Daddy Warlock (13 page)

“Because very few people have them.” Chance sought
the right words to explain. “In the past, those who displayed them openly were executed as witches.”

“You're saying people hide it out of fear?”

“I'm saying very few people survived to pass on their inheritance.” He hoped she was ready to learn the rest of what he knew, but he had to broach it cautiously. “Most of the time, the abilities people possess are limited and unreliable.”

“Why is your family different?” She clutched her glass as if hanging on to the only solid thing in the room.

He wished he could gather her into his arms and reassure her. But Tara didn't need comforting words. She needed the facts.

“Some of my ancestors purposely married their own relatives to strengthen the powers,” he said. “My father and mother were cousins. Distant ones, but both had— have—some abilities.”

She stared into space before speaking. “Is that why you wondered whether your mother regretted having you?”

He let out a long breath. “Yes. She didn't realize either how talented I would be, or how Raymond would seek to exploit me. Fortunately, I seem to have inherited her ethics.”

“And Harry's like you?” she asked.

“Harry has much more potential than I ever did.”

“How can that be?”

This was the tricky part. “Even though you don't have magic talents, there's a psychic link between us that may have influenced him. I think it has to do with our past lives.”

She groaned. “Now I've got to start believing in that, too? Chance, I don't like this. I want us to put it aside and live like normal people.”

“I'll do whatever it takes to get you back” Realizing from her start of alarm that she was thinking of that intimate night in the tower, Chance added, “I mean, you and Harry. Of course, you'd live in your own suite, just as before.”

“Then you're willing to teach him how
not
to use these abilities?”

“If I can,” he said. “These aren't parlor tricks, Tara. Our son's urges are going to intensify as he gets older. With adolescence, they may explode.”

“But you'll teach him restraint?” she pressed. “And set the right example by not doing this stuff yourself?”

Although he confined his magic to minor conveniences, Chance wasn't looking forward to giving them up. “You mean the next time somebody lets the air out of your tires, I'll have to call a tow truck?”

She stared at him. “You did that yourself?”

He shrugged. “But I won't, if you don't want me to.”

“I don't.”

“All right,” he said. “When can you move in?”

“Tomorrow. I'll bring most of our things while Harry's in school.”

“Consider yourself rehired,” he said. “Although you don't have to work if you'd prefer not to.”

“Of course I'll work!” Setting aside the glass, she stood up. “Don't bother showing me out. I know the way.”

As she opened the door to the courtyard, passionate Spanish music wafted in. A matador and his cape swirled past, stalking the moment of truth.

Still uncharacteristically submissive, Vareena let her brother fling her about. In a way, Chance mused, he'd gotten his earlier wish for Tara to yield, as well.

He only hoped the terms she'd set wouldn't prove impossible to meet.

H
ARRY BOUNCED
on the car seat beside Tara as they wound through the canyon. Ever since she'd told him that Chance was his father, he'd been happier than if it were Christmas and his birthday rolled into one.

“I won't do any more tricks, I promise!” he said. “Unless someone's trying to hurt you. Then it's okay, isn't it?”

“Nobody's going to hurt me,” she said. “I told you, Raymond Powers wouldn't have done anything.”

“I guess not,” mumbled her son, unconvinced. “Hey, there's that funny mailbox.”

“I noticed”. Today, Tara was surprised how easily she followed the route. The landmarks jumped out at her, making each turn unavoidable. She didn't think she could have gotten lost if she'd tried.

As they pulled into the driveway, she tried to recall the password Chance had given her earlier. He'd moved on, through some quirk of humor, to insects. Oh, yes, today it was dragonflies.

Having brought their luggage earlier, Tara had only a few personal items to carry this time. It was fortunate she didn't expect any help from her son, because the moment they stopped, he leapt out and began running around the grove, shouting hello to the trees.

Watching him, she felt a tug at her heart. Harry belonged here. He loved Chance, and the feeling was clearly mutual.

She wished she had a better idea how she felt about the man. Since seeing Chance again yesterday, Tara had been trying to avoid thinking about the feelings that he stirred, but she couldn't any longer.

Whenever she came near him, they were drawn toward each other instinctively. It was difficult to walk without brushing against him, and hard to look at his face without staring into his eyes.

Being together was like finding another part of herself. Beneath the surface lay a longing to merge as they had that night when they made love.

