Magic

TEN

“Thieves! Thieves! We’re being overrun by thieves!”

Addie stamped her foot on the hall floor, causing several more people to turn their heads and stare at her. She glared back at them. The gall. For all these people to simply walk into her home and steal her things! She couldn’t imagine what the world was coming to. No good, that was for certain.

One of the strangers, a pudgy, middle-aged woman in a brown pants suit and a bad blond wig, emerged from the parlor, cradling a large white wire bird cage in her arms. Addie gasped in outrage, her narrow gaze boring into the woman. She recognized the culprit as being the receptionist for the intolerable Nazi doctor, Moore.

“I should have known you’d be a thief!” Addie snapped, launching herself at the woman.

She grabbed at the bird cage, her fingers threading through the wire. The startled receptionist hung on to the other side of the cage and the two women jerked each other around the hall like children fighting over a new toy.

“Mother! For heaven’s sake!” Rachel exclaimed, pushing her way through the crowd of bargain hunters. She grabbed Addie by the shoulders, halting the tussle.

“She’s stealing my bird cage!” Addie accused the receptionist as she gave her the evil eye.

“She’s not stealing it, Mother,” Rachel explained patiently, even though her patience had pretty much worn out an hour into the tag sale. She pried her mother’s fingers away from the now-bent wire cage. “Mrs. Anderson is buying this bird cage. We’re having a tag sale, Mother. We can’t take all this furniture with us to San Francisco, so we’re selling it.”

She turned to the receptionist, whose wig was askew, and mustered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Anderson. Mother is a little… confused about all this.”

“It’s all right, Rachel,” the woman said, composing herself like a plump pigeon whose feathers had been ruffled. “I understand.”

“Oh, I get it,” Addie said, turning on her daughter. “You’re in on it. It’s a conspiracy.”

“It’s a tag sale, Mother,” Rachel said through her teeth as she bit back her temper and her feelings of guilt.

It was a conspiracy. There was no getting around that fact. She had conspired to usurp her mother’s authority over her own property. The fact that she didn’t have a choice, that what she was doing was perfectly legal, that Addie wasn’t competent to handle these affairs, didn’t make it any more palatable. Not even thoughts of their dwindling finances and the upcoming visit from the IRS could make her feel justified.

“I’m calling the police,” Addie said flatly.

Rachel’s shoulders slumped, and she heaved a weary sigh as she watched her mother stomp away. She debated whether it would take more strength to stop her from calling or to deal with Deputy Skreawupp’s ire after the fact. Suddenly Bryan bounded into the hall, blowing a party horn. His magic hat was perched on his head.

“Hennessy!” Addie said. “What is the meaning of this?”

“It’s a party, beautiful!” Bryan declared, flashing her his most brilliant smile. He removed his hat with a flourish and pulled another party horn out of it for Addie. “Let’s go dancing on the lawn.”

Addie scowled at him, uncertainty flashing in her eyes. She didn’t like what was going on here. She didn’t like that she seemed to have no control over it. And all the strange faces in her house frightened her. There were so many of them, she had trouble distinguishing one from the next. But Hennessy, she knew. Hennessy, she trusted.

“I love your hair that way, Addie,” he commented. “It’s very… carefree.”

She raised a hand to pat at the hairdo, blushing like a schoolgirl. She had hacked off her long tresses with a pinking shears because she hadn’t been able to remember how to braid it. Now it fringed her face in a kind of frenetic pixie look. “You’re such a flirt, you big Irish rascal.”

Bryan tucked her arm through his and led her down the hall toward the front door, shooting a wink at Rachel as they went.

Rachel smiled her appreciation and mouthed a thank-you. Clutching her clipboard to her chest, she sighed up into the limp curls that had long ago escaped her sensible hairstyle. What would she have done without Bryan here these past few days? What would she do without him when she and Addie moved to the city?

“He’s something, isn’t he?”

