Tami Hoag - Magic

Rachel couldn’t find any words for a rebuttal. She felt ashamed of herself for the things she had accused Bryan of. Worse, she felt a strange flutter of panic in her throat. If he had been a con man, she could have gotten rid of him. If he had been a crook, she could have sent him on his way and held on to her righteous anger. But he wasn’t a con man or a crook. He was a temptation. Her heart rate shifted gears at the realization.

She had wanted him gone not only to protect her mother, but to protect herself. There was something about Bryan Hennessy that attracted her beyond reason, and she couldn’t allow that. She was there because of Addie. Addie would need her undivided attention. She couldn’t waste her energy on an attraction to a man who made up silly songs and pulled playing cards out of thin air.

“What do you say, Rachel?” Bryan queried softly. He suddenly felt compelled-almost propelled-to step closer to her. It was too early in the day to question the wisdom of getting too near, so he gave in to the urge. He inched a little closer so she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. It would have been so simple to raise his hands and frame her face. The desire to do that and to lean down and kiss her swam through him.

His held breath burned in his lungs as he waited for her answer. Would she let him stay? Why did it matter so much? This trembling hope inside him had to do with something other than Wimsey, but he refused to think of what it could be. He told himself he needed this job right now because he needed something to focus on. It wasn’t that he was interested in getting involved with Rachel. Despite the argument his inner voice had put up the night before, he wasn’t convinced he could help her.

But as he looked down at her, at the uncertainty and the questions that filled her eyes, the need to have her say yes grew inside him to mountainous proportions. And the attraction both of them would rather have denied strengthened and tightened its hold.

“What do you say, Rachel?” he asked, his voice a whisper. “Will you give me a chance?”

Rachel swallowed hard. Her heart was pounding, her knees were wobbling. There was something more in his question than permission to work in the house. She read it instinctively as she stared up into his earnest blue gaze. She felt it in her heart, and fear cut through the haze of this strange desire. How could she cope with a man who believed in magic?

In some distant part of the house a door banged and voices sounded.

She couldn’t, Rachel whispered to herself. The last thing she needed was a man who believes in magic.

Bryan flinched slightly. He had heard the words spoken only in her soul, and they went straight to his heart.

Before he had a chance to wonder about it, the voices that had sounded faraway were suddenly sounding again-just outside the parlor. Then the doorway was filled with the substantial form of Deputy Skreawupp. The deputy hooked his thumbs behind the buckle of his belt, his arms framing his pot belly. He scowled, his frown reaching down his face nearly to his double chins. He bore a striking resemblance to Jonathan Winters but hadn’t nearly the same sense of humor.

Bryan raised his eyebrows and stepped back from Rachel, breaking the tension that had enveloped them both. Suddenly a hand reached around from behind the deputy and a finger thrust forth.

“There she is!” Addie’s voice was muffled by the deputy’s bulk. “She’s the one.”

The deputy lumbered forward, his dark gaze pinned on Rachel, whose expression was the very picture of stunned surprise. “All right, angel face, the jig’s up,” he said, his voice a flat, comical monotone that could have belonged to a detective in a movie from the forties.

“I beg your pardon?” Rachel squeaked, her gaze darting from the deputy to her mother and back.

Addie gave her a cold, hard look. “She’s the one, Officer. The intruder.”

“Mother!” Rachel exclaimed, aghast. Embarrassment flamed in her cheeks.

“She looks like my daughter, but she isn’t,” Addie said. “She’s an imposter. She broke in here last night and stole my dentures.”

“That’s low,” the deputy said, shaking his head reproachfully. “I’ve heard it all before. Desperate times and desperate measures. Makes me sick.”

“It’s not true!” Rachel insisted emphatically. “I am her daughter.” She turned toward Addie, her big eyes imploring. “Mother, how could you say that?”

“You’re not my daughter. My daughter left me,” Addie said flatly. She lifted her slim nose regally and gave a dismissing wave of her hand. “Take her away, Deputy. I’m going to go have my toast. Hennessy, to the kitchen.”

With that she turned on the heel of her green rubber garden boot and marched from the room, obviously expecting Bryan to follow her. Bryan cleared his throat and smiled pleasantly at the deputy. “I believe there’s been a small misunderstanding here.”

The deputy pulled out a pocket notebook and a pencil, prepared to take Bryan’s statement. “You were here last night?”

“Yes. I slept on the billiard table. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Skreawupp halted his scribbling and pointed at Bryan with his eraser. “Don’t get cute with me, bub. I’ll clip you like a wet poodle.”

Bryan looked shocked. “Please, sir, there’s a lady present!”

“Look,” the deputy growled, his droopy shoulders slumping further. He gave up on Bryan, directing his questions to Rachel. “I am damned sick of being called out here on all kinds of wild goose chases. Are you Batty Addie’s daughter, or what?”

“I am Rachel Lindquist,” Rachel said tightly, her chin rising defiantly, her eyes burning with fury at the deputy’s attitude. “Would you care to see proof of identification?”

“Skip it.” He tucked his notebook back into his breast pocket. “I should have known this would be another waste of my valuable time. Last month she had me out here because she thought a commie sub had washed up on her beach. Before that she was being abducted by a religious cult. I don’t need it.”

“Well,” Bryan said in a tone that belied the anger in his own eyes, “we’ll all kick in a little extra on our taxes next time around to compensate.” He followed the deputy into the hall and pointed the way to the front door. “I’d show you out, but I have to go make the toast.”

“Hippie,” Skreawupp muttered, swaggering away. He turned and pointed a finger at Bryan. “I’ve got my eye on you, Jack.”

Rachel pushed past them both and strode stiffly down the hall, trying to find her way through the maze of rooms to the kitchen. She found rooms packed full of dusty old furniture, one room that was crammed full of old wooden church pews stacked one on top of another like cordword. Finally she pushed open the correct door.

The kitchen had once been sunny yellow, but the color of the walls had dulled over the years to a dingy ivory shade. It was a huge room with black and white tiles on the floor and an array of oversize appliances, one of which was an outdated wood-burning cookstove that had been left ostensibly for decorative purposes. Near the window was an oak table that had been haphazardly set with mismatched china. Addie sat at her place, her back straight, her hands folded in the lap of her flowered cotton housedress. She refused to look when Rachel entered the room.

“Mother, we have to talk,” Rachel said through clenched teeth.

“I don’t want to talk to you. Where is Hennessy? I want my toast.”

Rachel pulled out the chair beside Addie’s and sat down. She composed herself as best she could. She had read about the kind of behavior her mother was exhibiting, but comprehending a textbook and living the reality were proving to be two very different things. Logically, she knew Addie’s behavior stemmed from her illness. Realistically, she knew her mother was probably incapable of manipulation because manipulation required a great deal of careful thought and planning, and those were abilities Addie was losing.