Myth and Magic. Mae Clair
be sure to put that in my report.” Caith motioned to the hallway. “Would you mind coming back to the kitchen and showing me exactly where you were standing when you saw, uh…whatever it is you think you saw?”
Alma’s expression was hostile, but the belligerence helped dry her tears. Straightening her shoulders, she stood and traipsed from the lobby, her bearing defiant.
Veronica frowned. “I hope you make a better impression on the rest of the staff.”
* * * *
Caith stepped into the kitchen, fully aware he’d made a mistake. No question about it. He’d thought he could waltz into the lodge, help Aren with his problem, and then vanish again with his pockets a little fuller. Stupid.
Especially since he’d never cared about money. Oh, he didn’t mind an income that let him buy what he wanted, when he wanted, without having to worry about strapping his bank account. But cash had never been the driving ambition behind anything he did. And if he was honest with himself, money had absolutely nothing to do with his reasons for returning to Coldcreek. As much as he wanted to pretend otherwise, the pull of family was here. Family, and the woman he’d loved since he was eighteen.
He’d gotten over the initial shock of seeing her, but not the aftereffect. Even now, his palms sweated and his heart raced. He felt like a tongue-tied school kid with a crush. Raising Derrick didn’t leave him time for relationships, and the sight of this woman, the one who’d haunted his dreams for the past twelve years, resurrected how much he wanted her.
“Where were you standing Alma?” Veronica asked.
Caith tried to concentrate on the question but was too preoccupied by how much she’d changed. She’d always been a tom-boy, lean and small-hipped. Still beautifully slender, her body had ripened with sexy curves. Small, pert breasts strained against the fabric of a teal sweater with a V-neckline, her long legs were luscious in soft gray slacks. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek pony tail, gold and gilded like the sun with just a hint of brown beneath. Clear, creamy skin warmed the minty green of her eyes.
“Mr. Lairen,” Veronica snapped.
He jerked at her formality. Too late, he realized he’d been staring.
“Did you hear anything Alma said?” Clearly annoyed, Veronica stepped to the sink. “She was standing right here, a few feet from the window. I think it’s obvious she wasn’t imagining things.”
Recovering, Caith glanced about the kitchen. It was large and roomy with cherry cabinets, mocha-colored counters, and a center island for food preparation. Copper pots and wicker baskets dangled from hooks overhead, adding a touch of warmth along with practicality.
Caith stepped to the window and ran his finger along the edge. The seal was tight and unbroken. With both women shooting daggers at him, he moved to Veronica’s side. “There’s your face,” he said, with a nod for the pots. The reflection in the window didn’t quite form features, but taken with the small baskets on either side, a quick glance could have produced a startled reaction.
“That’s absurd,” Alma hissed. “I’m not given to flights of fancy, young man.”
“Maybe not, but everyone’s been edgy. It’s easy to misconstrue something when your nerves are rattled.”
“I am not rattled!” Alma pressed her lips into a tight line. “At least, I wasn’t until you showed up.”
“Alma.” Veronica tried to calm her.
“I’m going to my room for a little peace and quiet. Then I’m going to call Aren Breckwood and tell him what a fool he is for saddling us with a snitch who’s as agreeable as arsenic.”
Caith bit his lip to keep from grinning. He’d been called a lot of things in his day, but he’d never been compared to arsenic. Somehow he didn’t think Veronica would find his amusement entertaining.
After Alma left the kitchen in a huff, he looked at Veronica. “I’d like to see the personnel file on her—I’m assuming you have one—and the rest of the staff while you’re at it.”
She stared in disbelief. “My staff? What for?”
“Because it’s my job, and it’s part of the investigation. Just because someone’s on your payroll doesn’t mean they can’t have motive. Something’s going on here. Until I find out what it is, everyone’s a suspect.”
Her eyes hardened. “Including me?”
He couldn’t stop himself. The note of challenge in her tone was too tempting. Leaning forward until only inches separated them, he gripped her chin and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “Butchering dogs isn’t your style, Ronnie.”
Her eyes widened as if she wondered what the hell he was playing at. She smelled incredible, earthy and spicy, like autumn flowers washed in rainwater. He had no business getting so close, but he could have easily drowned in those bewitching eyes. Her bottom lip trembled slightly as her mouth parted in shock. He hadn’t meant to touch her. Hadn’t wanted to reawaken the raw attraction between them. But it simmered below the surface, waiting to be unleashed. He’d never stopped loving her. Never stopped wanting her. Before he could think it through, Caith lowered his head to kiss her.
Veronica slapped his hand away, then slammed her palm against his chest, shoving backward. “My office is this way.” Seething, she stalked from the kitchen.
Her anger crackled on the air even after she’d left. He deserved her hostility, was lucky she hadn’t gone for his throat the moment she’d seen him. He’d made a mess of things twelve years ago and was making a greater mess now. He had no business flirting with feelings they’d buried. No matter his motives in breaking off their relationship, his actions had been inexcusable. Time didn’t erase a wound like that.
As he followed her down the hallway, Caith berated himself for his thread-bare control. He’d always had feelings for her, but hadn’t expected them to return with the force of a summer storm. As she sashayed ahead of him in those flattering slacks, he remembered his first glimpse of her when she was eleven and he was twelve.
“She’s a girl,” Trask explained, “but she’s okay. Becky Kessler said her parents bought that white house at the end of Ripplemill Road. The one where Bobby Claymore used to live.”
“Becky Kessler knows everybody’s business.” Caith huffed out a breath as he trekked up the hill beside his best friend, Merlin racing ahead of them. They’d spent the day slaying dragons and battling trolls along the edge of Stone Willow Lake. Grassy embankments, cool water, and leafy trees created a kingdom where Merlin was wizard and they were brave knights and warriors who triumphed over evil.
Caith sent his friend a black glare. “Why’d you tell her we’d meet her anyway?” Girls had no business in mock sword fights or challenging ogres. Even now, the slender branch he’d fashioned into a make-believe sword dangled from his belt and bumped against his thigh as he walked. He liked the feel of it and wondered if a real sword swung that way. He’d have to ask his mother. She knew everything about folklore and myth.
Trask chewed around a wad of bubble gum. “She isn’t like Becky. She knows about legends and stuff. I saw her reading something on King Arthur. She told me she likes Robin Hood and some minstrel guy named Tal-Tali…”
“Taliesin,” Caith finished for him. He’d grown up on myth, courtesy of his mother’s family traditions. Over the years, he and Merlin had pulled Trask into their make-believe adventures.
“She thought your name was funny,” Trask continued as the incline steepened and he dug in to keep pace. “She couldn’t say it, so I broke it down for her. Caith-el-den.”
“You told her my real name?”
“Don’t be stupid. She already knew about you. Everyone knows about the Breckwoods. My dad says your father owns the town.”
Caith shrugged, not wanting to talk about