Nora Roberts - Dance Upon the Air

If she'd stepped back, he'd have done nothing to stop her. But her absolute stillness was its own defense. It was he who stepped back, and kept it light despite a gnawing in the gut that was more than a stir of desire for her-it was a cold fury for whoever had hurt her.

"Seems I have a soft spot for more than your muffins." He tucked his thumbs in his front pockets. "See you later."

He strolled out, hoping the kiss and the ease of his leaving would give her something to think about.

He wasn't going to get any sleep. Resigned to it, he thrilled Lucy by taking her for an early-morning swim in the inlet. The romp, and her sheer foolishness, worked off a good portion of his stiffness, and his frustration.

He watched Ripley finish her run on the beach and dive into the surf. Dependable as sunrise, he thought as she cut through the waves. Maybe he didn't always know what went on in her head, or how it got there, but he rarely had to worry about Ripley Todd.

She could handle herself.

Lucy ran out to meet her as she started back, and the two wet females had a wrestle and a race. They both joined him on the upper porch, Lucy to flop down in delighted exhaustion, and Ripley sucking on a bottle of water.

"Mom called last night." Ripley flopped down herself, on one of the deck chairs. "They made it to the Grand Canyon. They're sending us six million pictures that Dad took with his digital. I'm afraid to start the download."

"Sorry I missed the call."

"I told them you were on a stakeout," she said with her tongue in her cheek. "They got a kick out of the lobster caper. Any updates?"

"Oh, yeah."

He sat on the arm of the Adirondack chair, and filled her in.

She turned her face up to the sky and hooted. "I knew I should've gone with you. Idiot drunk putz. Lobster Boy, not you."

"I figured. He wasn't that drunk, Rip."

She lifted a hand, waved it at him. "Don't start that. I'm in too good a mood for you to spoil it by mentioning Mia and her double, double, toil and trouble routine."

"Suit yourself."

"I usually do. I'm going to get a shower. I'll take the first shift. You must be wiped."

"I'm okay. Listen…" But he trailed off, trying to think how to put what he wanted to say.

"Listening."

"I went by the yellow cottage on the way home. Nell's lights were on, so I stopped in."

"Aha," Ripley teased.

"Gutter-face. I had a cup of coffee and a muffin."

"Gee, Zack, I'm sorry to hear that."

Normally he'd have laughed. Instead he rose, paced to the rail. "You stop in and see her most every day. You're friendly, right?"

"I guess we're friendly enough. It's hard not to like her."

"Women tend to confide stuff to their female friends, don't they?"

"Probably. You want me to ask her if she likes you enough to go to the school dance with you?" She started to snicker, but stopped when he turned around and saw his face. "Hey, sorry. I didn't know it was serious. What's up?"

"I think she's been abused."

"Man." Ripley stared down at her water bottle. "That's tough."

"Some son of a bitch messed with her, I'm sure of it. Whether or not she's had counseling or gotten help, it seems to me she could use a… you know, a girlfriend. Somebody she could talk to about it."

"Zack, you know I'm no good at that kind of thing. You are."

"I've got the wrong equipment to be Nell's girlfriend, Rip. Just… just see if you can spend some time with her. Go out on the boat, or go shopping or…" He gestured vaguely. "Paint each other's toenails."

"Excuse me?"

"Give me a break. I don't know what you people do in your mysterious caves when men aren't around."

"We have pillow fights in our underwear."

He brightened because she wanted him to. "Really? I was afraid that was a myth. So, be a friend, okay?"

"Are you starting to get a thing for her?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So, I guess I'll be a friend."

Nell walked into the Coven at precisely five. It was not, as she'd feared, a dark, eerie place, but rather cozy. The light was faintly blue and added a soft tint to the white flowers in the center of each table.

The tables themselves were round, with deep chairs and small sofas circling them. At the glossy bar the glasses sparkled. Nell had no more than chosen a table when a young waitress in trim, unrelieved black set a silver bowl of mixed snacks in front of her.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"I'm waiting for someone. Maybe just a mineral water for now. Thanks."

The only other patrons were a couple poring over an Island Tours brochure while they sipped white wines and nibbled from a cheese plate. The music was low, and very like what Mia tended to play in the bookstore. Nell tried to relax in her chair, wishing she'd brought a book.

Ten minutes later, Mia breezed in, the long skirt swirling around her long legs. She carried a book, and lifted her free hand in a wave toward the bar. "A glass of Cabernet, Betsy."

"First glass is on Carl Macey." Betsy shot Mia a wink. "He gave me orders."

"Tell him I enjoyed it." She sat down across from Nell. "Did you drive over?"

"No, I walked."

"Do you drink alcoholic beverages?"

"Now and then."

"Have one now. What's your pleasure?"

"The Cabernet'll be fine. Thanks."

"Two, Betsy. Damn, I love these things." She began to pick through the snack bowl. "Especially the little cheese ones that look like Chinese symbols. So, I brought you a book. A gift." Mia nudged the book toward Nell. "I thought you'd like to read about where you've chosen to live."

"Yes, I've been meaning to. The Three Sisters: Legends and Lore," she said, reading the cover. "Thank you."

"You're settling in now, getting your feet under you. I should tell you first that I couldn't be happier with your work."

"I'm glad to hear it. I love working at the café, the store. I couldn't have tailor-made a job I'd like more."

"Oh, you're Nell." Catching the comment as she served the wine, Betsy beamed. "You're always gone when I get to the caf6. I try to zip in before I open the bar. Great cookies."

"Thanks."

"You hear from Jane, Mia?"

"Just today. Tim got his audition, and they're hopeful. They're paying the rent by working at a bakery in Chelsea."

"I hope they're happy."

"So do I."

"I'll leave you two alone. Let me know if you need anything."

"So." Mia lifted her glass, tapped it to Nell's. " Slainte ."

"I'm sorry?"

"A Gaelic toast. Cheers." Mia brought the glass to her lips, watching Nell over the rim. "What do you know about witches?"

"Which sort? Like Elizabeth Montgomery on Bewitched or the ones who wear crystals and burn candles and sell little bottles of love potion?"

Mia laughed, crossed her legs. "Actually, I wasn't thinking of Hollywood or pseudo-Wiccans."

"I didn't mean to be insulting. I know there are people who take the matter very seriously. A kind of religion. That should be respected."

"Even if they are kooks," Mia said with a hint of a smile.

"No. You're not a kook. I understand… Well, you mentioned it that first day, then your conversation with Ripley yesterday."

"Good. Then we've established that I'm a witch." Mia sipped again. "You're a sweet one, Nell. There you are, trying very hard to discuss this intelligently, soberly, when you're thinking I'm-let's say-eccentric. We'll table that for the moment and go back in history so I can lay some groundwork for you. You know of the witch trials in Salem."

"Sure. A few hysterical young girls, fanatical Puritans. Mob mentality. Burn the witch."

"Hang," Mia corrected. "Nineteen people-all innocents-were hanged in 1692. One was pressed to death when he refused to declare himself innocent or guilty. Others died in prison. There have been witchhunts throughout time. Here, in Europe, in every corner of the world. Even when most stopped believing, or admitting to a belief, in witchcraft, there were hunts. Nazism, McCarthyism, the KKK, and so on. Nothing more than fanatics, with power, pushing their own agendas and finding enough weak minds to do the dirty work."