A Witch's Handbook of Kisses and Curses (14 page)

Eventually, the waiting-room crowd dwindled to a
half-dozen children. A frazzled-looking elderly man in a white coat wandered behind the registration desk. Well, his coat was white once upon a time. There was a distinct orangey splash across the breast pocket, almost obscuring the swirly embroidery that read, “R. Hackett, MD.”

The good doctor was what Penny would have called a silver fox, or he would have been, if he’d had a full head of hair. He had a perfectly trimmed salt-and-pepper Van Dyke and a head as bald as an egg. He was wrinkled and wizened but cute as a button, with steely-gray eyes and a tanned face with distinct laugh lines.

Dr. Hackett’s eyes narrowed when he saw me sitting behind the desk, sorting the various reports into piles. “Who the hell are you?”

Maybe those weren’t laugh lines.

“Nola,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand. “Leary. I am a nurse practitioner, and I run a small family clinic in my hometown. I’m here on an extended visit. But I know how to move people through a waiting room. You were drowning. I threw you a lifeline. You’re welcome.”

Dr. Hackett cast a glance around the desk and scowled. “Did you move things?”

“Yes,” I said, looking around at the neat stacks of files and papers. “Lots of them.”

He frowned at me. “Are you mentally unstable, a drug user, a gossip, or looking for a senior-citizen sugar daddy to keep you in spray tanning and designer purses?”

“No, to all of those,” I said, shaking my head.

“We haven’t been open this late in ten years, but one
of the local day cares had a chicken-pox outbreak like a biblical plague. I’ve been on my feet for sixteen hours, and I’m too damn old for that, let me tell you. We normally open at eight
A.M.
and close at five
P.M.
Does that work for you?”

“Uh, sure.”

“I’ll pay you. It won’t be much. We’re funded through donations from different civic groups, but the budget does provide a small stipend for clerical support. In the future, try not to move things without asking first,” he griped, and called for his next patient.

Did he just hire me? Did I even want to work here? Would I treat patients, or would I stick to administrative work? What would my hours be? Would it interfere with my search for the Elements? Exactly how much was not much in terms of payment?

“Don’t you want to see some references?” I asked as he moved down the hall. “Some identification? Anything?”

“We’ll get to it later,” he said, waving me off.

I sat back in the half-padded office chair, which was apparently mine now.

“First, Jane falls into her job at the bookshop, and now, this,” I muttered. “Doesn’t
anyone
do job interviews in this town?”

No happy story has ever included the words “Ouija board.”

—A Guide to Traversing the Supernatural Realm

A
lthough I was sweaty, disheveled, and drained, I was serenely happy as Miranda’s car rolled up the driveway to the Victorian just before one
A.M.
I’d stayed at the clinic long after the last patient had been released, clearing off the front desk and putting the waiting room back to rights. Dr. Hackett had given me keys after I filled out my employment paperwork. After informing me that everything valuable or prescribable had been locked up tight and that this was a test of my character, he marched out the front door at midnight.

And then, because I’d left my car keys on the counter in the bookshop and was embarrassed to admit such a blunder to an exhausted Dr. Hackett, I’d called Miranda. To my surprise, my favorite chauffeur to the undead was already awake. She’d done the “lost keys/embarrassing emergency walk of shame” enough times that she was happy to help out another damsel in frequent distress.

“You’re just lucky I keep vampire hours,” she told me.
“And that Collin is in the middle of a History Channel marathon on the War of 1812 on his TiVo. I love him dearly, but I will use any excuse to get out of watching that.”

“I am ever so grateful to serve as that excuse,” I told her, closing my eyes and resting my head against the seat rest.

My bones ached. My feet were screaming. There were substances I preferred not to think about on my clothes. And I was dozing off in the front seat of Miranda’s SUV. All I wanted to do was shower and crawl into bed.

“Wow,” I heard Miranda say from the driver seat. I opened my eyes and saw her staring through the windshield, her expression one of delighted awe.

My own mouth fell open in astonishment. It was the first time I’d seen the house in its fully refurbished state. My home looked like something out of a fairy tale. The siding had been replaced and painted a fresh, vibrant yellow that shone in the weak light of the fingernail moon. The roof had been reshingled. The porch had been painted to match the trim. Dick’s work crews had added flower boxes to the railing, bursting with a profusion of pansies in yellow, purple, and white.

I knew about the changes to the interior. My rooms had been painted a cheerful pale pink. The dark wood and gothic wall sconces had been replaced with what Andrea called comfy farmhouse chic. The huge bank of cabinets in the kitchen was gone, and in its place was an old-fashioned tin-front pie safe. The appliances were new, and the tub upstairs no longer threatened
to fall through the ceiling. The remaining cabinets had been painted white and artistically distressed. I’d drawn the line at Dick buying me new bedroom furniture. I was truly frightened by the prospect of what he would choose.

I climbed out of the car, marveling at the changes Jed’s crew had made. “Thanks, Miranda!”

“No problem, babe,” she called. “There’s a whole series of specials on the Spanish American War next week. Call anytime.”

I waved at her as she backed out of the driveway, then returned to staring at the house in the moonlight.

“You know, you keep your mouth open like that, you’re gonna catch mosquitoes.”

My jaw snapped shut. I turned to find Jed, wearing an actual shirt
with sleeves,
standing in his front door.

“I thought that was flies.”

He smirked. “Not around here.”

“You do beautiful work,” I told him. “It’s just gorgeous altogether.”

“Thanks,” he said, his smile boyish and pleased as we circled each other. “We’re finished here and movin’ on to Dick’s house. Andrea saw some of the things Sam did here and wants them for their house, too. It’s roofin’ tomorrow, which means an early start before the hottest part of the day. It’s a shame. I liked being able to take my coffee breaks in my own kitchen. So what have you been up to? I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“I accidentally started a new job tonight.”

