Charmed & Dangerous Page 4

  On a slow evening, after a few nips of cooking sherry, Ms. Johnnie and Ms. Helen have the place rolling with their tales about the president of the United States getting stuck in the toilet when it was out back, and Helen’s fourth husband who she divorced when she found out he was two years older than he’d said he was. Didn’t matter that they were in their sixties at the time. She thought she’d married a younger man.

  “Just you today, Bronwyn?” Ms. Johnnie, dressed in a lime green pants outfit, handed over a menu.

  “No, ma’am. I’m waiting for a friend. Oh, there he is.”

  Ms. Johnnie turned to see who walked in the door and put her hand on her heart. “Now that, darlin’, is a real man. Mmmmmm. Is that the new doctor?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Is he your date for lunch?” She fanned her face. “I think I’m feeling a twinge of the vapors.” She never took her eyes off of him.

  “Um, well, it’s not really a date.” I tried to set the record straight. “More like a business meeting.”

  “Damn shame if you ask me.”

  Sam’s black hair gleamed in the sunlight pouring through the windows. How did he manage such a great tan in late February? He must have just come back from a beach holiday.

  I’m always jealous of people with tans. With my light brown curls, green eyes, and fair skin it takes a solid month at the beach just for me to turn honey colored.

  I introduced Sam to Ms. Johnnie and he charmed her socks off. We ordered the special, which included avocado turkey subs with Helen’s melt-in-your-mouth mashed potatoes.

  “Thanks for meeting me here.” He took my hand in his and my stomach clenched in sexual anticipation. My body heated instantly and I stopped myself from sighing.

  Ms. Johnnie brought him some tea and we released our hands.

  “I haven’t eaten here before.” He folded a napkin into his lap. “But I’ve heard wonderful things about the food.”

  “I look for any excuse to eat the twins’ cooking. I love this place.”

  “Rumor is, they’re something special.” He eyed the pictures on the walls.

  “And then some. Ply them with a little alcohol and you’ll get the entire history of Sweet, Texas, in one sitting.”

  “I’ll remember that.” He looked down at his hands. “There’s something I’ve got to ask.”

  Now what? “Okay, shoot.”

  “Really it’s two questions. Are you a high witch and can you read minds?”

  Where the hell had that come from?

  He held up his hand in a stop motion. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…I think you’re pretty and I’m sitting here wondering if you already know what’s in my head. And I could feel the power emanating off you the other night. I’ve never met so powerful a witch, and I’m just curious.”

  I’d been so nervous about our lunch I hadn’t even thought about reading his mind. Wish I had. “Yes, I’m a high witch. I have the ability to read minds. No, I didn’t read yours.”

  “I’m sorry. Just curious.”

  “No worries. When I go out in public I usually put up shields because the noise gets to be too much. But I’m curious why you asked me about it. Most witches don’t read minds and I haven’t really talked about it with anyone here in town.”

  “The other night when we had dinner with Kira and Caleb.” He took a sip of tea.

  “Yes.”

  “I sensed you were reading their minds.”

  Actually I had been doing exactly that. All I got were sexy images of the two of them intertwined and I put up the shields. From what I knew, their relationship hadn’t gone that far, but they were definitely thinking about it.

  “They’re my friends and only recently got together. Guess I got a little curious. Now what do you mean by sensed?”

  Sam shifted in his chair. He started to speak but stopped as Ms. Johnnie delivered our food. After she left, I picked up the conversation. I had to know exactly what he knew.

  “So, about the whole sensing thing…”

  “I’m a warlock. I know, I should have said something when we met the other night.” He put both hands up this time in a stop motion that would have made the Supremes envious. “I don’t practice. No one in my family has for the last hundred years or so. We’ve all become doctors and healers. Like most witches and warlocks, I do have some natural ability besides healing. One of those is reading emotions. I’m an empath.”

  Okay, here’s the deal: I’m prejudiced when it comes to warlocks, whether they practice magic or not. It’s been my personal experience that men can’t handle their magic. The power’s too much for them and they more often than not succumb to the dark side.

