Witches of Three_Philomena (4 page)

“Did you? I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you had. Everyone knows how Diane was. She was down here nearly every day, talking about you and her daughter like she couldn’t stand either one of you.”

“Don’t say anymore,” Beck cautioned.

He didn’t want to hear all the ways in which Diane had betrayed him and their daughter. Harold brought the food and Beck wished he hadn’t ordered it. He’d lost his appetite.

“Are you hungry?” he asked Tammy.

“Nah, I’m watching my figure, but you could buy me another beer,” she said and drained her mug.

Beck nodded to Harold who went off to fill the order. With less enthusiasm than he’d ordered the food, he set about crumbling crackers into his chili. The first spoonful revived his appetite and he gulped it down along with half the burger. Silently, Tammy watched him.

“It’s really a shame,” she said. “You’re such a good-looking man and—”

“Tammy,” Rudy, the man she’d been dancing with earlier, called to her. “What are you doing over there with that wife killer? Get over here and give me some luck.”

Tammy looked at Beck with soulful eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I have to join them. They’re my friends.” She paused for a long moment, waiting for him to comment. When he didn’t, she said. “They’re my clients. I have to keep them happy.”

“Why don’t you get a regular job, Tammy, and quit all this?”

“I’m not good at anything else,” she said. She seemed reluctant to leave, but when Rudy shouted at her again, she slid off the stool.

“Thanks for the beers,” she said in a near whisper and made her way across the room.

Beck sat watching the men greet her with ribald remarks and careless touches. She laughed as if she enjoyed such attention and for all Beck knew, maybe she did. He left the rest of his burger, paid his bill and made his way toward the door.

“What are you running away from?” Rudy called after him.

Beck paused and looked back at him. “You got a problem, Tobias?”

His friends seemed to realize what was happening and came to pull at his arm.

“Come on, Rudy, let it go. He ain’t worth the effort.”

Tobias pulled away and snarled at Beck. “Yeah, I do have a problem,” he said, stalking across the room with that stiff-legged gait some men used to prove they weren’t drunk. “I don’t like men who kill women.”

“Neither do I,” Beck replied evenly, not letting his gaze waver from the drunken man.

“Then you don’t like yourself much, huh?” Tobias said, pushing closer until they were almost touching.

His face was twisted in a scowl and his fists were clenched. He was spoiling for a fight. Normally Beck walked away from confrontations like this, but tonight, he wasn’t in the mood.

“I like myself just fine,” he said evenly, “but I don’t like drunks who try to pick fights.”

“I ain’t trying,” Tobias said, “I am.” He swung and Beck stepped out of the way. The momentum of Tobias’ swing carried him forward so he crashed into the door and spun around.

“Come on, Rudy, that’s enough,” one of his pals said, steadying him on his feet.

“Let me alone,” Tobias ordered, twisting away. “I ain’t afraid of him even if you are.”

His friend shrugged and walked away. Tobias rushed Beck and again Beck sidestepped. Tobias hit a line of barstools, veered away and fell to the floor with chairs and tables tipping around him. He rolled over and glared at Beck.

“Why don’t you listen to your friends,” Beck suggested. “Wait until you sober up before you try to take on someone bigger than you.”

“I ain’t afraid of your size. You’re used to picking on women, aren’t you? But I’m a man, and I’m about to show you the difference.”

He got to his feet and once again charged Beck, this time landing a blow. Beck reeled back and Tobias, emboldened by his success, came after him aggressively. Beck was ready for him. He swung his fist in a classic upper cut letting not only his own momentum but Tobias’ forward lunge work for him. His fist connected with Tobias’ chin and the man went down and lay still.

The room went quite as everyone stood looking at the downed man. Finally, one of Tobias’ friends stepped forward.

“You made your point, Crawford,” he said stonily. “The kid was drunk and obnoxious, but it’s not like you didn’t deserve it.”

Harold, the bartender, left the bar and came to the door.

“I think it’s time you went on your way, Crawford,” he said, holding the door open.

Beck turned and made his way out of the tavern.

As he passed the bartender, Harold said. “I think you’d better find another watering hole.”