She turned in surprise toward the voice that had suddenly sounded beside her. Alaina Montgomery-Harrison stood there, looking cool and immaculate in her Pierre Cardin ensemble of a black pleated skirt and cream-colored sweater. Tall, angular, elegant, she was just one of Bryan’s many friends who had volunteered to help with the tag sale.

Rachel wondered how the woman managed to appear so unfrazzled. They had all been run ragged in the four hours the sale had been going. She decided Alaina was just one of those few lucky women who got out of bed in the morning looking like an ad for ageless beauty.

“Bryan,” Alaina prompted with a wry smile.

“Yes.” Rachel shook her head. “He’s something.”

They were alone in the hall for the moment. Alaina fixed her with a sharp, intuitive stare that made Rachel feel as if she were suddenly under a very powerful microscope.

“May I ask what exactly he is to you?”

Rachers eyes widened, revealing most of the information Alaina required.

“It’s not that I have designs on him,” Alaina said, deliberately softening both her look and her attitude. Her translucent blue eyes glittered with warm affection. “My husband is the only lunatic I need. It’s just that Bryan is a very special friend. I don’t want to see him get hurt.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Rachel said carefully.

Alaina bit her tongue on the words but you will if you have to. A little worry line formed between her eyes, then her gaze came to rest on the brooch Rachel wore at the throat of her white blouse.

“Did he, by any chance, give you that?”

Rachel lifted her fingers to the heavy pin and brushed them across the smooth surface of the stone. “Yes, he did. Why?”

A soft, knowing smile curved Alaina’s mouth. “No reason,” she said softly. Changing gears smoothly, she motioned toward the empty hall. “There seems to be a lull in the storm. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

Rachel had the distinct impression she had just passed some kind of test. Relief poured over her, and she smiled at the dark-haired woman, glad, though she wasn’t quite sure why. “I’d like that.”

They walked outside, onto the porch, where Alaina’s husband, Dylan, was overseeing the group of children running the refreshment stand. Dylan’s son, Sam, who Rachel guessed to be about eleven, seemed to be in command of everything. He was a very serious boy with sandy hair and a mind-boggling vocabulary. His assistants included his younger sister, Cori, a dark-eyed, dark-haired charmer; and Faith Callan’s daughter, Lindy, an adorable little six-year-old moppet with burnished gold curls. Lindy appeared to be in sole charge of the brownies-there was a telltale smudge of chocolate frosting on her cheek and a dot of it on her button nose. Dylan was lounging on a folding chair with his feet up on the porch railing and a chubby baby girl on his lap.

“Hardly working, as usual, I see,” Alaina said dryly, an affectionate light in her eyes as she mussed her husband’s unruly chestnut hair.

Dylan flashed her a lazy smile. “I know how to delegate authority.”

“That’s one explanation.”

Alaina scooped the baby up in her arms and cuddled her, making a comically disgusted face when the baby squealed in delight and wiped chocolate frosting on her immaculate sweater. Alaina dabbed ineffectually at the stain with a napkin.

“I swear, they gave us the wrong baby in the hospital,” she said mildly. “They gave us the dry cleaner’s child; it was a plot.” She kissed her daughter’s nose and grinned. “But I won’t trade you back, will I, sweetheart? No way.”

The baby squealed again and bounced in her mother’s arms.

Rachel smiled and sipped at her coffee. Alaina didn’t strike her as the baby-cuddling type, which made the display of affection all the more touching. Her gaze fell on her own mother, who stood with Bryan near a set of lawn furniture they were trying to sell-a wooden glider and three chairs. Addie had never been the cuddling type either. Still, they had been close once. Rachel had hoped they would be close again, before Addie’s illness stole away all familiarity. But they didn’t seem to be able to manage it. The past stood between them like a wall, and the present, with the conflict about the move and their changing roles, was only reinforcing that wall.

“Excuse me, Miss Lindquist.”

Rachel nearly bolted out of her skin. Her coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup, and she had to hop back to avoid getting it on her plum-colored slacks. “Mr. Porchind. You startled me.”

