Sympathetic Magic

Chapter 1-3

Maybe it was because she’d tossed and turned for what seemed like half the night, but Margot overslept the next morning and then spent far too long taking a hot shower, as if by doing so she could wash away the last traces of Lucas Wilcox’s touch. After she finished drying her hair, she belatedly recalled that she’d said she would check on the house for Angela, as Tobias and Rachel were still at the resort, remaining available to the staff there while the newlyweds departed for a tour of some of the wine-growing areas down in the south of the state. “A fact-finding mission,” Angela had called it, no doubt referring to Connor’s joint venture with a friend of theirs to open a new vineyard over in Page Springs.

Margot was sure the house was just fine, but Angela had been worried in all the hubbub that she hadn’t locked up everything properly. Very well; Margot thought she’d hike up there after she had her usual tea and toast for breakfast, and rattle all the locks so she could say she’d done her duty. No one in the McAllister clan would disturb the place, and it was far enough off the beaten track that Margot somehow doubted a tourist would wander up there…especially with the illusions she’d set in place to prevent such a thing from happening…but it was a fine morning, and maybe the walk would help to clear her head a little.

The air did seem cooler today, a brisk breeze blowing from the northeast and pulling at a few stray tendrils of hair around her face. She let that wind guide her up the hill, a gentle pressure at her back, as if it were helping to propel her up the steep incline.

At the house, the front door was firmly locked, as she’d suspected. The back door that opened on the small garden and the path that led to the garage was not, however, and she shook her head at Angela’s carelessness, even as she laid her hand on the doorknob and murmured the small charm that would make the tumblers turn and the door lock itself. Or maybe the unlocked door had been Connor’s fault; Margot supposed a bride had a right to be a bit scatterbrained on her wedding day, but Connor should have been paying better attention.

A crunch of gravel made her turn around, eyes narrowing. No one else should be up here, unless it was Connor and Angela coming back to Jerome for something they’d forgotten. But no, that didn’t make sense. Margot knew the couple had planned to be on the road by around ten, and it was already almost eleven. They should be halfway to Phoenix by now.

The man who appeared around the corner of the house in that moment was tall and dark-haired, but he definitely was not Connor. He stopped a few feet away from where she stood on the back stoop, the expression in his eyes startled even behind the sunglasses he wore.

Despite her best efforts to ignore it, an odd little thrill traced its way down Margot’s back. “What are you doing here, Lucas?”

At once he removed the sunglasses. His dark eyes twinkled in the bright sunlight. “Checking on the house. You?”

“The same,” she said shortly. In that moment she wished she hadn’t dressed so casually, that she wasn’t wearing the skinny jeans she’d bought against her better judgment, the slim-fitting T-shirt, or the thong-style jeweled sandals that showed off her recent French pedicure. It was as if Lucas’ gaze had caught every detail about her appearance, right down to her toes…and worse, he liked it.

At her reply, he let out a chuckle. “Those kids were so distracted, I think they probably forgot half of what they said to anyone over the past few days. Late last night, Connor asked me to come up and check on the house, since he was afraid he’d forgotten to lock the back door, and Rachel and Tobias were still going to be tied up at the resort today getting everything cleaned up and cleared out.”

“Angela made the same request of me,” Margot replied. “And good thing, since they actually did leave the back door unlocked. But I’ve taken care of it. Sorry you had to waste a drive out here.”

“Oh, I don’t think it was wasted,” Lucas said, still with that glint in his eye.

The way he was looking at her left little doubt as to his meaning. She drew in a breath, trying to come up with a way to let him know there was no point in him wasting any more effort on her. Maybe in some small corner of her soul, she’d admit such attention was just the tiniest bit flattering, but her rational self knew she had to get rid of him now and offer nothing that could possibly be construed as encouragement. Goddess knows he was bad enough already when she was offering nothing but discouragement.

He forestalled her, though, saying, “Well, since I’m here, why don’t I buy you a drink?”

“A drink?” she repeated with some incredulity. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning.”

“True,” he said amiably. “But it’s Sunday. Someone has to be offering brunch around here…you know…champagne? Mimosas?”

She crossed her arms and sent him what she hoped was a sufficiently quelling look. “This isn’t your country club, Mr. Wilcox.”

He did not appear offended. “Lucas. I’d say after that dance last night we should be on a first-name basis.”

“Very well…Lucas.” Although her tone was as severe as she could make it, his expression didn’t change. He only stood there, gazing up at her where she stood on the back stoop, a slight smile playing about his mouth…a mouth she tried damn hard not to look at for very long. It was far too distracting. She went on, “No one offers brunch here in Jerome, and I don’t generally make a habit of drinking before dinnertime.”

“Okay, no mimosas. A cup of coffee?”

“Sorry, but I don’t drink coffee.”

“Iced tea? Sparkling water? Lemonade?”

Despite herself, Margot could feel her lips twitch. He was persistent, wasn’t he? And after the last few fallow years, it felt good to have a man paying this much attention to her, even if the man in question happened to be a Wilcox.

But because he was a Wilcox, she knew she couldn’t let that smile grow any further, couldn’t do anything except send him on his way as soon as possible. Yes, Angela’s constant message for the past few months had been Wilcox/McAllister togetherness, but Margot was not going to allow her prima’s wishes to sway her. Bad enough that Adam McAllister had been so openly flirting with that one Wilcox girl last night at the reception. So much for his supposedly broken heart. Margot knew she was made of sterner stuff.

“Nothing, thank you.” She stepped down from the stoop, knowing she would have to go right past Lucas to make her escape. If only witches truly did have the ability to fly away on a broomstick. It would have been so much easier.

He did shift slightly on the path so she could walk past him, but not so much that she wasn’t acutely aware of how tall he was, looming over her like that. Neither could she ignore the slightest tantalizing trace of the cologne he wore, something clean and woodsy, teasing her like a glimpse of the great pine forests surrounding Flagstaff itself, a place of course she’d never been.

“Rain check,” he said, seeming content to stand there and watch her leave. A few more paces, and she’d made it past the corner of the house. Lucas was gone from her sight.

Why, then, did she experience a small pang, as if she wished he would have followed her?