He frowned. “Accidentally?”

“It was totally unintentional. I fell right into it.”

“Oh, honey, you didn’t answer one of those ads on Craigslist, did you?” he said, his eyes wide and intentionally shocked.

“Hey, the nice man in the unmarked panel van said the nudity will be tasteful!” I exclaimed, making him laugh.

“Well, congratulations on your new Internet porn job,” he said. “Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow night to celebrate?”

“I have plans tomorrow night.”

I really did have plans. I had to retrieve my car keys and make up for lost research time. But he didn’t need to know that.

“Plans.” He frowned. “Like a date? So the very serious boyfriend crashed and burned already?”

I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. Why would he be worrying over whether I was dating? Unless . . . “You like me!”

“Me? Like you?” He shook his head. “Can’t prove it.”

“You
like
like me,” I singsonged.

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” he said, scowling as he stepped forward, trapping me between his body and the wall. I could smell that forest-and-field scent rolling off of him, and the heat of his skin made me feel as if his hands were rubbing against my arms. He bent his face toward mine, and warm, minty breath feathered over my cheeks. “If I
like
liked you, trust me, you would know it.”

My eyes locked with his, light meeting dark, and
I couldn’t move. This was completely unfair. He was a human thought scrambler, sent to make me lose all semblance of dignity. His lips were just a few heartbeats away from mine.

“I don’t have a date. I’m working,” I told him softly. Sorting through the contents of an occult shop to find magical knickknacks could be considered working, right?

The crescent moon rose slowly over his shoulder, giving him a faint halo around his shadow-cast face. I shivered. He looked down at me for a long, silent moment. I could feel his breath moving against my cheek like a caress. I honestly thought he was going to kiss me. And then he gave me one of those warm molasses smiles. “Well, good luck to you.”

He stepped away and sauntered back to his door. He knew what he was doing, walking like that. It was patently unfair to leave a girl high and not quite dry and then walk away with his buns twitching under skintight denim. I called after him. “Thanks.”

He waved his hand over his shoulder without even looking back at me.

Completely. Unfair.

*  *  *

Over the next week or so, I fell into a routine. I worked at the clinic each day until five and then researched at the shop until just before sunset to avoid uncomfortable interactions with certain vampire landlords. Then I hightailed it home, leaving Jane detailed notes on what I’d searched through that day and any materials I’d taken
home for the night. Occasionally, Jolene would drag me out of the shop to Southern Comforts, the vampire-friendly restaurant she managed with her friend, chef Tess Maitland. Jolene was apparently worried that I wasn’t getting enough smoked pork in my diet. I’d discovered that this was a grave concern for Kentuckians.

I enjoyed working at the clinic. I’d tamed the chaos of the front desk and organized the patient records into a more user-friendly configuration. I wore scrubs for the first time since nursing school, as Dr. Hackett didn’t believe jeans were a professional look for a medical setting. I had to pass a background check, which was disturbingly easy considering that I hadn’t lived in the country for more than ten years.

I explained my dilemma to Dr. Hackett, and he helped me apply for the paperwork I would need in order to help people rather than just run the office. Until my papers came through, I would not be responsible for patient care. It was just too risky. In the meantime, he was happy to listen to my “instincts” about a patient’s condition based on my observations and the intake questionnaires. After hearing him referring to some of his contemporaries as hippies, I decided not to bring up my diagnostic abilities. But if I noticed something about a patient, say, black radiating pain flaring out from his stomach, I would advise Dr. Hackett that the patient was most likely suffering an ulcer.

It was a little bit of a relief, not being entirely responsible for treatment. And I found I had a talent for the administrative duties that I wasn’t allowed to do back home.

After hearing so many “free clinic” jokes over the years, I expected to see nothing but patients with questionable rashes. But each day was much like the first: sick kids and overwhelmed adults. There were a lot of young mothers with children who didn’t have health insurance. And seniors who couldn’t afford to see doctors without the free services Dr. Hackett provided. Like any other doctor, he had “regular” patients he saw frequently, and their files were kept in a special filing cabinet separate from those of the walk-in patients. It was a sad commentary on the state of the health-care system, but I was glad that the patients were getting the help they needed.

The job was tiring, and Dr. Hackett was right when he’d told me he wouldn’t be able to pay me much. But it was rewarding, and it was nice to take my mind off of the Elements for a few hours each day.

I arrived home around the same time Jed did nearly every evening. Sometimes he was waiting on the porch with a beer for each of us. (I didn’t have the heart to tell him that we would call that stuff water back home.) Other times, we just had some brief conversation about the house or work before retiring to separate corners. He was always flirty and mildly inappropriate, but he never took it past that level. He moved in close but didn’t touch beyond the occasional casual brush of the arm. He spent half of our conversations staring at my mouth but never so much as kissed me on the cheek.

And it was driving me bloody insane.

Jed was an enigma. He was a prime specimen, but he never dated. He was clearly intelligent, although he tried
to play it down with Southern-fried, aw-shucks-ma’am charm. He was friendly and warm, and then, when he decided our conversation was over, he ran. What sort of man flirted like that and then managed to turn it off completely and walk away? Was there something wrong with me? Was I too much of a Yankee? The wrong size? The wrong gender? Was he doing this on purpose? And if he was, was he aware that he was the biggest tease in the world? Was he trying to drive me round the twist?

I knew this wasn’t really my problem. I had more pressing matters to worry about. It was a waste of time to spend my nights wondering what the hell was going on inside Jed’s head. His dense, beautiful head.