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  Gavin had just started a fire in the stone fireplace when he heard her coming back down the stairs and inwardly cursed Brigid—not for the first time—for getting him involved with her house. And as if broken windows and juvenile vandals weren't enough, he now had her ill-tempered granddaughter to deal with.

  "I thought you might have left already," she said pointedly.

  There was no way he was going to leave her alone in this house, without power or a telephone, with those potential juvenile delinquents running loose, but Gavin decided to save the argument until he learned her plans.

  "Actually, I was waiting around to hear the verdict. So what is it? Are you going to stay?"

  "Not that it's any of your business. But no. I'm not."

  He nodded. "I figured that would be your decision."

  "Now you're a mind reader?"

  "No. But I am pretty good at reading people. It only makes sense that if you had any deep feeling for the place, you would have come home before now."

  While your grandmother was still alive. He didn't say the words out loud, but Tara heard them, just the same.

  "Since you don't know anything about me, it's a bit presumptuous of you to pretend to understand my reasons for staying away."

  "Ah, but there's where you're wrong." A log shifted, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. He took a black iron poker and began rearranging the wood. "As it turns out, I know a great deal about you."

  "From my grandmother." It was not a question.

  "She talked a lot about you," he agreed as he worked on getting the burning logs where he wanted them. "I figured a lot of the business and school stuff was typical grandmother bragging. But I was referring to more personal things."

  "Such as?"

  He replaced the poker and turned toward her once again, enjoying the way her lips had formed into a sexy pout. "Such as the fact that part of the reason for your career success is that you threw yourself into your work after being stood up at the altar by that hotshot Montgomery Street lawyer."

  Ignoring her sudden sharp intake of breath, he crossed the room, picked up a bottle of brandy he'd brought with him and poured the amber liquor into two Irish crystal balloon glasses.

  "She had no right to tell you about that."

  "Brigid worried about you. She thought you needed a man in your life." He held one of the glasses out to her.

  Tara took a sip of the brandy in an attempt to soothe her ragged nerves. Although it was smooth as velvet, and warmed her all the way to her toes, it did nothing to instill calm. Deciding the only way to tackle a man like Gavin Thomas was head-on, she tossed up her chin, determined to put a stop to this right now. Before it got out of hand.

  "For your information, Mr. Thomas—"

  "It's Gavin," he corrected.

  "For your information," she began again, "I have men in my life. Lots of men. More than I can keep track of."

  "Tara, Tara." Gavin clucked as he shook his dark head with feigned disappointment. "What would your grandmother say if she could hear you telling such bald-faced lies?"

  "I'm not—"

  "Of course you are," he smoothly overrode her protest yet again. "Look at you." He eyed her over the rim of his glass. "You're a lovely woman, but you insist on hiding any feminine attributes beneath that oversize shirt and baggy jeans."

  She wished they'd never gotten on to the unpalatable subject of her love life. Or lack of it. She also wished he'd button his own damn shirt. His chest, gleaming copper in the flickering firelight, was unreasonably distracting.

  "Excuse me." Frost tinged her voice, her eyes. "Perhaps I should go upstairs and change into my red lace teddy and hooker high heels."

  Oddly enough, although she was practically spitting ice chips at him, Gavin was enjoying himself. "As appealing as that might be, it would also be a bit intimate. Since we've just met. But you could loosen up just a little."

  He tossed back the brandy, then closed the gap between them. "Unbutton a couple of buttons so the collar isn't choking you to death." Without asking permission, he did exactly that. When his fingers brushed the skin framed by the now-open neck of her white blouse, Tara stiffened. "And next time tell the cleaners to go easier on the starch." He frowned at the stiff pleated front. "A bulletproof vest would probably be softer than this."

  Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. "My choice of clothing is none of your business."

  "I suppose that's true. In theory." Gavin rubbed his chin. "But it offends my artistic sensibilities to see a woman working overtime to hide her beauty."

  Before she could respond to that outrageous statement, a sudden crash shattered the silence, followed by the sound of breaking glass.