To say the least, she thought as she looked down at the man. Mr. Rasmussen stepped out from behind his partner, where he had been almost completely obscured from view. The bruise had faded from the thin man’s cheek, but he still looked creepy with his sunken eyes and sharp features.

For just a second Rachel tried to picture either of them as Addie’s ghost, but she dismissed the idea. Bryan was being overly dramatic thinking someone was trying to get her and Addie to leave Drake House. She was convinced it was just some local kid playing a prank, if indeed anything was going on. The last incident, which had happened several days before, had faded enough from her memory to seem almost as unreal as Addie’s whimsy.

“Mr. Rasmussen and I thought we would stop by and do a little bargain hunting.”

“Bargains,” Rasmussen echoed, steepling his hands in front of him like a preacher giving a blessing.

“Yes, well,” Rachel said with a smile that looked more pained than pleasant, “there are plenty to be had here today. I see you’ve found some things already.”

Porchind held a small stack of old books in his dimpled hands, the bindings pressed back into his enormous belly. “Indeed.” He gave a nervous little laugh. “Have you had a chance to speak with your mother?”

“No, I haven’t. No, not yet. I’m sorry.”

As if on cue, Addie, standing down on the lawn, shouted, “I’m not leaving this house! Get that through your thick head, Hennessy! I am not leaving this house!”

Rachel felt the color drain from her face as all eyes turned toward her mother. There had to be close to thirty people on the lawn, browsing at an assortment of sale items, and another ten on the wide porch. Addie stared back at them, a truculent gleam in her eyes. She pulled her party horn out of the pocket of her sweater and blew it at them.

Jayne Reilly saved the day, bravely stepping forward to comment on the attractiveness of Addie’s new hairstyle, thereby distracting her from Bryan, who had suddenly fallen out of favor.

“Well, there you have it,” Bryan said, shrugging as he mounted the steps to the porch. A particularly inane smile graced his handsome face as he regarded Porchind and Rasmussen. “Addie’s not moving. Looks like you’re out of luck, gentlemen. How about a consolation prize?”

He flipped off his magic hat, reached into it, and pulled out a bouquet of red carnations. The children paused in their work at the refreshment stand to applaud. Their cheers broke abruptly into laughter as Bryan offered the flowers to Porchind and a fountain of water suddenly sprayed up out of the silk blossoms, drenching the man.

“Gee, I’m sorry about that,” Bryan said, thoroughly unrepentant. He tossed the flowers aside. “I didn’t know they were loaded.”

Rachel glared at him as she grabbed a handful of napkins. “Bryan, must you be so helpful?”

“Helpful is my middle name,” he said pleasantly. He took the books from Porchind’s hands and handed them back to young Sam Harrison, who wrapped them in a towel to dry them while the fat man dabbed at his eyes and his dripping double chins with cocktail napkins. “Bryan Liam Helpful Hennessy. It’s on my confirmation certificate.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Porchind,” Rachel said sincerely, handing him more napkins. “I hope it didn’t ruin your suit.”

“Impossible,” Alaina muttered dryly.

“No, no, I’m fine, Miss Lindquist,” Porchind said, shooting Bryan a malevolent look. “We were just leaving.”

“Oh, well, here are your books.” Bryan took the stack wrapped in white terry cloth from Sam and handed it back to Porchind. “Keep the towel-our compliments.”

The two men nodded to Rachel, glared at Bryan, and stomped down the steps. Bryan watched them cross the yard toward an old brown Ford Galaxy that was parked among the dozens of cars on the lawn. Out of habit he memorized the license plate. He also noted with grim satisfaction that Rasmussen was limping slightly.

“That was really uncalled for,” Rachel said through her teeth when the rest of the crowd had dispersed.

“On the contrary.” Bryan regarded her with an earnest look. “It was most necessary.”

“Here are the books, Uncle Bryan,” Sam Harrison said, handing the little stack over.

“Well done, Sam. Worthy of the Baker Street Irregulars, I’d say.”

“Thanks, gov’nor,” Sam said, using the dialect of the London street urchins who had come to the aid of Sherlock Holmes on occasion.

