and comparing the elements in love potion formulas. “What is it?’

  “An interactive way to use the Book of Relationships. You know that mundane book. The book that, for the last two years, sucked the love out of your soul.”

  “I believe in love.” Not the passionate, forever kind of sappy love Cupids touted. “And you’re one to talk.”

  “I like playing the celestial field.” Serenity giggled. “It’s a lot more fun than being tied down to one guy.”

  Belle would probably feel the same if she were cute and spirited like her friend, not a tall, gangly misfit with dark auburn-colored hair.

  “You must be glad to no longer have to manually input data into the system. It’s such an archaic way to connect soulmates.”

  “And boring and tedious and mindless.” Belle preferred using her brain. “So how does the prototype work?”

  “Our engineers transformed 2-D information into a human holograph.”

  “Can’t wait to see it.”

  They entered Pod C, a space twice the size of Belle’s living room, and walked along the marble flooring on the right. Belle shivered.

  “It might feel a bit chilly, but once we start working you’ll get used to it.”

  In the center, a blue luminescent pathway formed. Inch-long squares embedded with an ever-changing series of molecular, atomic formulas. “Oh, my gosh, that’s the basic structure of matter. I’ve always wanted to experiment with it.”

  “Watch this.” Serenity reached down and carefully selected molecules from the floor and held them in her hand. She used her fingers to create a Glasswing butterfly. It flew around the room and landed on her finger.

  “The butterfly looks real. Can I try?”

  “Of course. Think about what you want to create. Once you have a clear vision of the molecular structure, go for it.”

  Belle closed her eyes, concentrated, and a formula popped in her mind. She bent down and selected atoms in various sections of the changing floor. In her hand, she turned and twisted and watched molecular fusion in action. A red comb formed, followed by a beak, beady eyes, a white body, and feet. “I can’t believe I made a chicken.” She plopped the hen down on the marble floor next to her. It clucked, walked to her glittery shoes, and pecked. Its beak pinched her toes.

  “Ouch! Knock that off.” She stepped to the side, and the ridiculous chicken flapped its wings and followed her. “What should I do?”

  “Break the code by setting your creation back into the molecular floor.” Serenity dropped the butterfly from her finger and it dissolved.

  Not about to touch her creation, Belle used magical dust from her fingertips to float the hen into the pathway. It disappeared.

  “Why’d you pick a chicken?” Serenity asked.

  “Meant to form a baby chick and messed up.”

  “And your grin says you had a blast. Ready to try out our simulated man. I’m gonna call up C.I.P. to send out the simulation.” Serenity motioned to the see-through control panel along the wall.

  Otherwise known as Cognitive Internal Processing, Belle was excited to work with this processor for the first time.

  “Wake up, Cip,” Serenity said.

  A silver-haired hologram man appeared. “Hello, Serenity. Who’s your friend?”

  “This is Belle Brooks.”

  “Very nice to meet you, Belle.” His smooth, well-modulated voice reminded her of the local newscaster.

  “List four towns in Southern California that start with T,” Serenity said.

  “Temecula, Temple City, Tustin, Tranquility Village.”

  “Search Tranquility Village for men in need of a love match.” Serenity’s face lit with excitement as she tapped her foot and waited.

  “I’ve located five-hundred matches. State a quality you’re looking for.”

  “Belle, you pick.”

  Belle moved in closer. “List a man with a warm heart that needs mending.”

  “Twenty matches. To narrow your search, give the range in age.”

  This was fun. Belle chimed in, “Twenty-six to twenty-eight.”

  “Asher Killian O’Sullivan, who is nicknamed Lucky, matches all criterion.” The image of a dark-haired human with a day-old shadow on his chin appeared. “Shall I send Mr. O’Sullivan to the center of the lane?”

  “Yes, please.” Excitement pulsed through her veins.

  A man stepped off the screen and onto the coded pathway.

  “Not bad.” Serenity sighed.

  “He’s amazing.” Belle noticed how his leather jacket fit snuggly over his biceps. His faded jeans accentuated his tall, lanky build. Her body quivered. Crazy. />
  “Who are you?” He removed his mirrored-sunglasses and suspiciously gazed at Belle, holding her captive, unable to breathe much less move.

  “I’m Serenity. And this is my friend, Belle.”

  He glanced around the room and combed his hair back with his fingers. “Where in the hell am I?” This man wasn’t real, but his disgruntled voice, wide stance, and folded arms reminded her of an Eros’ male when provoked.

  “Welcome to Cupid’s Corner, Lucky O’Sullivan.” Belle curtsied.