  4

  Tara screamed as the glass from the leaded front window came flying into the room.

  Gavin shouted a raw, pungent curse and tore out of the room. She heard the front door open, heard his footfalls as he ran across the front porch. Her first coherent thought was that her grandmother was playing a trick from the world beyond. But blowing in windows wasn't Brigid's style.

  She'd be more likely to call down the moon than try to terrify her granddaughter into a man's arms. Then Tara spotted the rock lying on the flowered carpet, a rock she knew that had landed there not by magic, but by very mortal means.

  Suddenly concerned that Gavin was putting himself in danger just to impress her, she took off after him and arrived at the front door just as he was dragging two obviously terrified boys up the porch steps by their shirt collars.

  "My cellular phone is on the table in the kitchen," he told her. "Call 9-1-1 and have the sheriff come out and pick these two up for vandalism."

  "It wasn't vandalism," the larger of the boys insisted. "Not exactly."

  Gavin shook him. "Look, kid. You purposefully broke a window, just for the hell of it. What would you call it?"

  "A dare," the other boy insisted in a voice that sounded perilously close to tears. "Eddie Rollins double dog dared us to break the window. Said we didn't have the nerve."

  "Since when does it take any nerve to throw a rock through the window of an abandoned house?" Gavin demanded.

  "It takes a lot of guts," the other boy insisted. "'Cause everybody knows the Delaney place is haunted."

  "You sure about that?"

  "The old lady was a witch," the boy answered. "Makes sense it'd be haunted."

  "Haunted or not, it doesn't give you the right to go destroying property that isn't yours." He tossed them onto the porch swing. "Don't move." Then he looked up at Tara. "I thought you were going to call the sheriff."

  "Do you really think that's necessary?" she asked, glancing at the two boys who were trying to look rebellious, although it was obvious that they were scared to death of this furious, glowering man.

  "Dammit, lady, in case it escaped your attention, there's glass all over your grandmother's parlor floor. If you'd been another foot closer to that window, you could have some of those shards embedded in your face."

  "I certainly wouldn't have enjoyed that." She folded her arms and studied the two young vandals again. "But I'm not certain that it's necessary to involve the sheriff."

  "They've been pulling stunts like this for the past six months. It's gotten damn expensive replacing the windows and I think it's time they acted more responsibly."

  "I'm all for responsibility." She paused. Her eyes slanted, she rocked back on her heels and chewed thoughtfully on a thumbnail. "But I believe that, along with having them pay for the damage, we can take care of this little problem ourselves, Gavin."

  A ghost of a smile played at the corners of her lips. "Did I mention that I inherited many of my grandmother's powers?"

  As angry as he was, Gavin couldn't help smiling as he followed her train of thought. "Actually, I don't believe that came up."

  "Well, although they've definitely proven to be a mixed blessing, I did. Which I suppose, if one wants to be annoyingly technical, makes me a witch, as well." She fl
ashed the boys the type of spellbinding trust-me smile that Gavin figured the wicked witch had used to lure Hansel and Gretel into her gingerbread cottage.

  "I'm afraid I'm flat out of eye of newt, but I believe I saw some goat's blood in the refrigerator. And some dried rattlesnake skin. And, of course, grandmother always kept chicken entrails in the freezer for just such occasions."

  She nodded, satisfied. "Yes, I think there are enough supplies on hand to weave a lovely black spell." She leaned down and ran her hand over the top of the older boy's head, ruffling his dark hair. "How would you like to be turned into a lizard?"

  She flashed another smile as she turned to his companion. "With your pointy little ears, I rather see you as a bat," she decided. "Tell me, dear—" she trailed her hand down the side of his face "—are you afraid of the dark?"

  "Of course he's not," Gavin said, getting into the spirit of things. "After all, he's running around out here in the woods in the middle of the night. I'd say he's probably part night creature already."