The conspirators grinned at each other.

“Bryan!” Rachel gasped, appalled. “You stole those from Porchind!”

“Borrowed,” he corrected her.

“And made my son an accessory!” Alaina fixed him with a steely look, turning her body as if instinctively shielding her baby daughter from Bryan’s powers of corruption.

Bryan ignored them both, totally absorbed in examining his ill-gotten booty. He singled out one small book from the others and tapped a finger against the title handwritten inside the front cover. “ ‘The Journal of Arthur Drake III.’ ” He turned to Rachel and lifted an eyebrow. “Now, what do you suppose Porky and the Rat would want with this?”

“To read it, I imagine,” she said tightly.

“What’s going on out here?” Faith Callan asked, stepping out onto the porch with her son Nicholas perched on her hip. The toddler rested his dark head on his mother’s shoulder, and had his thumb firmly planted in his mouth. His eyelids were at half mast, indicating naptime was at hand.

“Just a little shell game,” Bryan said absently, stroking his godson’s head.

Alaina tugged Faith aside to give her the play-byplay, and Bryan turned to Faith’s husband as he came out onto the porch. Shane Callan was tall, aristocratically handsome with black hair and pale gray eyes, but most important to Bryan at the moment was the fact that Shane had spent sixteen years as a federal agent.

“Shane,” he said with a bright smile. “You’re just the man I wanted to see.”

“I’m glad Addie refused to let this thing go,” Bryan said as he and Rachel settled back against the chintz cushions of the old glider.

“Me too.”

They had moved the old swing around to the back of the house. It now stood near the fenced edge of the cliff with overgrown shrubbery on either side of it, creating a secret bower from which they could watch the sun sink into the ocean and the stars drop down into the twilight sky. A benevolent weather system had kept the fog bank from rolling in and made the evening lovely and warm. Waves washed against the shore below in a soothing rhythm. It was such a peaceful scene compared to the afternoon that Rachel took a long moment just to savor it.

Addie had gone to bed directly after supper, exhausted from the day’s events. Rachel felt the same kind of freedom as a mother whose toddler had drifted off extra early for a change. She and Bryan were going to have a few extra hours all to themselves. Bliss.

She had changed into a loose-fitting purple cotton sweater and a comfortable lavender skirt. Her hair was still up, but the chignon was very loose, and the evening breeze set all the fine tendrils around her face fluttering like ribbons. She curled her bare feet beneath her on the cushion and sipped at her glass of white wine.

Bryan sat beside her, the picture of relaxed masculinity in old jeans and a faded denim work shirt. His long legs were stretched before him and crossed at the ankles. His profile was to her as he gazed out at the ocean, and Rachel studied him as an artist studies a subject to be sketched. His was a strong, handsome face with its high forehead and solid jaw. His evening beard shadowed the lean planes of his cheeks. His eyes looked tired, but intelligent, contemplative as he stared out at the sea.

A wave of love swept over Rachel, echoing the surf that surged against the shore below them. It took her a little by surprise and it frightened her deep inside. Summer was slipping away from them.

Bryan turned to her slowly, his eyes mirroring the ache she felt. He lifted a hand to cup her cheek, and his thumb brushed away a teardrop she hadn’t been aware of.

“Summer’s not over yet,” he whispered, and bent to press a sweet kiss against her lips.

When he sat back, he took a deep breath, almost visibly shrugging off the mantle of melancholy that had fallen over them. He smiled gently and sang a line from an old Celtic folksong about a young man who had wandered into Edwards Town unknown, unloved, and unseen, there to meet a beautiful girl he called his County Leitoim queen.

Rachel smiled. He had a lovely voice. “Did you learn that in Ireland?” she asked, suddenly realizing how little she knew about him, about his background.

“No. My father likes to sing that one. It makes my mother furious because the girl in the song is blond and my mother’s hair is black. She claims Dad sings it to remind her of one of his old girlfriends. He’s allowed to sing it only when he’s in the garage making his fireworks.”

