More Than Magic (5 page)

“What breed’s this fellow?” he asked as he stooped to greet the dog.

“Plott hound.”

“Plott hound?”

“The state dog of North Carolina. Bred to hunt bear and wild boar,” she replied. “Which still wander by now and again.”

“Bear and wild boar, huh boy?”

Pooka grinned as only Pooka could and nearly wagged off his tail as Mr. City Man ruffled first the fur on his shoulder and then his back.

Mr. City Man’s smile was bright and genuine. And there was at least one dimple too, hidden in a slight shadow of stubble. Coal black hair, now that she saw him a bit closer.

“And what do they call you, boy?”

It was a nice voice, Midwestern, or perhaps further north than that. Cultured and metropolitan, for all that he was trying not to sound citified. But a nice voice nonetheless. Pooka liked him too, butting his head against the man’s hand for more stroking.

“Oh, he gets called all kinds of names, some of them not repeatable in decent company, but he goes by Pooka most of the time,” she said. “Although some of our youngest guests insist on calling him Poo.”

There was a stifled snort of a laugh and she realized she was failing miserably at scaring him off.

“Can’t say I know him well enough to lay that on him. And since he hasn’t sniffed me properly yet, he doesn’t know me well enough either. We have to do all the rituals, don’t we boy?”

Grace watched with admiration as he earned Pooka’s total adoration with a quick rake of fingers down his back and a thorough butt scratch, allowing the dog to sniff his trouser leg and the arm of his jacket. Pooka knew better than to sniff anywhere else.

“You’re better trained and more polite than most city dogs. But then, I understand completely, seeing who likely trained you.” The last was a husky whisper right in Pooka’s ear, but Grace felt it tingle in her own.

His eyes slid up to hers. Soft gray, like unpolished pewter. She stepped back as he stood, extending his hand.

“Nick. Nick Crowe.”

“Y-yes. Nice to meet you Mr. Crowe.” She held out her hand.

He grasped the leather-covered hand firmly in his own. “Please, call me Nick.” His smile quirked sideways and that dimple appeared once more. “Unless there’s some ritual involved before we can use our given names?”

She pulled her hand away, nearly losing the glove when she did.

“Quite a hunk”
, Trish had said. Quite a hunk indeed.

“I’m Grace. Grace Woodruff.”

“Woodruff. So you’re—”

“The owner. Yes. As Ms. Moore probably told you, we’re on a skeleton staff right now.”
A skeleton consisting of one bone. Oh yes, and Jamie, and Pooka. Two bones then.

“Trish explained all that. I’m afraid I twisted her arm a bit to get up here, but— Well, this place is perfect for my purposes. Did she tell you I was writing a book?”

“Yes she did.”
And I bet you charmed the socks right off of our Trish, Mr. City Man.
Grace pressed her lips together, trying not to smile. “She also said you had recently been ill. I hope you’re feeling better.” There, that was circumspect.

“Yeah. Well, it’s kind of obvious, I guess.” He gestured to himself apologetically. “I picked up this nasty parasite in Colombia while I was down there working on the book. It took a lot out of me, but we beat it down. I figured staying up here a while could only do me some good and the docs agreed.”

Parasite. Columbia. What the hell kind of book are you writing Mr. City Man?
“A parasite. How interesting. Do you happen—”

He grinned, waving his hand. “Trish warned me you might give me the third degree, but to be honest, I have no idea. Can’t pronounce it. Don’t want to. I’m just glad to be rid of the thing.” The gray eyes seemed to dance a bit. “But if you want to try some of your famous herbal medicine on me, I’d be glad for any help putting on some pounds.”

Grace assessed the man before her. He did look like someone debilitated by an exotic fever of some kind—nearly burned out and left a husk. There was evidence the man took good care of his body, or had before something nearly killed him. His eyes seemed clear though.

“So, any remedies to recommend?” His voice was teasing and Grace realized she had been staring a little too long.