  "That was my impression, as well," Tara agreed. "So it's settled." She rubbed her hands together gleefully. "I do so love turning people into reptiles. And it's been ages since I turned any boy into a bat." She sighed. "I'd almost forgotten how much fun it is."

  "Want me to go light the Black Sabbath candles?" Gavin suggested.

  "Thank you, Gavin. I'd appreciate the assistance. Oh, and if you wouldn't mind, could you please get my cauldron down from the top shelf in the kitchen?"

  "No problem."

  "Fine. Then we can get started. Ready for an adventure, boys?" She reached out, as if to take their hands.

  "Well," Gavin said as the boys streaked past them as if the devil himself were on their tails, "I'd say you settled that little problem. Although it's a good thing you're not going to stay. Because by this time tomorrow the word will be all over the country that Brigid Delaney's granddaughter is a witch."

  "Perhaps I'll have to tune-up my broomstick and buzz the courthouse before I leave."

  She was kidding, Gavin reassured himself as he followed her into the house. It was just a joke. Like the one she'd played on those kids.

  Tara was standing in the middle of the rug, looking down at the pieces of broken glass. "It's going to be difficult cleaning this up in the dark. I suppose it can wait until morning."

  "That'd probably be best," he agreed. "There's some plywood outside in the back. I'll nail it over the window until I can replace the glass tomorrow. Luckily, I'm getting pretty handy at this."

  She glanced up at him with a surprise that he did not think was feigned. "Then you were telling the truth earlier? This happens often?"

  "Often enough." He rubbed his jaw. "You really didn't read my letters, did you?"

  "No."

  "Any special reason?"

  "I don't know." She sighed as she decided there was no point in trying to convince him that they'd all gotten lost in the mail. "It's difficult to explain."

  Gavin didn't press her for an explanation. She didn't sound all that eager to unburden herself, and frankly, he didn't care why she'd chosen to stay away from Whiskey River.

  "Relationships can get a little sticky in the best of families," he said mildly.

  "You can say that again."

  She appeared small and pale and vulnerable in the muted glow of the fireplace. Something stirred inside Gavin, something that felt uncomfortably like sympathy. Remembering all too well the last time he'd made the mistake of comforting a troubled female, he tamped down the feeling.

  "I'd better go get that plywood."

  She'd sensed his interest. And his caution. She nodded, relieved he'd chosen to avoid the issue, but wondered at the edge of anger she thought she detected in his tone.

  "Thank you." She glanced around, noticing that the room didn't look half-bad considering the house had been vacant for six months, and wondered how it would look in the bright light of day. "I'll want to repay you for all your work."

  "That's not necessary. It wasn't that big a deal."

  "To me it is. You've done me an immense favor. It would be a great deal more difficult to sell the house if it'd been badly vandalized."

  "You're selling?"

  He should have expected it, Gavin told himself. Especially when she didn't care enough to show up for her grandmother's funeral. But for some reason, he didn't like the idea of a stranger moving into Brigid's house.

  "I don't see that I have any choice."

  "Everyone has choices," he argued, unknowingly echoing Lina Delaney.

  "Of course you're right." She lifted her chin, daring him to challenge the decision that had not come easily. "And since my work is in San Francisco and the demands of my career preclude my having a second home, my choice is to sell the house and invest the funds in my IRA."

  Gavin wondered if she knew exactly how much she resembled her grandmother when she stuck her chin out like that. Despite the fact that she'd been nearly three times his age, Brigid had been the most appealing—and frustrating—woman he'd ever met. And now it appeared that Tara had inherited both her appeal and her tenacity.

  "I never knew a witch with a retirement account."

  "Known many witches have you, Mr. Thomas?"

  "Gavin," he reminded her yet again. "And your grandmother was the only one. That I know of."

  "Well, now you know two." She flashed him a smile. "And this one definitely believes in financial planning."

  That siren's smile, which he knew to be as fake as her alleged eye of newt, reached her eyes, making them gleam like emeralds in the shimmering candlelight.

  When he found himself unreasonably tempted to kiss her, Gavin decided it was definitely time to call it a night.

