Blood Ties

Chapter 1-2

The setting sun glared into Randall Lenz’s eyes as he pointed his truck toward the house south of Route 66 he’d been renting for the past nine months. His muscles ached, but in a good kind of way, telling him that he’d put in an honest day’s labor. Two large sections of fence had basically been rebuilt, and the repairs that remained weren’t quite as extensive. He and Joanna should be able to get those taken care of by mid-afternoon tomorrow at the very latest.

Joanna.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting to meet him as he drove out to her property, but he knew that Joanna Wilcox was not it. When she’d gotten out of that Polaris and walked toward him, he’d had to keep himself from staring at her in shock. No, Jasper hadn’t said much about his cousin, had only said she owned an alpaca ranch out on the northeast edge of town, but still, Randall supposed he’d imagined her in his mind’s eye as a rough, outdoorsy sort of person, maybe around his own age.

What he hadn’t expected was a goddess.

Her silky black hair had been pulled back in a ponytail, but the day’s fresh breeze had still caught it, playing with the ends, showing that it fell nearly to her waist. The eyes that met his had been as dark as her hair, slightly almond shaped in a perfect oval of a face. Although he didn’t know anything about her, the analytical side of his mind had catalogued her features and surmised she was probably part Native American. Not a huge surprise, since he knew that the Wilcoxes had a fairly large Navajo strain running through their clan.

His training had kicked in, and he’d managed to keep himself from gaping at her. Honestly, he didn’t even know why he’d experienced such a strong reaction to that first glimpse. While he’d abandoned any attempt at having a personal life years earlier, he still had met plenty of beautiful women over the course of his life. It wasn’t as though he was some sort of inexperienced kid who’d never seen someone so physically perfect.

Now, as he pulled into driveway of his house — the one-car garage housed his beloved Audi, which he couldn’t quite bring himself to sell — he could only shake his head at himself. While he hadn’t exactly taken a vow of celibacy or anything, he also hadn’t done much to disrupt his current extremely solitary life. Some might have called it penance for what he’d done to the witches and warlocks who’d been held for so many months at the facility in Virginia he once commanded…or maybe it was his way of trying to atone for the death of Addie Grant’s mother.

Either way, he’d kept to himself since arriving in Flagstaff. Trying to explain his situation to a civilian would have been nearly impossible, and he wouldn’t have felt right about forming a relationship with a Wilcox witch. Not that many of them were available; those who hadn’t yet married were far too young, in their early twenties for the most part, and the few who were closer to his age and who’d ended up divorced — although divorce appeared to be very rare in witch clans — hadn’t evoked much interest. Maybe it was only that he didn’t think he was emotionally able to take on someone with the baggage of children and a failed marriage, not when he had so much baggage of his own. He still felt like a fish out of water in Flagstaff; he’d never been the type to care much about fitting in, and yet he couldn’t deny that there was something almost alluring about the idea of a clan, of being so intimately connected to one’s family. His parents had given him every advantage, and yet underneath his overall contentment with his life had always been the wish that he could have known where he’d come from.

And now…Joanna.

She’s way too young for you, he told himself as he got out of his truck and let himself into the house through the back door. Although he could have used his witchy inborn gift of being able to unlock doors with a thought, he always used a key.

Some habits were hard to break.

At least, he thought Joanna was too young, even though she possessed a self-assurance that was often rare in those under thirty. He couldn’t detect any true signs of age in her face, however. Maybe the faintest hint of laugh lines around her eyes, although he wasn’t entirely sure of that.

But even if she was thirty, that still made him ten years older than she.

And she hadn’t shown the slightest sign of interest in him. He’d taken his cues from her and had been matter-of-fact and brisk, and she’d seemed just fine with that. As he should be. He shouldn’t even be thinking about getting involved with a Wilcox witch.

Just the mere fact that his mind had decided to take him in that direction told him how much of an impact she’d already had. He was used to looking at women as coworkers, sometimes allies, sometimes adversaries, and not much more. Physical attraction had never overwhelmed him like this before.

Which meant exactly what?

“That you’re losing your grip,” he said aloud. He went to the refrigerator and steadfastly ignored the six-pack of Kiltlifter Ale that sat there, and instead lifted out the pitcher of water inside and poured himself a glass.

The cool liquid on his throat felt good. Joanna had given him plenty of water to drink, and it hadn’t been a warm day — although he’d definitely gotten heated up as he worked — but repairing fences was thirsty work, no matter how you looked at it.

And they still had more to do.

Which meant he’d be back the next day. Even if nothing happened — and he had no reason to believe it would — the prospect of spending a few more hours in Joanna Wilcox’s company made him much more cheerful than he’d been lately.

If nothing else, he’d get to see her, hear her throaty laugh. Small things, he supposed, but these days, he had to take what he could get.

Or at least, take what the universe offered him.