Since she'd learned the truth about Chance's identity, the events of that Halloween had gradually seeped from the recesses of her brain into conscious memory. With growing clarity, Tara recalled the inevitability of their retreat into the tower and how she had experienced his sensations along with her own.

There was no rational explanation for it, yet she had encountered the same phenomenon whenever she and Chance met, beginning with the job interview. It was his self-control that locked her out most of the time, for which she ought to be grateful.

But she didn't feel grateful. She felt frustrated. Never in her life had Tara wanted anything as much as she wanted to regain that closeness with Chance.

If she expected him to honor their agreement, though, she had to resist her impulses. A deal was a deal.

Finally Harry rejoined her and they mounted the porch. “Dragonflies,” she said.

The door swung open. “I've been thinking about ships,” said the house. “I'm not too keen on being called the
Queen Mary,
but how about
Nautilus?
Or
Calypso?”

“Don't forget the
Titanic,”
Tara couldn't resist answering. “Or the
Lusitania.”

“Ah,” said the house. “I've missed you.”

She had missed it, too.

“Towels?”

“Check.”

“Sunscreen?”

“Right here.”

“Beach ball, toy shovel, bucket?”

“I got em, Mom.”

Tara finished crossing items off her list. “I guess we're ready to go, then.”

Chance resembled a beast of burden as he led the way into the garage. There was no possibility of jamming the cooler, the beach chairs and the umbrella into the sports car, so everything got lashed atop the Lexus.

“You'd think we were migrating to a foreign land instead of going to the beach for the day,” Tara muttered as she got into the passenger seat.

Harry hopped in back, fidgeting as he fastened his seat belt. “I'm going to dig a hole to China! And make the ball fly way up high and hang there! Boy, is everybody going to stare!”

Tara turned to face him. “You're going to do what?”

His little face grew solemn. “Nothing, Mom. But it would be neat, wouldn't it?”

Chance swung into the driver's seat. “Everything's lashed down. Let's hope we don't hit a strong wind.”

His smile warmed Tara. This past week had gone so smoothly that it was hard to believe she'd ever been away. As for Harry, he'd skipped about the house in a state of near ecstasy.

It had been with a sense of relief that Tara resumed her work on the computer. Although she was still getting used to Chance's programs, she enjoyed the financial field and found it challenging.

And nothing beat having a job, except maybe having a family. But she had that, too, in a way.

She and Chance had agreed to act as much like a normal family as possible, for Harry's sake. That was why, on this Saturday morning, they'd decided to take advantage of the spring weather and visit the beach.

Tara had taken Harry on picnics before, but with just the two of them it hadn't felt as festive as today. Leaning back, she thought of the sandwiches she'd packed, along with sodas and cupcakes. Fixing food for a man made the occasion more special.

She was also looking forward to reading and working on her tan while Chance batted balls and assisted in the construction of a sand castle. Having a parenting partner was a definite plus.

“What if we see somebody drowning?” Harry asked from behind her. “Can't we use magic to rescue them?”

“Only if the lifeguards can't,” responded his father as they approached the freeway. “And they're pretty darn good.”

“What if some bad guys with guns start to shoot everybody and—”

“Harry! That's enough.” Tara knew better than to get sucked into playing the what-if game. Her son had been
pelting her with such questions since he learned how to talk. What if he didn't like his preschool teacher? What if he forgot his lunch? What if the rain fell up and chocolate candy was good for you?

It was, she supposed, an attempt to feel in control of his world by rearranging the rules. Well, the world had a way of asserting itself, and sometimes mothers had to do the same thing.

“Do you know how to swim?” Chance asked.

“I took lessons but I'm not very good,” Harry admitted.

“If the surfs calm, I'll teach you. I used to swim competitively in college.”

Tara could picture him as a swimmer. He had the right kind of body—lean and hard, the muscles firm but not bulky. Maybe that came from cross-training; she'd noticed that Chance went for jogs in the morning, as well as working out on exercise equipment in the spare bedroom of his suite.

A sideways glance showed her the casual power of his frame, highlighted by a red T-shirt and red, white and blue swim trunks. The man exuded confidence as he steered up an on-ramp, head tilted, gray eyes hooded in the sunlight.

She wished she remembered more of how he had felt in her arms that Halloween night. Instead, she had a jumbled impression of intense longing and fiery fulfillment. What Tara missed were the specifics: the roughness of his skin, his herbal scent, the pressure of his mouth against hers.