  My biggest problem with Sam being a nonpracticing warlock is that I didn’t sense he held power. Well, I knew there had to be something about him. Usually I can feel a warlock from a mile away. Sam had to have ironclad shields for it not to rub off on me in some way. And it hadn’t. Kind of like the guy in Oslo, who zapped me with the black sludge before I could respond.

  And in a way, if Sam held those shields in place, he did practice magic. I knew before I ever walked in there what he was, but I had hoped I was wrong.

  “Why did your family turn away from the craft?” I tried to act casual, but I was angry. And disappointed. If a warlock he be, off the sex list he goes. And it’s a very short list these days.

  “My great-grandfather practiced in his younger days, but felt he could do more good working as a surgeon. He used his power of healing to make a real difference. My grandfather and father followed in his footsteps, except my dad went into psychiatry. He uses his ability to gauge human emotion by helping people understand their lives.”

  “And you’ve never studied or practiced magic?” I watched his face and something shifted in his eyes.

  “Oh, yes, I studied. I thought it important to understand my heritage and how to use my powers if needed. But I’ve never had any real cause to use them except for healing.”

  Damn. He wasn’t telling me the truth. He’d used his powers for something other than healing. I could probe his mind, but knew he would know I was doing it.

  “How about your parents?” He shifted again in his seat.

  “My father is a neurosurgeon and my mother turned away from the craft when she decided to teach English at NYU a few years ago. They never discouraged me from seeking my own path into magic.

  “For the last three hundred years all the women of the O’Hurley family, my mother’s clan, have been born witches. It has always been left to the individual whether or not she wants to practice.

  “The last high witch in our family was born two hundred years ago, so we were all surprised when my powers came in at seventeen.”

  He smiled. “I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for you. So much power, so young.”

  I shrugged. “My mom says that a high witch is born knowing what to do and I believe she’s right. I blew a few things up by accident at first, but for the most part I’ve always known how to keep the power in check.”

  Ms. Johnnie showed up with pie. Chocolate cream for me, and apple for Sam. We dug in. At this point I didn’t know what to think.

  “I realize this might be a bit much at only our second date.” He ran on like an Indy car at the head of the pack. “It’s not like I go around telling everyone I’m a warlock. In fact, you’re the only one I’ve told here. But I wanted to be up front with you.”

  I put on a happy face and smiled, which belied the turmoil I felt inside. “Not a problem. Your secret is safe with me.” But in my mind, I decided to do a background check on Sam the Warlock. If he were truly bad, my senses would pick up on it. The only thing I got from him was pure sexual heat. The kind that made me want to jump him right there, even though he was a warlock.

  We did eventually talk about the potion I’d put together for Mr. Gunther and perhaps trying it on several other patients. When it came to arthritis and bone degeneration, I had s
ome books about healing herbs I promised to share with him.

  “In the ancient Celtic Book of Shadows there are remedies for every ailment.” I shrugged. “No real magic involved. It’s a matter of mixing the right ingredients, and convincing your patients to make healthy lifestyle changes. I also worked with a witch doctor of the Zimba tribe in Nigeria. He uses some healing techniques I’ve recorded. I’ll get my notes together and drop them off at your office tomorrow.”

  He smiled and my stomach dipped to my toes. How could I be so attracted to a man I couldn’t possibly date? Warlocks are a big no-no in Bronwyn’s book of dating material.

  “That’d be great.” I needed to see if the sheik had called and we’d been at the café for almost an hour and a half. “Look, I’ve gotta run.” I stood up and grabbed my wallet to lay some money on the table. He touched my hand and there were visible sparks. Magic. The warmth spread up my arm into my chest. He had let down his shields.

  He felt it too, I could see the blush of it on his cheeks, and he smiled. “I asked you to lunch; I wish you’d let me pay.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Hey, did I say something to upset you?”