  He glared. “You’re aliens from Mars, right? Don’t think I’ll cooperate.”

  “We’re not aliens.” Serenity giggled, and he stomped toward her.

  “Let-let-let-let me-me-me-me-me.” He crumpled into the floor, his molecules dissolved.

  “Damn.” Serenity cursed and covered her mouth with her hand. “Obviously, the program needs some tweaking.”

  The thought of losing the simulated man saddened Belle, which was silly. He wasn’t real.

  ~ ~ ~

  Sixty degrees. Perfect weather for Lucky O’Sullivan to take his 1941 Knucklehead Harley on a brisk morning test drive. The cold air cleansed his mind. The sunshine brightened his mood. The engine’s loud rumble invigorated his soul.

  He stopped at a signal and waited to turn right. The engine kept up a steady rumble. Five cars passed before he had an opening. He rolled the throttle, only to have the engine sputter, spit and stall.

  His grandfather’s words came back to him. “Give her a bit of sweet talk, and she’ll usually cooperate.”

  He jumped off, pushed the motorcycle to the curb and put down the kickstand. The movement twinged the tendon below his kneecap. Damn accident.

  He straddled the bike and stepped on the kicker. The engine coughed. “Guess your carburetor could use a little tweaking,” he said to the bike.

  A motorcycle pulled up behind him and shut off the engine. His friend, Havoc, got off his Fat Boy Harley, a Harley so new it still had temporary plates. “When you gonna get rid of this old relic?”

  “Never. I happen to like vintage.” Someday, he’d open his own shop.

  Havoc took off his helmet and lowered his mirrored sunglasses “You gonna sit here all-day gabbing or do you need my help?”

  Lucky kicked the starter one, two, three times. The motor engaged. “I’m good.”

  “Where you off to?” Havoc revved his bike.

  “Gran’s. She’s making French Toast.” He could almost taste the cinnamon flavoring in the sweet bread. His mouth watered.

  “Think she’d mind if I tag along?”

  “As if what Gran thought ever stopped you before.” Lucky laughed. Havoc had invited himself over for meals countless times.

  Rolling the throttle, Lucky revved the engine, popped the clutch, took off with his friend, and the two of them roared past a strip mall. For the next three intersections, they sailed through green lights, leaned right at the next street, and made a quick left.

  Their bikes cruised under the jacaranda trees lining the block toward a cul-de-sac and slowed, climbing the cement driveway and coasted to the garage in the back.

  “Sweet gig you’ve got here,” Havoc said as he got off his bike.

  “Sure is.” Living with his grandmother hadn’t been his dream, but for now, it was home, sweet home.

  ~ ~ ~

  Oh, joy. Weekly dinner at the family estate.

  Her boyfriend, Wynton, parted the cloud-like doorway and ushered her inside the foyer with quartzite flooring embedded with bits of rubies and sapphires. “I’d love to live a house like this.” He said that every time they came here.

  6:05 displayed on the ornate wall clock.

  Late. Based on her mother’s scowl, offensively late.

  Fashionably late, as far as Belle was concerned.

  She entered the dining room and gave her mother the expected kiss on her cheek. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Glad you could make it.” To her mother’s left, Belle’s grandmother, Grand Dame Maraschino Brooks, sat with her stiff posture and perfectly coiffed hair. She didn't acknowledge Belle. Nothing new there. Why her mother remained beside her was beyond Belle. If she had a mother-in-law as unpleasant as Grand Dame, she’d stay far away.

  Her grandfather smiled from the opposite end of the table from his wife.

  Her family sat around the oval-shaped table etched with hearts, bows, and arrows. Her mother’s cherished crystal table—the table passed down for generations to the oldest daughter.

  “Hi,” her father said, and she hugged him.

  “Hey, Mr. Brooks.” Wynton shook his hand. “Hope there’s time for a chess rematch.”

  “Me too.” Her father smiled.

  Belle and Wynton took the empty seats next to her mother. Heart-shaped china and diamond-embedded silverware adorned the table. She picked up her pink napkin embroidered with a bubbling brook.

  Her father waved his hand and glasses of ambrosia floated down to the table. He toasted, “To eternal bliss.”

  Bliss. Belle would settle for more laughter.

  “You’re on, Pops.” Her father motioned to his dad, her grandfather.

