Sympathetic Magic (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 4) Read online

“No, we’re not,” Claire said smartly as she brought in a bowl of mixed field greens. “Just bringing everything out and letting you sort it from there.”

  Margot summoned a faint smile as Claire returned to the kitchen, passing Jeff, who had another bowl in his hands, this one of what smelled like garlic mashed potatoes. He set it down, and they did their little dance once again, this time with her carrying a very large bowl of some kind of beef dish, judging by the savory aroma, and Jeff bringing out a basket of bread, carefully covered with a brick-red napkin.

  “That’s it, then,” he said to Lucas. “Everything’s cleaned up. We want to hit the road — that storm coming in looks bad.”

  “It does?” Lucas said, apparently taken off guard by this revelation.

  “Well, according to the alert I just got on my weather app, it does. Have a great dinner — bon appetít!”

  With that he ducked back into the kitchen, and Lucas, after a short pause, went ahead and took his seat next to her. He picked up the bottle of wine and poured a measure into her glass, then his.

  “Is the storm going to be a problem?” she asked.

  At once he smiled and shook his head. “I doubt it. I didn’t see much on the news this morning, and besides, even if it does do something crazy and actually snow — which generally doesn’t happen this early in November — I’m sure it’ll be melted by morning.”

  “And if it doesn’t melt?” She wasn’t sure she believed him. What would happen if they really did get snowed in here? Sure, they had food for tonight — well, the next several days, judging by the size of the meal Claire and Jeff had prepared — but it didn’t sound as if Lucas was the type to keep much in the way of supplies around.

  He seemed to recognize her concern, replying, “If it doesn’t…well, I wasn’t sure if you were much of a ‘going out to breakfast’ person, based on the way you shot down my suggestion about having brunch that one time, so I did get a few things. It’ll be fine.”

  His reply did allow her to relax…a little. It was one thing to be up here in Flagstaff, running around town and doing things in public. What was she supposed to do if she really did get trapped in Lucas’ house for several days because they were snowed in?

  Relax, she told herself. It’s Flagstaff in the twenty-first century, not something out of Little House on the Prairie. Even if we do get a heavy snowstorm, I’m sure the roads will be plowed in no time.

  “Okay,” she allowed, and he raised his glass to her. Uncertainly, she did the same.

  He said, “To trying new things.”

  She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond to that particular toast, but she knew it would be rude if she didn’t chime in. And really, just being here in Flagstaff, in Wilcox territory, was a new enough thing for her. She wouldn’t worry about what Lucas might or might not have meant.

  “To trying new things.”

  They clinked glasses and then drank. It was a Rhone-style blend, she thought, although she knew there was no way she’d be able to tell if it was a true Rhone wine or one of the blends whipped up by the mad geniuses at one of the Verde Valley’s various wineries. Either way, it was marvelous, rich and nuanced, yet not too heavy on the tannins.

  She set her glass down. “That’s excellent.”

  “I’m glad you like it — it’s one of your own.”

  “Mine?”

  A smile. “From Burning Tree Cellars. They’re in McAllister territory, right? So I guess I think of the winery as being yours.”

  Margot supposed that was true, if you stopped to think about it. “I had no idea you’d been coming down there and shopping regularly.”

  “Oh, I haven’t. Connor picked this up for me the last time he was there, told me he was really impressed with their blends and that he thought I’d appreciate them, too.”

  “And do you?”

  The dark eyes surveyed her over the rim of his wine glass. “Oh, yes. Definitely.”

  Once again she got the feeling he was discussing something entirely different from what she had asked, but she decided to let it go.

  He seemed to as well, setting down his glass so he could hand her the bowl of salad. She took some, waited for him to help himself, then took a bite. The dressing was a light vinaigrette, expertly balanced.

  “So do Jeff and Claire run a restaurant, or do they just do freelance cooking around town for men trying to impress their dates?” Damn. Why had she said “date”? That was going to sound all wrong.