“He makes fireworks for a living?”

“No. That’s his hobby. He designs twelve-meter racing yachts for a living.”

“That’s… unusual.”

“We Hennessys are an unusual bunch,” he admitted with great pride.

Rachel chuckled. “So I gather. Tell me about them.”

Tell me about you, Bryan heard her ask, though she didn’t speak the words. That gentle, knowing smile curved his mouth again as he put his arm around her shoulders and she settled against him with her head tucked beneath his chin.

He told her about growing up in the Hennessy household with his three brothers and three sisters, about how they had all been encouraged to be themselves, to pursue whatever dreams caught their fancy. He told her about Catholic school and Sister Agnes, the Iron Nun. He told her about his travels and his work. He told her about Serena. He told her about the Fearsome Foursome and how they had all ended up in Anastasia.

“They’re wonderful friends,” Rachel murmured, “You’re very lucky.”

“They’re your friends now too,” he said, pushing one sneakered foot against the ground to set the glider into lazy motion. “That’s the wonderful thing about having friends-you get to share them.”

Rachel said nothing. She would have loved nothing better than to stay in Anastasia and have Bryan’s friends become her friends. But that wasn’t the way things were going to be.

“It’ll work out, Rachel,” Bryan promised. He lifted her chin and smiled down at her, his blue eyes twinkling like stars in the dusk. “All you need is a little faith in magic.”

Rachel shook her head sadly. “You can’t pull a happy ending out of that hat of yours, Bryan. Life doesn’t work that way.”

“We’ll see.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a kiss.

“Don’t be so practical,” he said against her lips as his big hands found their way under her sweater. “Love wasn’t meant to be practical. Love is magic.”

Rachel didn’t try to argue. Bryan seemed intent on showing her the truth of his statement, and she couldn’t bring herself to stop him. She didn’t want to stop him; she wanted to love him. She wanted to drink in his love and store it up inside her against the promise of a lonely future. She wanted to make love with him there in their secret bower with the ocean sighing below them and the last rays of twilight slipping into the sea.

“Show me,” she whispered, leaning back from him. Her fingers caught at the bottom of her sweater, and she slowly drew the garment over her head.

Desire tightened Bryan’s expression as he stared at her, his intense gaze lingering on her firm, small breasts and the nipples that hardened with the kiss of the cooling breeze. She was so young and lovely, like an innocent goddess as she sat there on the swing looking up at him with fathomless violet eyes.

With deft fingers he pulled the pins from her hair and the pale tress spilled around her like champagne in the soft light. She reached up to pull his glasses off and set them carefully aside, then her fingers fell to the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Bryan sat very still, almost as if he were afraid to move for fear of breaking the spell. He absorbed every nuance, every subtlety of feeling-Rachel’s sadness, her vulnerability, the love she kept locked in her heart because she was afraid of how badly it would hurt when the end came.

But there wasn’t going to be an end. He swore that to himself with a fierceness he hadn’t known in years. There wasn’t going to be an end to this. He loved Rachel Lindquist, and he was damn well going to have her for the rest of his life. He’d been forced to give up the woman he loved once. It wasn’t going to happen again, not if he had any power over the matter.

“I love you, Rachel,” he whispered, his voice low and rough as he pulled her into his arms.

Her mouth opened beneath his as she melted against him. Her breasts were cool and soft against the searing heat of his chest. Her back arched as his hands roamed the gentle slopes and ridges. Her tongue met his in urgent play as each tried to telegraph feelings to the other.

Bryan eased her down on the cushions of the glider. His mouth trailed little sipping kisses down the column of her throat to her left breast, where he drank his fill of her, rolling the tight bud of her nipple in his mouth, sucking at it and teasing it with his teeth. He wrapped his fingers in the hem of her skirt and dragged the garment up between them, baring her silky legs to his touch. She moved restlessly beneath him as he tugged down her panties just enough so he could tease her.

“Oh, Bryan, please,” she whispered brokenly, desperation consuming her whole.

