Into the Woods (4 page)

She hesitated before lifting the note from the book. Granny's special gift, or so she'd said, was the knowing of things to come. Matilda had humored her beloved grandmother, but she'd never really believed. And why should she? Granny had said revealing her visions did no good; whatever was to be was to be, so why distress oneself and everyone else with the sharing of the knowledge? Matilda had always smiled and agreed, but dismissed her granny's claims as a sweet but strange old woman's eccentricities.

Granny had been dead two years. How long had this note been here, waiting?

Matilda plucked the sheet between two reluctant fingers and let it fall open.

Be careful, the familiar handwriting said. It is dangerous to trifle with the ways of the heart.

Matilda fiddled with the note, quickly dismissing the flutter of uneasiness in her chest. The warning might have been placed there at any time since she'd come to live with her grandmother, just in case she should ever run across these old potions. That explanation made perfect sense. Still, a strange tingle worked its way through her body.

She herself had no special gift, no hint of the alleged blessings or curses of the women in Granny's branch of the family tree—a lack Granny had explained in many different ways. Matilda's father had been the first boy child born in many generations. Perhaps that had weakened his daughter's gifts. Too, Matilda had been fourteen when she'd come to live with her grandmother, and Granny had supposed the fact that she'd lived so many years without knowledge of her heritage had also suppressed her gift.

But Granny had always said that one day Matilda's power would manifest itself; when the time was right, when Matilda was ready. Granny claimed to have the power of knowing what was to come. Her mother, she'd said, had possessed a great healing touch, and her grandmother had been able to make objects move simply by concentrating and calling on her gift. There was even an ancestor, Granny said, who had been able to make it snow in the middle of summer.

The healing touch might be nice to have, Matilda thought skeptically, but she saw no practical use for the other so-called gifts.

She replaced the note where she had found it and slammed the old book shut.

* * *

It looked to be another clear, blue-skied summer day. Declan never took the time to slow down and enjoy such observations, but he did make them on occasion, in an off-hand sort of way.

Less than a day had passed, but already he was anxious to know if the witch had found a formula suitable for his particular situation. He was not a patient man, and when something or someone stood in the way of his well-laid plans he was not particularly agreeable.

He needed to marry Vanessa Arrington for a multitude of reasons. First of all, she was the belle of Tanglewood, of this entire county, and perhaps even of the state of Mississippi. She was, by far, the most beautiful woman in these parts. And she was a real and true lady, genteel and refined. If he were to become the man he wanted to become and accomplish all his goals, he needed a lady as his wife. It didn't hurt matters any that Vanessa was an only child and her father's plantation bordered Declan's own newly purchased land.

It was only icing on the cake that her father had been one of the worst of the upstanding citizens who'd made Declan's life hell, years ago. He'd openly disdained the ragged son of a drunken farmer and his Irish wife. He'd sneered and turned up his nose, and called Declan and his sisters poor white trash—both behind their backs and to their faces.

Fortunately for Declan, Warren Arrington had always referred to him as that Harper boy, and he hadn't yet recognized the wealthy man who'd come to town and started buying up everything he could get his hands on. If Declan were lucky, Arrington wouldn't make the connection until after the wedding. Declan wanted to share the news with the old man himself, after he was a part of the family. Perhaps after the old man asked Declan to call him Dad. That thought brought a wry smile to his face.

Grand plans, considering that he had not actually met Vanessa Arrington yet.

Declan's mother had not wanted him to return to Tanglewood, had in fact begged him not to. She insisted on regular letters from him, and he did his best to comply. Now, short note to her dutifully posted, he stopped to peer into the one saloon in Tanglewood. What a dump. No self-respecting man would go into that place even if he were dying of thirst. The ratty establishment would be one of his next purchases, and, once it was his, major changes would be made. The place needed to be gutted or completely rebuilt. New floors, new walls, a long walnut bar, and new tables, to start. Barmaids in pretty dresses and a bartender who knew what he was doing would be nice. Maybe a few tables for gaming in the back. He began to work an almost unconscious equation in his head, calculating the cost of the remodeling and the increased business that would follow.

A small smile crept across his face. This was what he was good at, how he'd made his money.

After leaving Tanglewood, all those years ago, his mother had found employment in Texas as a housekeeper, and after a few years there she'd moved on to the same type of job in Colorado, working for a man who'd made a fortune mining. While men desperate for money had busted their asses digging for gold and silver, Declan had settled in town. He'd worked at the general store for a while, and then one night he'd won a ratty old saloon in a poker game. It was the luckiest night of his life.

He'd turned a dump much like this one in Tanglewood into a fine establishment, and people had come. They'd bought whiskey and lost money at the gaming tables. Hell, in his saloon he'd touched more gold than if he'd struck a vein himself. But once the place was up and running, he'd quickly gotten bored. The general store was next. He bought it from his old employer and made vast improvements. Within months he was raking in money from that enterprise as well. And he'd been bored again.

In the following five years he'd opened saloons and general stores in several other mining towns. He'd gotten the businesses running smoothly, hired the best men he could find to run them, then he'd moved on to something else. He'd arranged fine marriages for his sisters, and had set up his mother in a nice house.

And now that that was all done, he had only one other objective: He wanted to own Tanglewood, Mississippi, and everyone who had the misfortune to live here. He didn't just want to own Tanglewood, he needed it. Craved it. Dreamed about it. His life would not be complete until this mission was accomplished.

The wheels of a slow-moving conveyance caught his attention, and he turned about to watch the distinctive Arrington carriage coming his way. It stopped in front of the dress shop, and the driver jumped down and opened the door.

