Yesterday's Magic (9 page)

Her eyes warmed. “I know that. He stopped in
this morning, with his brother. Earl said he was hoping that he
could take Bella to the dance. I told him she was already spoken
for but if you’re having second thoughts, I know he’d be
willing.”

It was that easy. He could step out the way
and clear a path for Earl Bean. Bella Wainwright would become
Earl’s problem. There’d be no more opportunity for the woman to
make him do or say silly things. He wasn’t a silly man and didn’t
want to be thought of as one.

Freida was giving him the chance to forget
about Bella Wainwright with her flashing black eyes and her unruly
black hair.

But he thought it might take more than one
free Saturday night to do that. Perhaps it would be better if he
just carried on, kept his commitment, and discovered that there was
absolutely nothing special about the woman.

“I told you I’ll take her and I will. I just
hope she’s a better dancer than Bart.”

***

There was absolutely no reason to worry about
Freida and her niece. After all, Freida could take better care of
herself than most men he knew.

Even so, at half-past four that afternoon,
the time Jed knew that Freida most generally closed up the
Mercantile, he stood across from the store, his toes growing colder
and stiffer in his boots with each passing second. The afternoon
sun had held some warmth but now that it was gone, the temperature
was dropping fast.

It was another ten minutes, when the day had
slipped well into night, that the two women finally opened the
front door. Freida pulled the door shut firmly behind her and then
double-checked to make sure it held.

See. They were fine.

But instead of going home, like he’d told
Bart he was doing, he watched them walk across the street, toward
the Livery. Wymer Hayes had Freida’s rig ready, like he’d been
doing for the past five years. That was the courtesy extended to a
widow. When Freida’s husband had been alive, it would have been his
job to get his own horses.

Women needed special consideration. This land
was hard enough on a man. Even big, sturdy women like Freida needed
a helping hand from time to time.

Freida’s niece looked like she might need
more care than the average woman did. Not that she was frail. She
had a womanly-enough shape, certainly one that could catch a man’s
eye, with her full breasts and her narrow waist. But yet she seemed
delicate. Her fingers were long and narrow, her wrists so small
that it’d be no challenge at all to wrap his fingers around
them.

The skin on her face was unlined and smooth
and her lips were soft, like she’d done a good job protecting them
from the weather.

He didn’t know if she’d taken his advice or
if Freida had stepped in but at least she was wearing a scarf
wrapped around her head and she had gloves on her hands. There was
just enough daylight left that he could see the bright blue cloth,
a strong contrast to the black cloak she wore. His own spine
tightened a bit when the too-light fabric blew in the breeze—it
wasn’t hard to imagine the cold draft blowing up her back. Damn
fool.

But then, what business of it was his if she
got chilled?

Hell. It could be a good thing. She could get
a devil of a cold and be too sick to even remember there was a
dance tomorrow night. She could get so sick that she’d be in bed,
unable to even work at the Mercantile.

He wouldn’t have to see her again until she
boarded the stage, headed for back home. Perfect.

Except that it wasn’t. The damn fool woman
had stood close enough to him that her scent lingered in his lungs.
It tugged at his senses, making him lose the ability to reason.

There was no other explanation for his sudden
desire to see Bella Wainwright home, to see her safe from the harsh
winter wind, to see her healthy enough to come to the dance.

He watched Freida climb up onto the wagon and
waited while Bella stopped to pat the horse on its forehead. From
his vantage point, it looked like she was whispering something in
the brown mare’s ears.

He felt warm suddenly, like there was a
sudden burst of summer sun heating up the back of his neck. And he
knew that his sudden warmth had little to do with sun and warm
breezes but much more with the thought of her leaning close into
his body, pressing her full breasts against his chest, and
whispering in his ear.

He watched them drive away and didn’t move
again until a sharp whistle shattered the still, evening air. “Hey,
need your horse, Sheriff?” Wymer yelled.