“I hesitate to recommend anything without the details,” she said, looking away. She gestured to Pooka who trotted obediently to her side. “But your doctors were right. Simple food, good clean air and water, mild exercise, and sound sleep should speed things along. If you remember the name of the parasite and any details of your treatment, I’d be glad to make some suggestions.”

“Well, since I’m doing a good job of forgetting the whole experience, I may have to stick with the simple food, clean water and sound sleep approach.” Nick looked around at the trees. “But I should’ve brought a white noise machine, I think.”

She frowned. “For what? We don’t have any loud machinery here. And there are certainly no traffic noises.” She waved toward the house. “Our chickens are quite a ways downslope beyond the solar array and the greenhouses, and the rooster—”

“Whoa!” He laughed. “That’s what I’m talking about
.
It’s too quiet here.”

Cocking her head, she listened.
Oh.

It was the deep quiet of the woods readying itself for the darkest days of winter. The peepers and bull frogs and assorted musicians of the forest symphony were all tucked away in their beds for their icy winter hiatus.

A deep breath of moist air, redolent with the pungent smell of decaying leaves, reminded her again that she had missed her favorite season entirely.

“Yes. Well—” she cleared her throat, “you
will
hear some rather loud noises out there. Falling trees and branches are the loudest, but there are owls, foraging deer—” She recalled her objective almost too late. “Coyotes, bears—”

“Wild boar?” he asked solemnly, but she could swear a smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Perhaps,” she responded. “There’s even a big cat—a mountain lion—up there somewhere, but you don’t
want
to get close enough to hear him. Sometimes you’ll hear the real predators hunting over in that direction.” She pointed east toward the Taggart place. “With their guns.”

His face and demeanor changed ever so slightly as he glanced east, like Pooka catching a scent. No, it must’ve been the light, because when he looked back he was just another tired traveler waiting for her to finish her spiel so he could trudge up to bed. And he certainly didn’t look ready to hightail it back down the road.

“It’s the second to last cabin on the path. ‘Jewelweed’ is on the sign. I thought you might appreciate the quiet back there.” She fished in her jacket pocket for the key and held it out to him. “There should be firewood in the box and plenty stacked out back. There are complete instructions for the fireplace, the thermostat, the internet connection—”

“Yes, I was surprised when Trish mentioned that. Can’t be wireless up here—”

She smiled. “Actually, yes it is. We have a cellular extender and repeater set up—using fiber optics. There’s a list of the services available or you can use our network.”

His mouth dropped open at that. “Your own— That’s pretty new technology.”

“You’ll find we have a lot of that around here. We pride ourselves on being at the forefront of green technology.” Pops had been well ahead of his time, pioneering some of the types of energy efficient innovations that were now all the rage and only using materials harvested from his own land whenever possible.

“So, where’s the— I assume you have some kind of tower?”

She nodded toward the north. “Camouflaged as a tree. Up on one of the highest spots around here—Star Catcher Rock.”

He tilted his head back and looked up. “I can see why it would be named that.”

Grace followed his gaze to the sweep of stars above them. They were putting on a show for him tonight. “Yes, well, that’s why our lighting in most areas is motion sensitive—to keep light pollution to a minimum. As for noise pollution, we do have satellite TV and radio if you’re interested.” She heard a stifled snort from his direction, but forged on. “There’s a channel guide and remote on top of the set, along with instructions for everything and a list showing the locations of all the utensils and staples we provide in the kitchen. We prefer that you only use organic cleaning products, if you need to clean up something. But I’m sure Trish filled you in on that.”

Nick nodded.