  My problem was I didn’t want to like him. That whole warlock thing threw me for a loop. I did like him—a lot. Crap. “Not at all. This is more of a business lunch, not a date.”

  He blanched at that. Evidently he saw it as more than talking shop.

  “Okay, see you tomorrow?”

  His face brightened. “That’d be great, thanks.”

  Put the money on the table and waved good-bye to Ms. Johnnie and Ms. Helen, who were leaning on the counter ogling Sam. Couldn’t say I blamed them.

  Forgot about the time zone difference. Can’t call the sheik, but I sent Maridad, his assistant, an e-mail asking for Azir to call me at his convenience.

  In the meantime, it won’t hurt for me to take the jet up for a test flight. Wonder what Kira’s doing? She might enjoy a ride and she may have more info on the good doctor since they are such close friends.

  I’m so smart.

  Saturday, 11 A.M.

  Waning moon

  Spells: 2

  Potions: 3

  Well, Sheiky baby hasn’t called but Miles did. Next trip is to Brussels on Wednesday. Never been there but hear it’s cold this time of year. Great.

  Also had a message when I got back from flying. Dr. Sam said he’d forgotten his office is closed on Saturday and wondered if he could stop by and pick up the books and notes.

  I left him a voice mail and told him sure.

  Okay, I want to see him again. I admit it. That doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with him. He’s a stupid fucking warlock.

  During the flight Kira spilled everything she knew about Sam. They’d been friends since college and she adores him.

  “If we had the least bit of chemistry we would have dated,” she told me, “but we didn’t. He and I had English lit together and worked on several projects. When I had boyfriend trouble he’d always come by and take me out for coffee or beer. He’s just the best. I’ve cried on his shoulder many times.”

  I trust Kira, so I’ve decided to give Sam a chance to be my friend. Just a friend. After the sparks at Lulu’s, I know we have chemistry, but we’ll keep it strictly platonic and all will be well.

  I can be friends with a warlock.

  If he’s interested I’ll show him how to mix a few remedies for his patients.

  My stomach is filled with butterflies and I can’t believe I’m so turned upside down by this guy. Get a grip, Bronwyn. Damn, is that his car? Eeeek!

  Sunday, 4:30 P.M.

  Potions: 2

  Cute guys I want to sleep with: 1

  Sam brought lunch yesterday and ended up staying through dinner. We talked about everything and made a few potions together. When he left around midnight, he gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek, like we were in high school or something, and my heart did a double take.

  We met again at the Methodist church this morning. Nice group of people. The minister and his wife invited Sam and me to the church potluck tonight so we’re heading back there. Sort of hoping Sam comes home with me tonight. I’ve decided I don’t care. The more I’m around him, the more I want him. He’s so damn kind. Everyone in town loves him.

  I want to be a very bad girl and jump him. If doing the nasty with him kills me, well, what a way to go.

  10 P.M.

  Argh! If I want to be a bad girl, I’m going to have to do it all on my own. At least when he dropped me off this time he kissed me on the lips.

  I’m such a bad girl, but I don’t care. I want to have a mind-blowing roll in the hay with the man. And I know it would be mind-blowing because every time he touches me I melt. Wiggly knees, the whole bit. Geez.

  If he touches me again I’ll have to invest in a vibrator. I mean, a girl can only take so much.

  Five

  Monday, 3 A.M.

  Sweet, Texas

  Returned jets: Still 0

  S heiky baby doesn’t seem to be as worried about time zones as I am. He just called to tell me how grateful he is for my protection.

  My sleep-addled brain had trouble producing coherent sentences. I think I said something like, “Sssno problem, Sheiky—I mean, sir.”

  A long pause on the other end made me sit up in my bed. Had I really said Sheiky?

  He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I wanted to make sure you enjoyed the jet and that it suited you.”

  “Oh, it’s wonderful, but very unnecessary. I simply can’t accept it.”

  I tried so hard to explain that his gift, while generous, was woefully inappropriate, but he didn’t get it.