For one crazy minute he thought about
following them. He knew he could knock on Freida’s door and she’d
invite him in to share their supper. She wouldn’t mind. There’d
been more than one night in the last five years that he’d done the
same.

But it was different, now.
She
was there. With her curly hair and her black eyes.
Temptation with a capital T. And his father had already proven to
the town, two times over, that McNeil men didn’t do well when
confronted with Temptation.

“Well?” Wymer prodded.

Jed didn’t want to go home to his silent
house. But his options were few. He could play some cards at the
saloon, have a drink or two with friends. But that would require
him to be sociable and in the end, he wouldn’t be any less
alone.

“No,” he said. “I’m on duty tonight.” He
turned back toward the Sheriff’s office. He’d let Bart go nuzzle
Patience’s neck and the woman could blow sweet, warm air into his
ear.

If one of them had to be a fool, it was
better Bart than him.

The following morning Bella remembered to put
her cloak on and to grab a lantern before venturing forth to pee.
It was still cold, chilly enough that her breath turned to steam
and her lips became immediately dry. She was ten feet from the
outhouse when she saw the squirrel, less than a foot away from the
door of her destination. It was a huge squirrel with ragged
fur.

“I don’t like company in the bathroom,” she
said, hoping the animal would take a hint. He didn’t. She waved her
arms and stomped her feet. Nothing.

She took another step forward. It was a
squirrel, for goodness sakes. They had those in Chicago. There was
no reason to freak out.

But it was the largest squirrel she’d ever
seen. A mutant squirrel. And it could have rabies. She stared at
its mouth, trying to see if it was foaming.

Damn, but she had to pee. She started to
whistle. “If you come inside with me, I’m going to start to sing,”
she threatened the squirrel. She kept walking. When she got to the
small building, she whipped open the door and slipped inside. She
peeked out. The animal was gone.

Her heart was still thumping hard in her
chest by the time she lifted her skirt and finished her business.
All over a squirrel. How in the world was the going to handle
Rantaan Toomay? Averil and her father had been right to be worried.
She was out of her league.

Whatever had possessed her father to drive
cattle through this country? She, at least, had a roof over her
head. From what he'd told her, he'd had a few saddle blankets and
the future promise of a hot bath sometime that week to keep him
warm. It was no wonder that after he’d met his contact here, that
he’d wandered into the saloon.

Bella opened the door of the outhouse and was
grateful to see the squirrel had truly abandoned his post. She made
her way slowly back to the house.

Had it simply been bad luck that her father
had encountered Rantaan Toomay? Or were the two destined to meet?
Had the Bad Magic looked for an opportunity to clash with Good
Magic?

It seemed obvious by the explanation her
father had given that that was not the case but then again, Bad
Magic was not always obvious. It slid in, like slime under a back
door and when a person unwittingly ventured forth, it tripped you
and brought you to your knees.

If that was true this time, if it had been a
planned encounter, a challenge of sorts, then it might not be so
simple to stop the sequence of events that had ended in the curse.
The Bad Magic would be determined. She would have to be more
so.

She didn’t need to be distracted by some sexy
sheriff with broad shoulders and a walk that made you want to
follow him anywhere. No way. Maybe it was a blessing that he
apparently had some innate dislike of strangers.

Or maybe it was just her?

He acted like she was a damn
inconvenience—sort of like running out of material for the display
window when you were almost done. Or having an assistant manager
decide she simply couldn’t abide lavender, when your whole theme
was based around the color.

Bella had managed to keep her cool when those
things had happened. She’d had some motivation, of course. She
hadn’t wanted to have to tell Averil and her father that she’d lost
yet another job.

She had some even stronger motivation now to
handle the sheriff. Her family’s future and more depended on
it.

He had been, she had to admit, quick to act
when she’d told him that Freida thought the Mercantile had been
broken into. It had almost been enough for her to forgive him. When
he’d insisted on going to Saul’s, she’d been surprised. He’d nagged
at her about her bare hands and head and she hadn’t been as
irritated as she’d pretended. After all, he was right and she was
pretty sure, that in some awkward way, he was trying to tease her,
to perhaps make up for the harsh words they’d shared at his
office.