“Please, what?” he taunted, nibbling at the corner of her mouth. His fingers slid into the dark silk at the apex of her thighs again and again, only to withdraw without touching the burning core of her desire.

Driven by a deep need and an even deeper fear, he wanted her as wild for his love as he was for hers. He wanted to possess her completely, body and soul, with nothing held back, not feelings, not words.

“Show me,” he whispered darkly.

Fire leapt in his veins as her small hand guided his, showing him exactly how she wanted to be touched. He complied willingly, growling his satisfaction as Rachel squeezed her eyes shut and arched up into his caress. He stroked her to the brink of completion, then pulled away.

Rachel braced herself up on her elbows and stared at him, her swollen breasts rising and falling with her hard, shallow breaths. Bryan kneeled on the cushions of the glider with one knee planted between her bare thighs, the other foot braced against the ground. She’d never seen him look more purely male. His bare chest gleamed in the fading light with the sweat of passion restrained. The button of his jeans was undone, and his manhood strained against the blue fabric.

Sitting up, she reached out with trembling hands to lower his zipper. She leaned forward, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against his quivering belly as she freed him. Her hands closed around his hard, hot shaft, caressing him reverently. She wanted him with a need that went beyond desire. She needed him in a way that went straight to the heart of her, to the essence of what made her human. At that moment she would rather have died than deny herself the chance to join with this man in this elemental, mystical act.

Driven by his own desperation, Bryan forced her back down on the glider, his body arching over hers like a bow. He paused at the threshold, the tip of him nudging insistently against her sweet warmth. Bracing himself on his arms, he stared down at her. He had thought it would be enough to know that she loved him. He had thought he could go without hearing the words, but he couldn’t. He needed to hear them now.

“Tell me you love me, Rachel,” he whispered hoarsely.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark, stark with sorrow and pleading. She was frightened and he knew it, but he was more frightened.

“Say it,” he demanded, his whole body trembling with the tension of holding back.

“Bryan, don’t-”

He tangled his fist in her hair and arched her head back as he lowered his mouth toward hers. He halted, inches from kissing her. “Say it. Please, Rachel.”

Rachel looked up at him, her heart aching. Lord, how she loved him! It wasn’t just her own heart she was trying to protect, it was his as well. She didn’t want to hurt him. But as she looked up into the tortured expression in his eyes, she knew she was hurting him. Her silence was tearing him apart. He was a good man. He was a dreamer, and there was no room in her future for a dreamer. But there would always be a place in her heart for Bryan and his magic.

Tears welled up in her eyes and slid in a stream down her temples.

“I love you,” she whispered, her lips trembling as she leaned up to kiss him. “I love you.”

Bryan clutched her to him, a storm of emotion sweeping through him as he eased his body into hers. He made love to her with everything he was feeling-passion, tenderness, anger, and pain. He held her and kissed her. When the end came, he told her again what was in his heart. And she clung to him and cried.

“Hush, sweetheart, don’t cry,” he whispered, holding her close, pressing kisses into her tear-damp hair. He inched over onto his side and cuddled Rachel against him. “It’ll all work out. You’ll see.”

Rachel smiled sadly against his solid chest. Don’t fall in love with a dreamer, the song went. But she had. She couldn’t regret it. She wouldn’t have traded what she and Bryan had just shared for anything. She only regretted that the world didn’t work the way people like Bryan wanted it to.

“I’m all right,” she said, dredging up a smile for him. Tenderly, she brushed his hair out of his eyes. “You need a haircut.”

“Do I?” he mumbled, marveling at her strength.

She looked so soft and fragile, but under all that exquisite loveliness was a core of steel that would get her through whatever she had to face. It killed him to think of that hardness taking over her life, obliterating the young woman as she sacrificed her happiness and her dreams on the altar of responsibility. If only he could make her see that she didn’t have to give up life’s magic, that loneliness didn’t have to be a part of her penance for past sins committed against Addie. If only he could make her see that his love for her wasn’t going to fade away like a rainbow in the mist.