Thinking about it brought back the sensations in a rush. Most of all, she remembered being inside his mind and seeing herself through his eyes.

With a jolt, she found herself staring from another perspective,
higher and to the left, at the freeway unrolling before them. She felt a masculine tightness at the core, and a twist of yearning that strained her self-control.

Not my self-control. His.

With a flicker of scarlet, the light glinting off a passing windshield turned to fire. For one stunned moment Tara saw herself surrounded by a circle of flames, and then cold blasted against her skin, bringing her back.

Chance adjusted the air-conditioning vent. “You looked hot”

Blinking off her daze, Tara said, “I had the oddest image, as if I were trapped in a fire. I must have been dozing.”

“Or experiencing a far memory.” Chance glanced back to make sure Harry wasn't listening. “From a past life.”

Tara wanted to reject the explanation, but how could she? The sensation had come as she was merging into Chance's consciousness, the way she'd done that night in the tower.

A far memory. Past lives.
Gobbledegook.
She pictured Denise making circles around her temples and uttering spacy “woo-woo” noises.

The best course was not to worry about explanations. Surely as long as she and Chance kept their distance from each other, whatever dangerous passions lay slumbering would remain there.

There was no better cure for dark thoughts than a trip to the beach, Tara reflected as they exited the freeway. Rolling down her window, she inhaled the zest of salt air and heard the mewing of gulls.

Funky cottage-style buildings pressed close, their signs advertising bikinis, in-line skates and surfing gear. In the
back seat, Harry stopped playing a hand-held video game and began bouncing.

“I haven't been to the beach in years,” Chance admitted as he watched for a parking lot. “What shall we do first, Harry?”

“Dig!” said the little boy. “No, swim! But let's toss the ball before that.”

Regret skewed Chance's smile. “I wish I could have watched him at every stage. I'll bet he's been a delight.”

“You could have helped change diapers, too,” teased Tara.

“Diapers? My son?” he murmured. “I'm sure he was
born
potty-trained.”

“That sign says Beach Parking!” Harry announced. “See? I can read it!”

Beaming like the proud father he was, Chance angled into the lot, paid the attendant and wedged the car between a motor home and a van. “Let's hit the sand!”

What they hit instead was reality. It took at least ten minutes to unstrap the gear and drag it to an open space on the beach. Several times, Tara noticed Chance eyeing the equipment as if wishing he could waft it into place.

Once a strap nearly smacked him in the face, but stopped in midair. “Oops,” he said, and let the thing whap his cheek. The sight of the red mark gave Tara a twinge of guilt, but she forced herself to remember that there were larger issues at stake.

With some help from her, Chance got the umbrella unfurled, the chairs set up and the cooler positioned. But spreading a blanket on the sand nearly proved his undoing.

His antagonist was a gusty breeze. Every time he flung out the blanket, a mischievous zephyr would catch the corner and pile it into a heap. When Tara grasped the far
end, the center of the blanket wrapped around itself as if trying to form a figure eight.

“Is it always this hard?” Chance wiped a film of sweat from his forehead. “I've taken it for granted that the thing would lie down when I told it to.”

“I seem to recall battling quite a few blankets in my time,” she admitted.

“I guess I'm spoiled.” Laying the cover on the ground, he began tugging it into shape.

“Dad!” Harry loved using the nickname although he still seemed shy about it. “Let's play ball!”

Giving up on the spread, Chance shrugged off his shirt and ran to join his son. The green-and-white ball flew between them.

After an application of sunscreen, Tara stretched out on the lumpy blanket, propping her head on a cushion. She could feel her skin cells browning one degree at a time, and the tension easing from her body.

Occasionally, using her hand as shade, she would check on her son. It was an old habit, and now, even though she trusted Chance to supervise him, she couldn't help monitoring his activities.

After a while, Harry became impatient and whacked the ball wildly. It flew over Chance's head and, to Tara's dismay, flew toward a baby crawling on the sand.

With a lunge, Chance flung himself forward and smacked the ball away in the nick of time. Wrenching himself to avoid falling atop the child, he landed heavily on one hip.

The baby clapped in delight. Buried in a magazine, its mother remained oblivious.

While Harry raced after the ball, Chance rubbed his side. It would have been a lot easier to use magic, and Tara felt responsible for his soreness.

