Macy Beckett - Make You Mine

Sympathy pains tingled in Allie’s chest. Oh, honey , she thought. If I had that kind of power, I’d use it for myself . “Are you sure he’s the right one for you?” she asked instead. “Because if he doesn’t appreciate you while you’re dating, you can bet he won’t appreciate you once you’re married. Then you’ll have a whole new set of problems.”

Shannon pointed at the oak shelf beneath the cash register where Allie kept her voodoo supplies. “Can you read the bones and find out if he’s the one, like you did for me?”

Allie studied Kim’s downcast eyes and rounded posture. She’d seemed chipper enough until the subject had turned to her life, which indicated the woman lacked confidence. What she probably needed was to ditch her boyfriend and focus on herself for a while. With some prompting, Allie could lead her in that direction . . .

But she didn’t want to.

Allie had always taken pride in facilitating love matches or personal growth in others, but she couldn’t seem to muster the enthusiasm for it today. She was so tired—of everything.

“It would be nice to know,” Kim said, her gaze flickering up and down just as quickly.

What the heck. It wasn’t like Allie had anything better to do. “Okay.” She grabbed her Tupperware container of chicken bones and spread her mat on the counter, then launched into her usual spiel about the spirits rewarding true believers.

What a crock.

After the prayer, she scattered the bones across the mat and pretended to study the significance in their patterns while deciding how best to phrase her advice. Obviously Kim didn’t want to end her relationship; otherwise she wouldn’t have come here for a love charm, so the standard Dump him and move on wouldn’t work. Perhaps she should say the spirits of Kim’s ancestors considered her boyfriend unworthy, and that was why he hadn’t proposed.

Yeah, right , quipped a sarcastic voice inside Allie’s head. Because lying worked so well with Marc. You’re a regular miracle worker .

Allie frowned at the bones and considered those words.

Her conscience had a point.

Using her perceived voodoo “powers” to manipulate Marc had blown up in her face. She could trick most people into following the path she thought was best for them, but was it really her place to try? Had she been an enabler all these years, fooling clients into thinking they had no control over their own destinies?

Maybe instead of blaming “the spirits” for everyone’s poor life choices, she needed to butt out and let folks make their own mistakes—kind of like the parable of teaching a man to fish instead of giving him a trout for supper.

“I’m sorry.” Allie grabbed a nearby wastebasket and swept the bones inside. “I can’t do this.”

Shannon blinked in surprise. “Should we come back tomorrow?”

“No,” Allie said. “I’m done with all of it—charms, potions, gris-gris. You can come to me if you need a sugar fix or a shoulder to cry on, but that’s all.”

“But what should I do about my boyfriend?” Kim asked.

Allie gave it to her straight. “People rarely change. If your boyfriend’s not giving you what you need now, I doubt he ever will. Ditch him and work on empowering yourself so next time, you won’t settle for less than what you deserve.”

Shannon and Kim wore similar masks of shock, their brows disappearing beneath dripping-wet bangs.

Devyn, who’d been silent this whole time, finally spoke up. “Want some gris-gris for clarity of mind and heart?” she asked. “I made a batch”—her gaze darted to Allie—“for a friend who’s going through something similar.”

Kim stammered, still caught off guard.

“Well?” Devyn snapped. “You want it or not?”

“Yes, please.” Kim extended her hand, palm up, while keeping a wary distance.

Dev plucked a sachet from her pocket and gave it to the woman. “Keep this on you at all times, even when you’re sleeping.” When she noticed Kim reaching into her purse, Devyn barked, “And don’t try to pay me. It’s bad juju!”

“Sorry.” Kim tensed and backed toward the door, her head bobbing like she didn’t know whether to genuflect or run for cover. “Thank you.” She and Shannon waved a stiff good-bye, and the two of them wasted no time in snatching their umbrella and hightailing it outside into the rain.

“Here’s yours,” Dev said, handing Allie a sachet of herbs. “I know you’ve lost faith, but do me a favor and stick it in your pocket.”

“Thanks, baby.” Allie was touched by her sister’s concern. “That was sweet of—”

Her cell phone chimed, and Allie dropped the gris-gris bag in her haste to snatch the phone and swipe the screen. Her pulse raced, fingers trembled, but she was met with disappointment once again.

Hugs , Ella-Claire had texted. I’m thinking of you. Call if you want to talk .

The screen went blurry as tears welled in Allie’s eyes. How long would she keep jumping at the sound of every text? If the hope inside her heart didn’t fade soon, she’d lose her mind.

“Give me that.” Devyn took the phone from her and began typing a response.

“Hey,” Allie said, dabbing at her eyes. “What’re you doing?” When her sister refused to surrender the phone, Allie peered at the screen to read the return text.

Thanks, but I’m fine , Devyn typed. Going off the grid for a few days . We’ll talk next week.

Devyn hit the send button. “Go upstairs and pack a bag,” she ordered. “We’re leaving on the next flight to Vegas.” She held up Allie’s phone. “And this is staying here.”

The storm broke the next day, but in his half-inebriated state, Marc barely noticed.

It wasn’t until a beam of late-morning sunlight escaped the clouds and speared his throbbing eyeballs that it occurred to him the rain had stopped. He raised a hand to shield himself from the nuclear assault and stumbled onto the Belle ’s bow ramp, thankful that he lived close enough to walk to the boat when he was still buzzed from the night before. Otherwise he’d be forced to give up his new girlfriend, Tequila Rose.

One kiss from the lip of that bottle could dull the pain from the ulcer that seemed to have developed on his heart. Relief only lasted a few moments at a time, but if he kept sipping long enough, eventually sleep would take him—which bought six more hours of anesthetized freedom. So what if he awoke with his brain on fire and his stomach turning flips?

It was a small price to pay.

His love affair with Rose explained the sudden influx of empty glass bottles in his recycling bin . . . not to mention the fumbling of his hands as he gripped the deck railing for balance. Whoa. Either the river was churning or Rose was having her way with him.

He pushed off the rail, propelling his leaden feet toward the stairwell, then pried open the door and made his way to the second-floor dining hall. A blast of cool air-conditioning sobered him up a fraction as he crossed to the executive bar. He noticed an odd smell in the room, sharp and chemical, but not altogether unpleasant. His instincts told him something was different, though he couldn’t put his finger on what.

The dragging of his footsteps alerted the crew—his brothers, Ella-Claire, and Pawpaw. Five heads turned his way, five pairs of eyes displaying vastly different reactions to his presence: pity from Ella-Claire, concern from Pawpaw, twin looks of unease from Alex and Nick, and thinly veiled disgust from Beau.

“Nice of you to join us, Captain,” Beau said while glancing at his watch. He raked a gaze over Marc’s face. “Jesus, when was the last time you shaved?”