“I love a maiden fair with sunlight in her hair. Her name is Rachel,” he sang softly, toying with the tendrils of spun gold that curled around her face. “My love for her is true. Whatever shall I do? She-aargh!”

The glider gave a sudden lurch backward. Instinctively, Bryan’s arms tightened around Rachel, pulling her off the thing with him as he fell with a thud to the ground. She gave a squeal of surprise and landed on him, forcing the breath out of him.

“I’ve heard of the earth moving, but this is ridiculous,” he said, coughing and squinting against the pain as he tried to suck air into his lungs.

“Are you all right?” Rachel asked. She sat up and tugged her sweater on over her head.

“Nothing wounded but my pride.”

Bryan’s attention was riveted on a spot behind the bench. He fumbled for his glasses and pulled them on, squinting into the darkness as his sixth sense hummed inside him.

Rachel’s suddenly startled gaze followed his. “Did you see someone?”

“No,” Bryan said evenly. It was what he hadn’t seen that was important, but he knew Rachel wouldn’t want to hear about it.

He stood up, straightening his clothes, then offered Rachel a hand. “I guess that was just a sign that it’s time for us to go back to the house.”

Rachel scooped up their wineglasses and they walked back across the yard arm in arm. Rounding the corner of the house, they stopped in their tracks at the sight that greeted them.

There was a woman sitting on a stack of suitcases on the front porch. She was a thin, birdlike creature with a wild nest of gray hair on her head. The tip of her cigarette glowed red in the dim light of the porch.

“Bryan!” She shouted his name and popped up off her perch like a jack-in-the-box. “There you are! I must have rang the bell a hundred times! A hundred times!”

“It’s broken,” Bryan mumbled, momentarily stunned. He mounted the stairs in a daze.

“My stars, it’s good to see you, sweetheart!” The woman had a voice like sandpaper, and her cigarette bobbed up and down on her lip as she spoke. She threw her arms around Bryan in an exuberant hug which he started to return, but he quickly jumped back as she burned a hole through his shirt.

He plucked the smoldering fabric away from his skin, pain putting a brittle edge to his grin. “Aunt Roberta! It’s so good to see you!” he said with genuine affection, but his brows pulled together in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

Roberta cackled like a crazed chicken and waved a hand at him. “Making the rounds of my nieces and nephews. I wrote you, sweetheart. I know I wrote you.”

“You did?” Bryan searched his brain for any memory of such a letter but came up blank.

Roberta’s glassy green eyes took on the same kind of absent look as she shrugged her thin shoulders. “I meant to.”

Rachel cleared her throat discreetly, drawing both their attention. Bryan looked at her as if he had never seen her before, then jumped to introduce her.

“Rachel, this is my aunt, Roberta Palmer. Aunt Roberta, this is Rachel Lindquist.”

Roberta’s eyes seemed to bore right into Rachel. “My gosh, Bryan, she’s a doll! A doll!” She grasped Rachel’s hand in a death grip. “You’re just a doll, Raquel!”

“Rachel,” Rachel mumbled, completely thrown off by this strange woman who appeared to be drowning in a Notre Dame sweatshirt five sizes too big for her. “Thank you.”

“My gosh,” Roberta whispered, shaking her head at some secret amazement.

They all stood staring at one another for a long moment. Finally Rachel roused the manners her mother had drilled into her. “Why don’t we all go inside? I’ll make us a pot of coffee. Decaf,” she added, thinking Bryan’s aunt didn’t need to get any more wired than she already was.

They trooped into the hall, and Bryan dropped his aunt’s luggage down on the marble floor at the foot of the grand staircase. The stuff weighed a ton and a half.

“How long will you be staying, Aunt Roberta?” he asked.

Roberta shrugged, her face alight with excitement as she set off after Rachel. “A month or so.”

With a wry smile Bryan dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a handful of notes. He sorted through them until he found the one he wanted, then he located his pencil and amended the missive.

Beware of aunts.