  "It's late," he said when the green lacquered long-case dock suddenly announced the hour with a silver-belled minuet rather than the expected peal of chimes. "If you've been driving all day, you've got to be exhausted. Why don't you go on up to bed, and I'll fix the window."

  The soft feather bed was undeniably appealing. However…

  "I don't mind waiting until you're finished."

  "I'm not going to attack you, Tara."

  Tara wondered what she'd said to earn such a dark and deadly look. "I didn't think you were. It's just that I wouldn't feel right leaving you with all this work."

  Gavin reminded himself that if she'd never heard of him, she couldn't know about his admittedly unsavory past. "I told you, I've gotten it down to a science. Go to bed. I'll lock up and sack out on the couch, in case those kids come back."

  "As much as I appreciate the offer, it's definitely not necessary for you to stay. I may as well get used to being alone."

  "I thought you were going to sell the house." He'd assumed she'd list it in the morning, then hightail it back to her safe, comfortable, predictable life in San Francisco.

  "I am. But surely Brigid told you about the condition she put on my bequest?"

  "She told me she was leaving the place to you. And she asked me, if anything ever happened to her, to look out for it until you arrived. That's all."

  She gave him a long look and determined he was telling the truth. "Although Brigid believed in people following their own stars, she never believed me when I told her that the life I've chosen is the one I truly want."

  "So she stipulated that before I can sell the house, I have to live in it. For a month."

  "A month?"

  "Thirty days to be exact."

  "Thirty days. Imagine that." Things were definitely going to get interesting around Whiskey River, Gavin decided.

  "Interesting doesn't even begin to describe the possibilities, Mr. Thomas."

  Her smile at his surprise that she'd discerned his thoughts was cool and knowing. Gavin found it irritating as hell. "You didn't read my mind. You just made an obvious assumption and got lucky."

  "Whatever you say," she answered pleasantly. Then, possessing a bit of her grandmother's flair for the dramatic, she decided that it was time to exi
t the scene.

  "I'm suddenly very tired. I believe I will go to bed. Good night Mr. Thomas. Please remember to lock up when you leave."

  As she entered the bedroom, she stopped in front of the photograph of Brigid. "Good try, Grandy," she murmured. "And I'll admit he's sexy, in a kind of rough and dangerous sort of way, but I'm not going to let myself get involved."

  Ten minutes later, after brushing her teeth and washing her face, Tara slipped between the flowered sheets and the antique quilt. When the scent of yarrow wafted up from the goose-down pillow, she tossed it onto the floor, squeezed her eyes shut tight and vowed that she was not going to dream of Gavin Thomas.

  Despite her best intentions, the vow was broken as soon as she drifted off to sleep.

  It was the sound that woke her. Tara froze, willing her body to remain absolutely still while her mind, lagging behind, straggled to leave the misty, sensual dream.

  Her heart was pounding so hard and so fast in her ears she had to strain to hear the sound. But there it was, a strange scratching noise at the window that reminded her of a movie she'd seen on late-night cable last week. Dracula, she remembered, had made that same sound against the glass just before flying into his victim's bedroom.

  Don't be ridiculous, she scolded herself. That was only a movie.

  She slipped from between the tangled sheets. Although she assured herself that it was only her over-stimulated imagination, she refrained from turning on the bedside lamp for fear of drawing attention to herself. She padded stealthily to the window in her bare feet, took a deep breath and jerked the curtain back.

  Then laughed as relief flooded over her.

  "It's only a tree branch, dummy. Scraping against the window. Geez, you'd think you'd never spent a night alone."

  Feeling much better, Tara went back to bed. As she drifted back to a sleep filled with Gavin Thomas, she didn't hear the faint creaking of floorboards over her head.

  In the morning, Tara was relieved to discover that Gavin had obviously gone back to wherever it was he lived after boarding up the window. After a restless night, filled with vivid, disturbingly sensual dreams, having to face him first thing in the morning would have been too much to handle.