Tami Hoag - Magic

“Dress?” Rachel questioned dumbly.

“Hmmm. Black tie or the closest you can come.”

“You’re serious?” she said, trying to read his expression, “You’re not joking?”

Bryan smiled. “Quite and no. At any rate,” he said, his eyes crinkling attractively at the corners, “I’m hardly ever more serious than when I’m joking.”

He straightened then and took the ticket Deputy Skreawupp handed him without saying a word. His look warned the deputy to follow suit. Opening the driver’s door, he slid into the Chevette beside Addie, saying, “Scoot over, beautiful, and let a man handle this machine.”

Addie giggled and punched his arm. “You big Irish rascal, you.”

He piloted the car slowly out of the park, leaning out the window, waving and smiling to the crowd as if he were driving in a parade. Addie joined in his enthusiasm and leaned out her window, throwing out old Life Savers she had found in her handbag.

And in the backseat, Rachel sat staring blankly into space, marveling over the power of a simple little kiss.

Rachel checked her watch and frowned. Ten of seven. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. On returning to Drake House from Anastasia she had taken Bryan’s advice and modified it slightly, trading his suggestion of a brandy for a hot bath. She had shut herself in the upstairs bathroom and soaked in the deep old claw-footed tub until the tension of the day had all washed out of her. It had taken a concerted effort on her part to push it from her mind, and the effort had left her feeling drained. When she returned to her room at last, wrapped in an old terry-cloth robe, she had curled up on the creaky old bed, intending to rest for Just a few minutes.

Two hours later she had awakened abruptly from a deep sleep with the distinct feeling that she was being watched. She had sat up, clutching her robe to her chest, and stared all around the bedroom she had moved into that morning. It was located in the turret on the south side of the house. The walls curved; there were no dark corners to hide in. The room had been quiet and empty, but someone had been there. It wasn’t just the lingering tension that had told her. Laid out across the foot of the bed had been a dress. A dress she had never seen before.

Rachel ran her hand down the front of it now in a gesture of uncertainty. It seemed strange to be wearing it when she didn’t know where it had come from or whom it belonged to, yet she hadn’t quite been able to resist the urge to put it on. If Bryan had been telling the truth about dressing for dinner, then she didn’t own anything suitable to wear-nothing that came close to this dress anyway. Most of her skirts and dresses were comfortable cotton fabrics in styles that leaned toward a Gypsy or prairie look. She had never had the occasion or the money to buy an evening gown during her life on the road with Terence.

The whole idea of dressing for dinner seemed absurd. It was a custom from a bygone age and a class of people she had only read about or seen on television. No doubt it was one of the little eccentricities Addie had developed since her illness. In light of all that had happened since she had arrived, Rachel thought it best to go along with the odd dictate. If it would make her mother happy, if it might somehow help Addie to open up to her, then it would be worth the effort.

She stared at her reflection in the freshly polished mirror above the vanity. The dress was burgundy silk decorated with black jet beads. The thin straps flowed into a V neckline in both the front and the back. The fully pleated skirt fell from a dropped waist to swirl about her calves. It was pure 1920s, an antique in its own right. It was the most beautiful thing she’d worn in ages. And Bryan Hennessy had brought it to her.

Her chest tightened at the thought. He must have slipped in and put it across the foot of the bed while she’d been sleeping. What if she had opened her eyes and turned to look up at him. Her robe might have fallen open, and his gaze would have lowered deliberately-

Rachel gasped in embarrassment. The woman who looked back at her from the mirror wore an expression of uncertainty. Her wide eyes were pansy-purple in the dim light of the room. Soft color rose on her cheekbones. There was a decidedly vulnerable look about her mouth. She didn’t have time to put up her hair again, so she left it to fall down her back in luxurious golden waves. She wondered if Bryan would like it down.

“Oh, Lord,” she said with a groan, squeezing her eyes shut and rubbing at her temples, “what am I going to do about Bryan?”

Somewhere a gong sounded.

“A dinner gong?” she questioned on a laugh. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. There isn’t anything ordinary about this house or anyone in it.”

Slipping into a pair of black high-heeled shoes, she gave her reflection one last glance in the mirror and left the room.

She caught sight of Bryan as she began to descend the grand staircase, and her heart vaulted into her throat. Her hand gripping the mahogany banister, she halted on the stairs and stared down at the scene below, where Bryan stood sipping a drink and chatting with a woman Rachel had never seen before.

She had thought him attractive in a rumpled, all-American way. Big and cute with his earnest blue eyes and his tawny hair falling every which way and notes sticking up out of all his pockets. But in a tuxedo he was devastating. Handsome with a capital H. The black jacket hugged his shoulders in a way that nothing off the rack could have. The wings of his shirt collar framed his strong, freshly shaved jaw. His hair looked as if he had actually taken a comb to it. The overall effect was one of intelligence, authority, and money.

He looked completely at ease in formal attire, and that threw Rachel off balance. Would she ever get a handle on who Bryan Hennessy really was? Was he charlatan or scientist? Buffoon or bon vivant? The only thing she knew for certain was that he believed in ghosts and magic, and she would be far better off steering clear of him.

As she resumed her descent of the stairs, she forced her gaze to the woman with the wild mane of dark auburn hair. The light from the chandelier brought out the red in her tresses, surrounding her pixie face with extraordinarily rich color. She had enormous black eyes and an infectious, mischievous smile that seemed vaguely familiar. She was quite lovely despite what she was wearing-a man’s white dress shirt and black necktie over a wildly flowered dirndl skirt and paddock boots.

She glanced up suddenly and grinned with pure delight. “You must be Rachel,” she said, her voice honey-rich with the sounds of the South.

Bryan jerked his head up and stared openly at the woman on the stairs. He felt awed, paralyzed, thrilled-as if he were witnessing some kind of vision. The studs on his shirtfront strained as he tried to take in a deep breath.

Rachel stood on the landing, staring uncertainly back at him, her eyes wide, her hair spread out behind her in a fall of softest gold. The old-fashioned dress she wore bared her angular shoulders and hugged her small breasts just enough to hint at their fullness. With its straight lines and long skirt it was hardly a revealing garment, yet it emphasized her femininity and her own innate sense of class.

Jayne gave him a quick, practiced elbow to the ribs, her smile never wavering. “Bryan Hennessy, I know your mama taught you better manners than this.”

“What?” he asked, looking confused, then he snapped out of it. “Oh, yes. Jayne, this is Addie’s daughter, Rachel Lindquist. Rachel, this is Jayne Jordan Reilly, a friend of mine from college, and a friend of Addie’s as well.”