  Gramps winked at her as he stood. Ever since Belle was a little cherub, she had a unique connection with him. He spread his arms, showing off his white silk suit with a sparkly vest. “My signature dish for tonight is watercress and shallot soup.” He twirled his fingers. A frothy white soup filled bowls with ribbons of vegetables. Brie, feta, and jack cheese kabobs with a flaming triangular-shape carrot tips sailed into the center.

  “Bravo, Dad.” Her uncle applauded. “Are you teaching that new stunt at the Archery Academy?”

  “Not yet. Thought I'd try it out here first.

  Wynton devoured his soup. “Delicious, Grand Sire.”

  “Please call me Gramps. No need for formalities.” Her grandfather grinned at his wife. Her cornflower blue eyes iced.

  “We’re ready for your flakey coconut biscuits,” her father said to his mother, Grand Dame.

  The persnickety woman produced a basket covered with a pink-and-white checkered cloth.

  Belle stifled a laugh as she took one. The heavy biscuit could be used as an anchor.

  Her aunt delivered simmering asparagus and mushrooms on tiny plates. Belle used her magic to design a platter with dragon fruit and kiwi. She floated the food around for the guests to add to their meal.

  Gramps said to Belle. “Anything exciting happening at I.P.?”

  “Nothing I can discuss.” She made a zipper across her lips.

  “That’s my girl.” Her dad’s encouragement warmed her heart with pride.

  “Give a girl a bit of power and see how she gets.” Her uncle teased.

  Wynton’s eyes glazed, clueless as usual. She’d dated him for two years, on and off. Not the brightest star in the galaxy, at least he was dependable, plus her father liked him. Wynton set his arm across the top of Belle’s chair. It should feel comforting; instead, it felt possessive.

  “It’s hard to believe Cami shot the wrong person. Heard she’s finally fixed her mistake,” her uncle said.

  “It’s been handled.”

  “Never cared for that girl. She’s full of herself. Uppity because she won a couple of contests.” Grand Dame sneered. “You never should have moved in with her.”

  No way was she going to mention that Cami recently snuck to Earth to reconnect with her human lover.

  “I like Cami,” her mother said.

  Belle gave her mother an appreciative grin.

  Grand Dame raised a brow and gave her mother a glassy glare.

  With the main course served and eaten, her father said, “Now for dessert.” His reddish-gold magical dust swirled, and cherries jubilee floated in front of each family member. Another flick of dust and a blue flame ignited on the top of the dish.

  “Why does he always have to flambé his desserts?” Grand Dame whispered to Belle’s mother. “It ruins the flavor.”

  Belle wondered if her gra
ndmother was born obnoxious or if something had happened to make her mean.

  “You don’t have to eat it.” Her mother sampled a spoonful and sighed. She turned to Belle’s younger sister. “I do hope you will play for us tonight?”

  “It would be my pleasure.” Her sister stood and gracefully walked to the harp near the window in the living room. With her hair coiled on top of her head, she held the sides of her long golden gown and eased into the chair. Her fingers glided along the strings as she played a classical tune.

  As a little girl, Belle recalled waltzing in the ballroom with her dad to this tune.

  “Why didn’t you ever learn an instrument?” Wynton’s voice ruined her reminiscing.

  “I didn’t inherit the gift.” Envy for her sister crept inside Belle’s head and taunted her. She twisted a strand of her hair around her finger.

  Belle’s mom whispered to Grand Dame, “Her harp instructor says she plays even better than Zinnia.”

  “Who’s Zinnia?” Belle’s exceptional hearing honed in on the conversation, wondering why she’d never heard the name before.

  Grand Dame’s lips pursed her eyes glinted daggers. What was up? “Don’t talk about her.”

  “Don’t talk about who?” her uncle asked.

  “Zinnia.” Belle’s word floated out on its own accord, as the song’s tempo picked up.

  A spoon fell from her aunt’s hand and clattered onto the table.

  “That name’s never to be mentioned in my presence?” Grand Dame huffed.

  “Why not?” her uncle asked. “She’s your daughter.”

  “Not anymore. She’s a disgrace.” Grand Dame flicked her fingertips, using her magic to shatter her crystal wine glass.

  “Because my little sister dared to defy you.” Her uncle threw down his napkin and stood. “I’m out of here.”

  This was getting interesting. Belle glanced across at her grandfather. Worry lines formed around his usually jovial mouth, and his shoulder slumped. When his eyes caught hers, he quickly looked down.

  “Belle,” Wynton nudged her. “I’ve got to get up at four tomorrow, so we’d better get going.” He offered his hand.

  Of all the nights to leave early, he had to pick tonight.

  Romance Novels by Niki J. Mitchell