“Need a rub?” she called.

With a pained smile, he shook his head. “Not in public, anyway!”

Did she detect some wishful thinking? “Don't push your luck!” she teased back.

He wouldn't, of course. He knew as well as she did that they had to keep their distance. Not that Tara quite believed Aunt Cynda's story about them stirring up old dangers, but she
had
seen those flames on the freeway.

Hauling out plastic shovels and buckets, father and son settled onto the sand near her. Under Chance's direction, they began constructing a castle.

Harry ran happily back and forth fetching water to shape the sand, while his father laid the foundations of an impressive structure. Other children wandered over to watch and soon joined in the work.

Great walls took shape, along with turrets and battlements. At least, Tara thought that that's what they were called.

From a beach bag, Chance produced small plastic banners and planted them in the towers. But the castle wasn't finished. While Harry bragged to the other kids that “That's my dad!” Chance set to work digging a moat, with a piece of driftwood for a bridge.

Retrieving her camera, Tara framed several shots. The best part was the radiance on Harry's face and the slightly embarrassed pride revealed in every gesture Chance made.

As she put the camera away, she recalled that, all these years she had imagined Harry's father as an enemy who might try to take her child. Instead, he was enriching the boy's life.

“No!” she heard Harry shout. By the time Tara could
scramble around to look, a large black dog was bounding through the castle, leaving a ruined mess.

A scowling older man whistled to the dog. From his hand dangled the leash that, according to posted rules, should have been attached to the dog's collar. The man didn't even bother to apologize.

The sand of the fallen castle shifted and stirred into mounds as Harry glared at it. Chance caught his arm. “No,” he murmured. A plume that had almost become a tower fell back in a heap.

Down the beach, the irresponsible dog owner let out a yelp and clutched his bare foot. Tara caught a couple of curse words and wondered what he had stepped on.

She chose not to notice the way her son hummed to himself, his misery vanquished. Visitors had littered the beach with odd bits of junk, from plastic cutlery to twistoff bottle caps. There was no reason to ascribe the man's misfortune to anything but bad luck.

“Time for a swim.” Chance raised an eyebrow at his son. “Ready to practice?”

“Beat you to the water!” Harry scampered off.

Tara sat in one of the chairs to watch. Although the ocean looked calm today, she never underestimated its wildness, and wanted to keep an eye on her son.

Riptides and sudden drop-offs in the sandy floor could pose unseen hazards, although she knew Chance was a strong swimmer. Also, this early in the season, the closest lifeguard tower had been left unmanned.

Tara hated to admit it, but she felt grateful for the knowledge that, in an emergency, Chance could use his sorcery. Even that must have its limitations, though.

Then she forgot her worries as she watched father and son cavort in the waves. After they tired of their impromptu
swim lesson, Chance swept Harry up and swung him around.

The man's torso gleamed like beaten copper in the sunlight. The breeze ruffled his thick black hair, emphasizing the contrast to Harry's lighter coloring.

Chance lifted the boy onto his shoulders. Laughing, Harry reached for the sky, and Tara's heart swelled.

She wanted to be part of this moment. Abandoning the blanket, she raced toward the water.

H
E WATCHED HER
come, her slim body alive with enthusiasm. Try as he might, he couldn't escape a heated image of those long limbs tangling with his.

As he swiveled about, giving his son a ride, Chance could feel Tara's approach. He tingled with awareness in a dozen unexpected places.

It troubled him that she could be so much a part of his life, and yet reject an essential element of who he was. Worse, they would never again be able to experience that unique blending of the physical and spiritual unless he were certain they could both handle the consequences.

“Faster! Faster!” cried Harry, and Chance whirled around. He had to be careful; with the sand shifting underfoot, he could easily lose his balance. This time, he couldn't use a tweak of magic to right himself.

Until today, he hadn't realized how much he depended on his magic as a backup. It had given him the boldness to take risks that might otherwise have proved daunting.

How much of what Chance Powers had become was due to this confidence? Maybe he owed more than he suspected to his secret abilities, even though he had refrained from applying them to business.

Today's experiences had also helped him understand the frustrations of others when they couldn't even make
a blanket do their bidding. And although the beach ball wouldn't really have harmed the baby, for the .first time he could imagine how it must feel to see danger and be powerless to stop it.