“If you run out of any of the basics, sugar, salt, whatever, we have extra supplies, fresh linens, extra blankets. Just call the house and leave a message.” She closed her eyes and mentally reviewed the list. “I think that’s it. To be honest, I haven’t done this in a while. No, wait. We have fresh eggs every morning. We usually put the extra in a basket with our breakfast buffet, but I’ll leave them beside the front door for you. Feel free to come down and get as many as you like. When we have anything fresh to eat from our greenhouses it’ll be there too. I’m sorry, but our cook’s on vacation at the moment—”

“That’s fine with me. I signed up for the rugged survivor package. No food, no frills.”

Survivor I’ll concede. But you look more tired than rugged.
“Well, I’m sorry you missed Ouida’s cooking. She’s a marvel.” Grace picked up the basket. “I was on my way up to make your bed and light a fire for you. Can I help you carry anything?”

He grinned. “Don’t bother with that, I can manage,” he said, taking the basket easily out of her hand. “I don’t have much, and Trish told me I was a bit of an unexpected guest, so I think making my own bed’s part of the deal.” He extended his other hand to her once more. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Woodruff. I’m looking forward to the peace and quiet around here.”

His hand closed firmly around her fingers again. Even through the glove, she felt the warmth of his touch.

“It’s Grace. Just call me Grace.” Slipping out of his grip, she motioned to Pooka. “I do hope you sleep well.” She headed for the path to the house.

“Thanks for the warm welcome,” he called after her. “You too, Pooka.”

At the sound of his name, Pooka trotted back to sniff Nick’s hand and get a quick shoulder rub in return.

Of course Mr. City Man had captivated the dog. No doubt she would find all manner of woodland creatures lumbering in tomorrow morning to eat out of his hand like some clichéd children’s movie, or worse. No, more likely Mr. City Man would venture off into the woods and get lost amongst the woodland creatures, including one big cat.

“Oh! One other thing.” She turned back. “There’s a map on the cabin wall showing the marked trails on and off the mountain, and another folded one you can carry with you tucked into that basket. They have GPS waypoints clearly marked and we have GPS units you can borrow if you don’t have your own.”

His smile seemed to slip a bit. Likely he just wanted her to stop talking so he could go up and get some rest.

“Of course, like everything else, the satellites can be affected by the terrain and— Well, I wouldn’t try anything intermediate or expert until you know your limits. We border on the Pisgah National Forest to the north and west and you don’t want to get lost over in there.”

“And here I was thinking I’d to go up and catch some stars,” he said casually.

She opened her mouth to inform him in no uncertain terms that the hike up to Star Catcher Rock was
not
a good idea at night, but found him looking at her with that damned grin on his face and his hands held up, basket and all.

“Map. GPS. Got it. No gallivanting around for me tonight. I appreciate the advice.”

“No trouble. Come, Pooka.” But, as she walked away, Grace had the strange certainty that Mr. City Man was going to be nothing
but
trouble.

Nick let out an admiring breath.

“Talk about trouble,” he murmured. “There it goes.”

A tall redhead. The pictures didn’t do her justice, or show the actual color of that hair. If Nick had a weak spot, it would involve red hair. A lot of women tried to get that color out of a bottle, but hers was all natural. And pretty long, from the way she had it clamped down and sticking out in all directions.

And she smelled damn good too. That totally innocent comment about coming to the cabin with him to make his bed and light a fire had nearly done him in. He shook his head and carried the basket to the back of his SUV. The only steamy thoughts he had time for right now involved strong coffee and a blazing wood fire, in that order, because based on what he had just heard he needed to do a lot more research and review the case materials again before he made his next report.

Pulling out his computer case and duffel bag, he thought about how very little he really had to put in that report. So far this case was built on a lot of coincidences and pure instinct—smoke and mirrors. Appropriate for a case about something called “Magic”, but he doubted it would go very far with his boss.

Gazing back in the direction that his redheaded hostess had gone, he thought ruefully that there was a lot more to Grace Woodruff than red hair and legs up to…wherever. There was steel under that porcelain, and a scientist’s intellect under all that Southern charm. But there was something else. She had been nervous, almost jumpy, around him.