“Mmm-mm,” Sylvia said, smacking her lips as she scooted across the bench. “I can see why joo’d face demons for that man.”
Her dad sat down, his expression a little drawn. “I was worried about you. Looks like you and Morin found a solution.”
Cait tilted her head. “Wait. You know?”
“That you managed to rewrite your personal history? Yes.” His gaze slid to Sam, standing at the bar. “I’m happy for you. But also a little worried.”
Cait released a long breath, and her gaze searched her dad’s face. “Morin warned me there’s always a price.” She lifted her shoulders. She wasn’t afraid of any downside to the magic she’d used. Not as long as she had Sam. “I don’t care. I’ll pay whatever when the time comes.”
Hours later, Cait rested her sweaty cheek against Sam’s equally moist chest, seeking reassurance this hadn’t all been a dream. His heart slowed, thudding hard beneath her ear. She smiled.
“Are you going to tell me what really happened?”
She jerked back to peer into his face and swallowed hard. Her gaze took in features that were dearer to her now that she knew how losing him felt. What would he do with the knowledge? Could he handle knowing?
Something in her expression must have told him the whole truth was better left alone, because he dragged in a deep breath. “So, maybe when we’re old and dead.”
“Shit.” She scrambled off his body, off the bed, and hurried to the shower.
“Was it something I said?” he drawled as he stepped beneath the spray behind her, his hands roaming her hips and waist.
“I have an errand to run. Want to come with me?”
“Since I have a couple of days off, sure.”
She hurried through her shower, wishing for the freedom to truly enjoy Sam’s luscious body. “Take your time,” she said. “I have something to do before we leave.”
Cait dressed in the bedroom and then searched the floor for the jeans she’d worn the previous night. She extracted the watch from the pocket, found an old scarf in the back of a drawer, and wrapped it carefully.
She went to the kitchen, pulled a chair to the broom closet, and stepped onto the seat to shove the watch to the farthest corner, behind her mother’s Book of Shadows.
Although she knew there’d be some karmic penalty somewhere along the line, she wouldn’t be returning the watch to Morin. Couldn’t promise she’d never use it again.
Besides, her powers had charged it. The watch belonged to her now. Along with her mother’s book. She made a mental note to write down everything she’d done, every word she’d spoken, however bad the incantation. For posterity.
The thought of posterity, of little Pierces clutching watches and brandishing hazel wands, made her smile, and she pressed a hand to her abdomen. At least the thought didn’t make her itch.
“Can I help you down?” Sam asked.
She turned on the chair, wondering if he’d seen her goofy grin.
His eyes sparkled with amusement, and he held out his hand. But instead of handing her down, he swept her off the chair and into his arms.
“How’d you know?”
“Know what?” He smiled.
“That I love it when you manhandle me?”
Sam shook his head. “Baby, I wasn’t thinking about you.” He leaned down and nuzzled her ear, his lips exploring the sensitive skin. “You smell good. Sure we don’t have time…?”
Resting a hand on Sam’s hard chest, Cait laughed, and shoved away the thought of little Pierces. She and Sam still had some kinks in their relationship to work out. Maybe one day.
“You sure you don’t mind?” Cait asked again as she glanced around the narrow street.
“We’re already here,” he said, steering his car down the gravel driveway to a small boxy clapboard house.
Cait opened the passenger door and stepped out. Morning sunlight shone soft on the picturesque little house and yard.
Painted white and accented with blue shutters, the old house looked cozy. A fitting place for Gladys Digby and her husband, Frank.
Rosebushes in need of pruning climbed a trellis at one corner of the house. A neat vegetable garden, plantings overgrown with weeds, sat to the side of the green lawn, which looked in need of mowing.
On their way to the house, she’d called the hospital. Frank had passed quietly away the night before. She hoped Mrs. Klein was with him and that they’d both be waiting for her to return with Gladys. Once she’d found her… and explained what had happened.
With Sam trailing behind her, Cait walked around the side of the house and entered beneath an arbor gate dripping with wisteria blossoms. Beyond the gate was a fantasy garden, filled with lilies and peonies, salvia and sweet peas.
Gladys Digby sat on a whitewashed iron bench, nodding in the sunshine. The oxygen tank she’d wheeled around the hospital was gone. So was the hospital gown. The old woman wore jeans and a pretty blue-flowered blouse tucked into the elasticized waist.
“Gladys?”
The woman’s white-haired head turned, a vague expression on her face. “Good morning.”
Cait hoped it wasn’t one of Gladys’s bad days. “Do you remember me?”
“You’re the girl from the hospital. Accident-prone. You arranged for that blond cutie to bring me home to my Frank. He nearly talked my ear off, and him not even able to see me.”
Cait hid a smile. She’d told Jason to keep talking while he drove “Miss Daisy” home. She hadn’t wanted the woman who’d died from complications related to her Alzheimer’s to get distracted and wander away before he could deposit her at her door.
“Don’t hover over me. Have a seat.” Gladys patted the bench beside her.
“What are you doing out here?” Cait said, sitting beside Gladys.
“Waiting for Frank and enjoying the butterflies.”
“Butterflies?” Cait glanced at the garden, just now noticing the small yellow butterflies, their buttery wings fluttering around red and orange blooms. She turned toward the woman. “Frank’s not coming, Gladys,” she said softly.
Gladys swallowed and blinked. Her rheumy, blue eyes filled with tears. “I wondered. The old fool left to buy groceries. Hasn’t been here for days. No one came. If they had, I wasn’t sure I could hitch a ride and find him. I don’t know where he is.”
Cait gave her a smile. “Mrs. Klein is with him. She’ll tell him to wait.”
“That old bat?” Gladys sniffed and squared her rounded shoulders. “She’d better not flirt with him.”
“She said to tell you hello. I think she missed you.”
“You’ll take me to him?” she asked, relief shining in her eyes.
“Of course.”
Gladys didn’t move; her arm made a sweep across the yard. “He planted all this for me. I have a black thumb.” Her gaze flitted to several spots among the bright blooms. “The man wasn’t much for pretty words, but there’s love in this garden.”
Cait felt her own eyes fill and followed the woman’s glance to the flowers with their bounty of pretty butterflies. “I have one just like that,” she whispered.
“You know,” Gladys said, leaning toward Cait, a mischievous smile spreading, “this house will go for a song.”
Cait blinked and looked around again. The house was small. But the yard was large. Big enough for herbal plantings. And blissfully free of the sound of the city. A nice place to raise children. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she murmured.
Gladys stood and walked toward the gate. She shot a glance behind her. “Don’t dawdle, girl. Frank’s waiting.”
Cait followed her, nearing Sam who’d stayed beside the gate. His own gaze took in the yard, eyeing the roof with the gutter filled with leaves and the cracked concrete on the back-porch stoop.