  He also couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t sign his contract. Rude and bristly, that’s how I’d describe him. Of course that’s all offset because he has a velvety voice that makes a girl’s spine tingle. He’s going to be in Brussels, so I’ll try to talk to him again there.

  The conversation ended with him giving me the use of a pilot to help fly the plane to Brussels. It’s a long flight and he doesn’t want me to get too tired. I get the feeling Azir isn’t used to the word no because when I said it he totally ignored me, wished me a safe journey, and hung up the phone.

  Casper, who I hadn’t seen since I left for Oslo, lay beside me on the bed. She didn’t seem happy about the early wake-up call and stuck her head up under one of the pillows. Smart cat. Think I’ll do the same.

  2 P.M.

  Visited Mr. Gunther again. What a charmer. Those blue eyes twinkled as he told a great story about dancing in the streets of Paris with his wife for their fortieth wedding anniversary. He described every detail, from the twinkling lights on the Seine to the red dress she wore.

  “She was as beautiful as the day I met her.” He wiped a small tear from his eye. “People say that all the time but with Clara—she had such a big heart and loved everyone and everything around her. Her very presence made life a joy.”

  “She sounds wonderful.” I sat across from him, not knowing what to say.

  Lost in memory, he paused for a moment then looked me in the eye. “I know I said it before but thank you for this. Being able to remember my wife is a gift beyond measure. She made me a better person just by knowing her.”

  I wrinkled my nose to keep the emotion back and took his hand. “I’ve got to do some traveling but I’ll visit when I get back.”

  Margie told me that Mr. G’s been writing in his journal endlessly. With memories like his, can’t say I blame him. I’ve never experienced the kind of love he talks about when he mentions his wife. Such devotion.

  I left another journal with Margie to give him when he fills the first one. There’s something about that old guy that just tugs at my heart. I’ve got to find a way to help him on a more permanent basis.

  Man, that 3 A.M call made me tired. Think I’ll grab a nap, so I can stay up late tonight. The girls are coming by for some fun.

  Tuesday, 10 A.M.
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br />   Hungover witches: 1

  I thought it a bit strange that I’d been here a few months and hadn’t met any of the local witches. After hanging out with Kira and Margie last night, I realized the magical folks are well integrated into the community.

  Turns out the mayor’s wife, Peggy, oversees everything to do with the local coven, which explains why the townspeople never seemed to mind having me around. They’re used to witches.

  She does a fantastic PR job. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  Michael Hughes, the chief of police, is a warlock. His sister, Amber Ann, is a witch, and their mother is Peggy. Oh, and Chief Hughes is a white magic warlock. Could explain why there’s not much crime in Sweet. Just about every city council member or person in power in this small town has ties to a witch. I understand now why I felt such a positive pull to the place. With all that white magic energy, how could I resist?

  Anyway, I learned about all of this after plying Kira and Margie with margaritas. We’d decided to have a Mexican fiesta in the dead of winter. I hung up bright colored lights all over the living room. Kira brought some massively delicious chicken enchiladas, and Margie hauled in giant pots of refried beans and Spanish rice. We ate until we were sick, then we dipped into the Rocky Road ice cream. I know. Pathetic.

  I made myself the honorary tequila chairman and mixed so many batches of raspberry margaritas that we lost count.

  Note to self: Don’t mix margaritas with Rocky Road.

  Margie had a wealth of info about Dr. Sam. He’s pretty hot stuff around the retirement home. The nursing staff fights over who gets to do rounds with him.

  “He’s not my type, too smart and sophisticated. I like my men big and stupid. But there’s something so charming about him,” Margie cooed as she pushed her brunette bangs out of her eyes. “Our patients turn to mush in front of him and do anything he asks. Old Thomas Wilkins refused to wear his glasses. Thinks they make him look old. He’s ninety-three. Runs into walls so much that he’s got horrible black-and-blue bruises on his face, arms, and legs. We worry all the time about being charged with negligence because of him.