  Judging by the way one corner of his mouth quirked, she guessed Lucas had picked up on the word right away. “They own a restaurant. But Tuesday’s a slow night, so I wooed them away for a few hours while their sous chefs handled things.”

  Margot didn’t want to think what that had cost. But it was pretty obvious that Lucas had enough money to do just about anything he wanted, so she wouldn’t even bother to protest that he shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble for her.

  “Very impressive,” she said, returning to her salad, keeping her eyes on her food so she wouldn’t have to meet his.

  He made a noncommittal sound and applied himself to his own salad. When they were both done, he rose and took her empty plate, then his, and disappeared briefly into the kitchen. She hadn’t really planned it that way, but she was staring in the direction he’d gone, so when he came back to the dining room, their eyes met for the briefest second. Warmth flooded through her at that gaze, and at once she looked back down, pretending to be rearranging the napkin on her lap.

  Why the hell did he have such an effect on her? The way Lucas made her feel seemed worlds away from the way she had reacted to Clay.

  But no, she wouldn’t think about that. She managed to smile as Lucas asked for her plate so he could dish up some potatoes and beef bourgignon for her, murmur a polite thank-you, and then wait while he got some for himself.

  “I figured this was safe, since you had the venison at Rene’s,” he ventured, and she blinked, then realized he was talking about the food.

  “Oh, yes. It’s fine. I mean, it smells marvelous.”

  He nodded, and they both ate in silence for a minute or two. At last he said, “You seem sort of tense, Margot.”

  Well, of course she was. She was sitting here with him at his dining room table, by candlelight. Most women would have been thrilled to have a man take so much trouble to create a memorable evening like this. But she didn’t know how to react to it. Should she remain coolly polite, letting him know that candles and Rhone wine and meals home-cooked by five-star chefs were all well and good, but that she had more backbone than to fall for something like that?

  Or should she acknowledge that his efforts made some part of her feel all warm and melting, because it had been forever and a day since someone had paid this kind of attention to her?

  No, that wasn’t true. Not really. No one had ever done anything like this for her before. Certainly not Clay.

  “I suppose it’s all a lot to take in.” From somewhere she summoned a smile, along with the courage to meet his gaze directly. “I do appreciate all this. Really.”

  “Okay.” After that, he seemed to let the matter drop, and moved on to talking about what they would do if it really did snow, how maybe he could take her up to the Snow Bowl and they could watch people playing in the snow, and then to a restaurant he knew of on the way there that wasn’t pretentious at all, but had some amazing soups and sandwiches.

  She nodded and said that sounded like it would be fun, but her response felt tinny in her ears, as if she were saying the things she thought she should be saying, and not the one that lay in the very depths of her soul, of her heart.

  No, I want to stay here. I want to stand with you in the garden and have you kiss me and keep me warm while the snow falls all around us.

  Of course she would never tell him such a thing.

  * * *

  It really wasn’t fair that she should be so beautiful. In a way, her dress was almost prim, with its high collar, but the way i
t opened in front to reveal a glimpse of the heavy Navajo necklace she wore underneath, and a fainter glimpse still of the shadow between her breasts, seemed far more enticing than something that showed a lot more flesh would be.

  Somehow Lucas managed to keep himself from staring at her, at the all too solid reality of her just a few feet away at his dining room table, but it wasn’t easy. His mouth kept moving, uttering the sort of easy banter he could probably manage in his sleep if necessary, and all the while his brain kept thinking, I want you. I want you. I want you.

  All right, it wasn’t just his brain thinking that.

  He had to force himself not to dwell on the curves of her body as revealed in the slim-fitting dress, because otherwise he’d have to force back an arousal for which there was no cure. Well, of course, there was a cure, but he didn’t think Margot seemed too interested in providing it.

  Or…was she? The signals he kept getting from her were so mixed that he honestly didn’t know what to think. One minute she’d be polite, but only that, and in the next, her gaze would catch his, and he’d see a flicker of the same heat he knew rushed over his body every time he recalled that one sweet time he’d kissed her.