Beck met the man’s gaze and nodded then was out on the sidewalk, headed for his truck. His knuckles were scraped and painful, but some of the anger inside him had dissipated.

He felt fine when he went to work the next morning. The sun was shining and he’d slept better than he had in a while, except for the dreams about a golden-haired witch who flew on a broom and called to him seductively. He laughed at the childish dreams, ate a decent breakfast and contemplated that in one more day, he’d see Emily. Even if the visitations were supervised, he looked forward to them with an intensity that kept him going on the rough days.

Now he pulled into the Spencer driveway and wondered what was in store for him today. Whatever it was, he’d handle it with greater care that he had yesterday. He rang the doorbell to let her know he’d arrived to work and was surprised when an old woman answered the door.

“Good morning, ma’am, I’m the carpenter here to work on the pergola for Miss Spencer.”

“Yes, yes, get on with your work,” the woman replied, waving him away.

Gratefully, he hurried around to the backyard. He never once looked at the French doors but concentrated on his work. By mid-afternoon, he was farther along than he’d expected. He’d be done in another day and would never have to come here again.

Just then, the patio doors opened and Phil Spencer walked across the flagstones toward him. She was dressed in white shorts again, with her slender feet shoved into flip-flops. A white T-shirt, smeared with spots of paint, outlined her trim breasts so he could barely look anywhere else. Her pale strands of hair had been pinned on top of her head and hung untidily about her ears. She wore no make-up if you didn’t count the smudges of paint on her chin and one arm. She looked mussed and sloppy and incredibly beautiful. He could smell her skin before she got to him.

He had taken off his shirt while he worked and now he grabbed it and wiped at the sweat on his brow and chest. She looked cool and untouched, making him want to touch her even more.

“Mr. Crawford,” she said in her light voice, gazing up at him on the ladder. “I’d like to talk to you about some additional projects I need done. Have you anymore time?”

Slowly, Beck draped his shirt over a wooden slat and descended, all the time reminding himself how happy he’d be when this job was done. At the bottom, he turned to glance at her and guessed his resolve shattered. She stared boldly into his eyes and he knew if he reached for her, she’d come willingly.

Her skin was flawless, the blue of her eyes clear and direct, her hair glinted gold from the sunlight. Her mouth was firm, even primly straight. He remembered it the night before when it had been soft and full and inviting. He remembered her taste and felt a hunger sweep through him.

His reaction to her must have shown because for a moment her stern demeanor slipped and a softness settled over her. She opened her mouth as if about to speak then remained silent. Or maybe the gesture was an unaware invitation on her part. A bird cried out overhead and her lips tightened and her gaze hardened and once again, her manner became impersonal.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, scoffing at himself for what he had in mind. His libido had awakened and it refused to be ignored. He gazed at her, trying to keep his expression as noncommittal as hers.

“I’m thinking of getting some horses,” she said briskly, “and the barn in the back needs some repairs. Also the stable, which I now use as a garage, needs a new roof. Would you have the time to do those things?”

Beck leaned one arm on a step of the ladder and rubbed his jaw, pretending to be considering his schedule. The truth was, he didn’t have much of one. He took what work he could just to get by until the investigation into Diane’s death revealed the real killer and he got his coaching job back. Her offer of additional work would carry him through the rest of the summer and a further truth was that he wanted to take any job she offered just so he could be around her for a little while longer.

“I’ve got a little time before my next job. I can start on it as soon as I finish your pergola,” he said.

Her expression revealed her relief, but she drew that aloofness around herself again and said, “Good, can you give me an estimate?”

“I’ll look things over and draw up some numbers,” he said.

“I can show you the barn and garage now,” she said and turned away, expecting him to follow.

She made her way around the house and walked along a cobblestone path to the buildings he’d noticed before. The barn was warm and smelled of hay and the remembrance of animals long gone.

“The stalls along here need to be reinforced,” she said, leading him down one side of the sturdy building. “And I’ll need the hay loft to be checked for rotten boards before I have any hay delivered.” She walked from one area to the next, her movements almost jerky.