Then he’d bought the music box and she’d been
thrown for a loop.
The Blue Danube.
Who would have expected
that? She hadn’t heard the song in years but the notes had come
back to her as if she’d heard them yesterday. Her mother had also
had a music box that had played the song. Bella could remember
lying on her mother’s bed, watching her dress or put on her
make-up, and she’d wind and rewind the music box, so that the song
played over and over again.

After her mother had died, her father had
packed away the music box. Bella had never asked about it. She’d
hoped she’d never hear the song again.

But then today, when it had played, the
memories had been good memories and she wondered if she’d made a
mistake. She hadn’t been able to resist listening to it one more
time on the way back to the Mercantile and the sheriff had indulged
her.

While that was perhaps a half point in his
favor, it would be both futile and dangerous to encourage him.
Futile because she was only in this time for a short while. Come
December fifth, once Toomay was dead, she was going to meet her
father as planned and they’d return to her time.

Dangerous because she might slip up and give
the Sheriff a reason to be suspicious of her. She didn’t need that.
Knowing her luck, she’d ramble on about something decidedly modern,
like a microwave or flush toilets and he’d have all kinds of
questions.

No. Her best strategy was to keep her mouth
shut and simply endure the dance. It would be over before she knew
it and she could focus on her reason for being here.

Bella opened the door of the cabin and Aunt
Freida, bless her heart, was pouring pancake batter into a deep,
cast-iron skillet. In minutes, the cakes were a golden brown and so
fluffy that Bella’s mouth literally started to water.

“You’re spoiling me,” Bella said.

“It’s my pleasure,” Aunt Freida said. “Are
you sure you want to work again today? Maybe you’d like to have the
day off—that would give you more time to get ready for the
dance.”

She already had pretty toes and there was
absolutely no hope for her hair. It wasn’t like it was a real date
anyway. She should probably wear a big scarlet O for Obligation on
her chest. “I’d prefer to work,” she said. “Perhaps more spying at
Saul’s?”

Aunt Freida laughed and sat down at the table
with her own pancake. “We never did get a chance to talk about
that. What did you think of his store?”

“He has some nice things,” Bella said. “But I
think Sheriff McNeil got it right when he said that you have what
people need and Saul has what people might want.”

“Jedidiah said that?”

“Yes. He went with me to Saul’s.”

Aunt Freida paused, her fork mid-air.
“Jedidiah hates to shop.”

Bella felt a nervous flutter in her chest.
The man had been like cat hair on a black skirt—hard to shake. Did
he suspect her of something? Was he interested in her? She didn’t
know which question scared her more. Another time, another place,
oh yeah, baby. He was hot. But she didn’t really need the long arm
of the law looking over her shoulder. “He bought a music box,” she
said.

Aunt Freida put her fork down. “Well, I
never. What does he plan to do with that?”

Bella didn’t know but now that she’d seen the
delicate wood box and heard the waltz, she wanted one for herself.
Even if she didn’t have an undercover assignment, she intended to
visit Saul’s again soon.

She carried her now-empty plate over to the
dry sink. She pulled the two bowls off the shelf that she’d seen
Freida use the night before to wash and rinse the dishes. She
walked over to the stove, picked up the kettle that had been
heating while they’d eaten breakfast, and poured warm water into
each of the bowls. “I’ll wash these plates and then we can go to
the Mercantile,” she said.

Aunt Freida stretched her legs out and
crossed her arms over her chest. She had a big smile on her face.
“Now who’s getting spoiled?”

A half-hour later, when they arrived at the
Mercantile, Aunt Freida, having unpacked all the stock the day
before, took her rightful place behind the counter. This gave Bella
two choices. One, she could stand to the side, feeling more awkward
and agitated by the moment that she was literally twiddling her
thumbs waiting for Toomay to show up. Or, two, she could run the
risk of offending her aunt and try to bring some organization to
the general chaos.