  They talked of inconsequential things, of the possibility of snow, of how quickly the roads would be plowed, of the arrangements Connor and Angela had made in case the weather was not cooperating whenever the twins decided to make their entrance into the world. In that case, Darrell Wilcox, currently a junior at Northern Pines, would come out to make the trip with them. His talent, such as it was, involved making an area in front of him extremely hot. In most cases, it wasn’t a lot of use — although Lucas suspected his cousin had given his siblings a hot foot a time or two — but Darrell did make an excellent impromptu snow plow.

  And eventually they had eaten and drunk their fill, and Margot insisted on helping him clear the table. Since Jeff and Claire had tidied up all evidence of the actual meal preparations, it was short work to put the leftovers in storage containers and the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Then Lucas straightened up, wondering what he could do to extend the evening. Margot really didn’t seem like the type to watch television — he hadn’t even seen a TV at her place — and she hadn’t appeared terribly inclined toward conversation, at least not the sort of conversation he wanted, when she would unbend enough to reveal a little more about herself.

  He saw Margot’s gaze shift toward the kitchen door, which was basically a window in a doorframe, one that opened on the deck, and her eyes lit up. “I think — I think it’s snowing!”

  Thank God. Let it snow, he thought. Let it snow like that one storm five years ago when it came up to the windows. Then we’ll be trapped in here together, and she’ll have no choice but to finally open up.

  “Let’s take a look,” he said, hoping he sounded more or less unconcerned. He dried his hands on a dish towel and went to the door, then opened it.

  A blast of freezing air entered the warm kitchen, but Margot didn’t seem to mind. The lights mounted on the rear of the house had turned on automatically at dusk, and so it was easy to see the pale flakes floating down, dancing this way and that. They were falling fast, too, and thickly, so much so that he could see the snow already beginning to pile up on the deck railings and the patio furniture, shrouded for the season, and on the boards of the deck itself.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said quietly.

  “I thought it snowed in Jerome sometimes.”

  “It does, but something about it here feels quieter, deeper. Maybe it’s all the pine trees around the house.”

  He could see that. Yes, there were trees in Jerome, but nothing like the stately ponderosa pines that surrounded his home. A minute passed as they stood in silence, watching the snow fall, and then he said, “It’s too cold to stand here like this. The last thing I want is you getting sick.”

  “I never get sick,” she said absently, but she did step away from the door so he could close it, shutting out the falling snow and the icy air that had begun to penetrate even the wool sweater he wore.

  “You’ll still be able to see it if we go into the living room,” he went on. “All those windows look out over the deck, too.”

  She nodded, and he led her out of the kitchen, on to the big chamber where the fireplace already had logs piled in it, waiting for just this moment. Well, he hadn’t thought it would really snow, but you didn’t need snow to want a fire on a cold evening in November. Since he didn’t have Margot’s facility for sparking off a fire whenever she felt like it, he had to settle for using a long-necked butane lighter to get the logs going. In a few minutes, they were crackling away cheerily.

  As he tended the fire, she moved to the windows so she might stand there and watch the snow coming down, thicker and thicker, so you could begin to see the waves and ripples in it. That seemed to him a sign that the snow wasn’t planning on going away anytime soon, and he sent a mental thanks heavenward for the storm and its unexpected strength. He recalled something else, too, and went to a small cabinet in a corner of the room, extracting a pair of heavy blown-glass shot glasses before pouring a good measure of cognac into each one.

  “For the cold,” he said, handing one to Margot.

  For the barest second, she hesitated, and then she took it from him. “I did get a little chilled,” she admitted.

  “Then skoal,” he said, and they clinked their glasses and took a sip. The cognac pulsed down his throat, warm and welcome, although he noticed that Margot winced a bit as she swallowed. Probably not used to the strong stuff.

  “What do you do when it gets like this?” she asked, and he shrugged.

  “Wait it out. I said I didn’t cook, but it’s not as if I don’t keep stuff on hand just in case. Watch TV. Surf the Internet, as long as the cable doesn’t crap out or the electricity go out.”