She turned quickly, and he didn’t step aside fast enough so they faced each other—up close—for a devastating moment and gazed into each other’s eyes.

“I’m a witch,” she said abruptly.

“I’ve noticed,” he answered with a slight smile. “You’ve cast a spell over me.”

“No, I mean I really am a witch. Haven’t you heard the rumors in the village?”

“I don’t listen to gossip. Why would I?”

She shrugged. “I’m sorry for your troubles,” she said softly then her tone hardened as she raised her chin. “You don’t need more problems and that’s what I would bring you.”

“What kind of problems?” he asked out of curiosity. Was there more than her trouble with men and two bossy sisters?

“I told you, I’m a witch!” She sighed. “You don’t believe me. Funny when the whole town is ready to burn my sisters and me at the stake.”

“Sorry, I have dibs on the stake burning,” he said and saw by the changing shadows in her eyes when shock turned to humor, but she didn’t laugh out loud.

Her demeanor grew somber again. A wisp of hair had come loose from its fastener and curled on her neck. He wanted to take it between his fingers and feel the texture then he wanted to touch the pale, smooth skin of her neck. Hell, he wanted to touch every inch of her. She smelled good, a combination of flowers and citric that overcame the dusty, animal scents of the barn. He wanted to pull her close and bury his face against her cheek and draw in her fragrance. Instead, he tightened his fists and turned to look up at the loft.

“So you think it’s got some bad floor boards?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t been up there in years. No one has.”

“When’s your hay coming?” He stepped up on the first rung of the ladder and began to climb.

“At the end of the week.”

He felt her eyes on him as he stepped cautiously over the floorboards. “A few of them need replacing, but they’re in pretty good shape. I’ll have it ready by the time your hay gets here.” He climbed down the ladder and turned to face her, but she was already headed for the door.

“I have an account at the lumber company,” she said when they were back out in the sunlight. “And I’ll cut you a check for half when you get the estimates done for me.”

She didn’t look at him again, just nodded and headed back to the house. He watched her go, enjoying the swing of her hips and the jiggle of her round butt. Her ponytail bounced as she walked. His boiling temperature went up a few degrees. Then he forced himself to think of something else besides bedding Miss Phil Spencer.

Suddenly, it hit him. She’d claimed she was a witch. He shook his head and looked after her again, although by now she’d disappeared into the house. A lot of women claimed to be witches and belonged to a Wicca group. He didn’t believe in that sort of thing himself, but he figured to each his own. He wondered if she belonged to a cult and what part she played. What did they do, ride their broomsticks into the forests and light fires and chants wicked spells against their enemies? Their spells seemed to work because he was hooked as surely as if she’d thrown a line into the water and he’d greedily snared the bait.

Hell, he didn’t believe that. He was an intelligent man with both feet flat on the ground. She was right about one thing. He had plenty of his own trouble without worrying about her illusions. The truth was, she was as batty as her sisters. He was sorry now he’d agreed to do the job. He shrugged. He could use the money. He’d get it done and be gone from this witch’s lair.

Chapter Four

Christ, what was she doing?

She didn’t need another man in her life right now or ever. She’d had enough lowlifes to last her a lifetime, but Beck Crawford wasn’t a lowlife. How did she know for sure? Well, she didn’t, she just sensed he was a standup guy and when she studied him there wasn’t any kind of negative aura about him to warn her off. He was just a man. So why this sudden, all-consuming passion for him? And how long would it last? She should grit her teeth and tough it out until her fancy changed yet again and she was panting after some other man. Not Beck Crawford. He wasn’t her type. What was she thinking?

But the memory of his kiss—the masculine scent of him, the feel of his hard body, of his arms gripping her tightly against his chest—was all too appealing to just discard. She’d go find another man she decided, one as sexy and manly as he was, and she’d fuck his brains out. Then she’d be over Beck. What kind of name was Beck anyway? What kind of mother named her baby Beck? Since Phil had no interest or experience with children, she hadn’t a clue what a mother would call her child. Still, she scoffed at his name because it was the only thing she could find to criticize and because she halfway liked the name. It sounded strong and direct—like the man himself. Oh, hell!