Watching Vanessa step from the carriage and onto the street was like watching poetry come alive. Graceful and elegant, she all but floated from the carriage. He caught sight of a delicate foot encased in a lavender slipper, then her lavender silk skirt, then slender gloved fingers that took the steady hand offered by the driver. Before he could get a good look at her exquisite face, she opened the parasol that matched her gown, protecting her delicate skin from the summer sun.

She was the perfect woman; she'd make the perfect wife. Unfortunately, she very much enjoyed being the most sought-after woman in the county. Practically every man for a hundred miles either was courting or had courted her. And though he wanted her, Declan was not one to stand in line, not for anything or anyone. Still, until she tired of stringing along suitor after suitor, he didn't have a chance of marrying her.

Unless the witch's granddaughter came through.

As Vanessa stepped toward the dress shop, she turned her head in his direction, and Declan caught a glimpse of her perfect face. Even from this distance he could see that her eyes were an extraordinary shade of violet-blue. Her hair was dark and fine as silk. Her skin was like the finest cream.

As her driver, a finely dressed man with a head of black curls, opened the dressmaker's door, she smiled at Declan. It was a small, almost invisible smile, but it encouraged him all the same.

When the door to the dress shop had closed behind her, Declan headed across the street to the general store. The cigars he'd looked at yesterday were not the quality he would've liked, but he needed a smoke. He forgot about them as soon as he stepped through the open door of the general store, for Matilda Candy stood at the counter. With her hair still in long braids, and attired in a plain brown dress that was a couple of inches too short, and wearing worn leather boots that laced up her ankles, she was still somehow charming. She laughed at something Charles Fox said in a lowered voice, and handed the shopkeeper a small jar he quickly scooped up and deposited under the counter.

She placed a large wicker basket on the counter, and Fox rifled gently through the contents. Several loaves of bread were visible on the top of the basket, but the contents beneath were hidden. They seemed to delight Fox, though.

"Oh, those wonderful caramels," Fox said. "And sugared pecans. And candied lemon peels." He shook his head. "You're a marvel, Miss Matilda."

Declan remained silent and still, but as he stood there watching, the young woman turned her head to look directly at him. She did not smile or say a single word, but Fox must have noticed something, for he lifted his eyes from the goodies in the basket.

"Mr. Harper," he said enthusiastically, a fitting greeting for a good customer. "What can I get for you today?"

"Cigars," Declan said, entering the store and walking toward its lackluster tobacco section.

"You must try some of Miss Matilda's sweets," Fox said as Declan grabbed a handful of cigars.

"Sweets?" Declan asked as he approached the counter.

Fox nodded. "Mr. Harper, this is Miss Matilda Candy. Every Friday morning she brings me sweets and breads to sell. You must try her caramels."

The woman remained silent, waiting for him to respond. It would be a bad idea, he imagined, to let on that he already knew her. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Candy," he said with a small, curt nod.

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Harper."

Was he the only one who heard the humor in her voice? The air practically dripped with it.

Fox handed over several coins and an empty basket he'd had stored beneath the counter, and with a smile the woman left the other basket and bid them both goodbye.

As she reached the door, something unexpected overcame Declan. A compulsion, a yearning, a need to make this moment last. "Miss Candy," he said calmly, "do you, perhaps, make hard molasses candy?"

She turned. With the sun behind her he couldn't see her face. Just as well. She was probably grinning, flashing that knowing, witchy smile his way. "Not normally, Mr. Harper, but I believe my grandmother had that recipe. Perhaps I can find it and try my hand at something new."

Declan left his cigars on the counter and stepped toward her. "It was a childhood favorite of mine. I'd like to purchase some from you, if you find the recipe and have success with it."

She turned away from him. "I must start for home, Mr. Harper, since I have a long way to go and much work to do today. But if you'd like to walk with me for a few minutes we can make arrangements for your order."

"Splendid," he said, feeling strangely light-headed as he joined her in the doorway. "Splendid."

Chapter 3

Matilda was accustomed to people pretending not to know her, pretending that they didn't come to her for cures under darkness of night, so she shouldn't be upset. But she was. Why had she expected more of Declan Harper? Why were her feelings just a teeny bit hurt because back in Fox's General Store he'd acted as if he'd never seen her before? She did not quicken her step to accommodate his longer stride, but stubbornly walked slower than usual.

He lowered his head slightly as they walked down the street. "Have you had any luck?"

"Finding the formula for your love potion?" she asked, not bothering to lower her voice. "No, not yet."

Again he looked almost the gentleman, in his fine gray suit. He did try, she had to give him that, to appear civilized and ordinary, but he couldn't quite pull it off. There was a restlessness about him, an intensity in his eyes and the set of his jaw that placed him apart from the gentility. He rolled one shoulder nervously as he glanced around to see if anyone was listening. There was no one close enough to hear their words, of course.

"It hasn't even been a full day since you came to me with your request. Patience, Mr. Harper."

He muttered something unintelligible.

"I do wonder if Vanessa Arrington will be susceptible to something so common as a love potion," she said casually, glancing out of the corner of her eye to gauge Harper's reaction.

He stared sharply at her. "How do you know she's the one?"

She really shouldn't tell him. She should keep her mouth shut and let him believe that she had unearthly powers. With a sigh, she told the truth, instead. "When I walked into town you were staring into the saloon as if you were very, very thirsty, and then when Miss Arrington appeared, you forgot all about your craving for a drink and stood there all moony eyed with your tongue hanging out and drool running down your chin."