  She looked vaguely alarmed. “Does that happen often?”

  “Hardly ever. We’re used to getting pounded in this city, so the infrastructure is built to take it. Besides, I have a generator out in the shed in case of a real emergency.”

  That answer seemed to satisfy her, as she inclined her head slightly and allowed herself another sip of cognac. This time she didn’t shudder, which Lucas took as a good sign.

  For the longest moment, she stood there, saying nothing, only watching the snow fall. Already the patio furniture and the barbecue in their winter covers had taken on vaguely threatening shapes, the accumulating snowflakes obscuring their true nature, making them look like monstrous huddled forms.

  “Lucas,” Margot said at last. Something in her tone made a chill run down his spine, a chill that had nothing to do with the cold air he could feel faintly seeping in past the French doors.

  He kept his voice as calm as he could. “What?”

  “What happens if I let myself trust you?”

  “You don’t trust me now?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Without replying, he plucked the shot glass from her hand and led her over to the sofa, the one that faced the fireplace. He set both their glasses down on the heavy copper-topped cocktail table, then said, “Do you think I’m anything like Clay McAllister?”

  A short, bitter laugh. “No.”

  “Then why do you think I would treat you the same way?”

  Her hands knotted in her lap. She wore a single coral ring on the middle finger of her right hand, but nothing else — no watch, no bracelet. He found he liked that, as her hands were slender and lovely, just like her, and didn’t need any other embellishment.

  “I don’t know.” Her eyes were fixed on the fire. So she wouldn’t have to look at him. In that moment, he didn’t care, if it meant she might go on talking. “I guess because I’ve sort of gotten out of the habit of trusting people. Men, I mean.” She leaned forward and took one deliberate sip of her cognac before setting the glass back on the table. “Oh, that doesn’t sound right, either. It’s not like there was anyone after Clay.”

  “No on
e?” Lucas asked, startled. She couldn’t possibly mean that she hadn’t been with a single person since her ex-fiancé dumped her. Or…could she?

  Something of what he’d been thinking must have revealed itself on his face, because she slanted a sardonic sideways glance at him up through her eyelashes. “No relationships, I mean. Not much else, either. About four years ago, I was feeling a bit…pent-up…if you know what I mean. So I went into Sedona, and the film festival was going on. It was February. I met some guy who said he was a producer and that I had a great look. Maybe he really was, but I still could recognize a line when I heard one. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t looking for anything permanent. We both scratched our itch, and I went home to Jerome, and he went back to L.A., I suppose.”

  She spoke coolly, as if the whole thing had happened to someone else, but Lucas noticed that she’d returned to watching the fireplace, as if she didn’t want to meet his eyes and find out how disappointed he was in her. Disappointment was probably the last thing he was feeling, though. Startled? Sure. Despite her cracks about casual sex the other day, he hadn’t thought she could let go of herself enough to be with someone she didn’t know. Or maybe that was exactly what she needed. Someone who didn’t have a clue about who — or what — she was, didn’t know her family history, didn’t know anything except that she was an available and attractive woman.

  “You do what you have to do,” Lucas said, making sure his tone was completely neutral, with no hint of condemnation. “I don’t think anyone would fault you for what happened in Sedona — although some people might question why you only did it once.”

  At that comment, she shifted on the couch so she was facing him. Her expression was hard to read. Maybe the tiniest bit confused? Then her lips twisted into a half-smile. “It took me enough effort to work up the nerve for that one time. And afterward….” A lift of the shoulders. “I wasn’t too happy with what I’d done. So I guess I just stopped thinking about that part of myself. It was easier that way.”

  “And now?”

  Her eyelids dropped, and she seemed to hesitate. “I don’t know, Lucas. Everything you’ve done for me so far — it’s incredible, and I know I should trust you, because I know Angela thinks the world of you, and she definitely doesn’t feel that way about everyone. And you’ve been such a gentleman — ”