Tangled Souls (23 page)

She looked up, blue eyes deep in thought. “Maybe because kids act on impulse, and adults think everything through.”

Testing the notion of acting on impulse, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her. To his surprise, she didn’t resist him.

“Then let’s vow to visit the beach every now and then,” he said as he pulled out of the embrace.

Her eyebrows rose. “Separately or together?”

“Either way.” He sucked in a lungful of air. “I feel so much . . . stronger here, like after a good night’s sleep.”

“You’re just getting in touch with Mother Nature.”

“Whatever it is, I like it.”

“Then do it more often, O’Fallon.”

He nodded. “You got a deal.”

They walked back toward the beach house, talking about inconsequential things. After only a short distance, Gavenia halted and looked over her shoulder as if trying to hear a faint sound on the wind.

“What is it?” he asked.

She listened a little longer. “Spirits,” she said.

“Are they playing on the beach?”

“No.” Her answer sent a shiver up his spine, and he hugged her closer.

* * *

They walked in silence for a time, listening to the birds. They passed two children building a sand castle with brightly colored spades.

“My gran’s psychic,” O’Fallon said.

Gavenia studied him with renewed interest. “In what way?”

“She knows things before they happen. Do you?”

“No. Just vague warnings about stuff, but nothing specific,” Gavenia said.

“I get those, too. Most of time I ignore them.”

Oh great, another one
, Bart said as he trailed behind them, dragging his beach towel and kicking sand in the air like a bored child. O’Fallon’s Guardian hovered nearby, a pint-size ball of light. A Twinkle, as Bart called them. He claimed he couldn’t see them any better than she could.

“From my experience,” she said, “it’s best to listen to those little voices. I wouldn’t have played tag with that wall in Wales if I’d listened.”

“I saw the photo in the paper. I’m surprised you survived.”

“Aunt Lucy says I’m like a cat, that I have nine lives. That was life number two.”

He opened his mouth as if to ask what had cost life number one, but she shook her head.

“Don’t ask.”

He did anyway. “Does it have something to do with the Entrapment card?”

A tremor coursed through her.

He cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I won’t mention it again.”

“That would be best.”

He abruptly switched topics. “The beach house has one of those tropical-rainforest showers with all the jets and the fancy panel that lets you set the temperature.”

Gavenia looked up at him in wonder. “You cops don’t miss a thing.” She visualized what the shower might look like, tried to imagine how wonderful it would feel. Cascades of water, all at the perfect temperature. Heaven.

“Of course, I’ll need someone to wash my back,” O’Fallon added with a hint of mischief.

She dropped her mouth, her brain rampaging for a snappy retort. Instead her rebellious mind conjured up the image of the Irish guy, nude, as she lathered soap from his neck, over his broad shoulders and down to his well-rounded—

“Earth to witch.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, chagrined she’d been caught daydreaming.

Blush alert!
Bart advised, chortling at her embarrassment.

Gavenia stammered. “Ah . . . what . . . were we talking about?”

O’Fallon’s face told her he wasn’t buying the act. “Showering . . . together.”

“We have to find Merlin first.”

“Now who’s being all business?”

“Just learning from the best.” She paused at the bottom of the stairs that led to the deck. He handed her the cane.

“You do better without this.”

“You won’t always be around to help me,” she shot back.

He opened his mouth to reply and then closed it as if he’d thought better. They judged each other for a moment.

“So what next?” he said, removing his arm from around her waist. She missed it immediately.

“Let’s raid the cupboards.”

For folks with eight-figure incomes, the Allifords’ pantry was painfully thin. Apparently, they brought food each time they visited. When O’Fallon found a jar of spaghetti sauce and some wheat pasta, he announced their problems were solved.

“I cook, you shower,” she offered.

“But you can’t wash my back if you’re cooking.”

“Shoo,” she said, pushing him away with her hands. “Just don’t stay in there forever, or I’ll have to come get you.”

His leering grin told her he was considering the notion.

“Good; I’m starved.” He glanced toward the blazing hearth. “You built a fire?”

“You sound surprised. We Pagans are good with wood. All those human sacrifices, you know.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He carried the bottle of wine to the table and poured two hearty glasses. After helping her with the spaghetti-laden plates, he sat and bowed his head. After a moment he looked up, as if unsure of how to proceed.

“I usually offer a blessing before my meals,” he explained.

“Go ahead, and then I’ll offer mine.”

He took a deep breath. “Dear Father, thank you for another day of life, one filled with”—he paused and looked toward his dinner companion—“unexpected surprises. Thank you for reminding me to take time to enjoy the beauty of your creation and those who share it. Bless this meal and those who prepared it. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen,” he said, crossing himself.

Gavenia closed her eyes, raising her palms heavenward.

“To the God and Goddess I ask a blessing on this food for the health of those present. Give us wisdom to see your Light and to magnify it in this dark world. So mote it be.”

O’Fallon sighed in contentment. After the meal, they’d curled up on the couch like they’d known each other for years, Gavenia tucked up against his side. They’d talked about their lives, sharing stories, learning about each other. Her work, his work.
The courtship dance.
He knew it well. New beginnings were so pure; the endings, so sad.

He pushed a strand of hair from her face. When had they crossed the line between working on the case to the promise of something more?
The walk on the beach.
She’d begun to open up from that moment forward, as if he’d connected with her on some deeper level.

“I’m sorry I got you out here for nothing,” she said.

He tipped her chin up and studied those twin blue oceans.

“It wasn’t a wasted day. I enjoyed myself, and it’s been a long time since I could say that.” He bent over and placed a kiss on her nose. Gavenia didn’t pull away. The second kiss fell on her cheek. She leaned into him. The third was on her mouth. She was warm, and the kiss burned into his lips. When they broke apart, he found her eyes watching him with an intensity that caused his heart to pound.

“I’m going to take a shower.” Gavenia reluctantly pulled out his arms. O’Fallon watched as she made her way down the long hall toward the cavernous bathroom and her own religious experience.

“I think I’d best stay right here,” he said with a sigh.
Dammit.

By the time Gavenia returned from the shower, O’Fallon was asleep in front of the fireplace. He’d unfolded the sofa bed, despite his injured ribs, and now snoozed under a blanket, his hair tousled. She banked the fire, checked that the doors were locked, and then counted the stairs to the second floor. The circular stairway was just too daunting for her and the cane.

“Not happening,” she murmured. Stripping off her shoes, she lay next to the Irish guy, who murmured in his sleep but didn’t wake. He smelled of expensive soap, a strangely erotic scent. She impulsively deposited a kiss on his cheek and tucked the blanket around them.

As she drifted to sleep, she caught Bart’s subtle glow coming from the leather recliner. O’Fallon’s Guardian hung next to Bart as if they were having a conversation.

I wonder why I can’t see it
, she thought, and then drifted to sleep.

* * *

O’Fallon woke to the sound of running water, which aggravated his full bladder. Swinging his feet over the edge of the sofa bed, he rubbed his eyes and got his bearings. He was at the Allifords’ beach house and he was there with a witch. He looked over at the other side of the bed. Gavenia was gone, but the pillow next to him looked like she’d shared his bed. He half remembered that, the warmth of her next to him. It had felt good.

Steady there.
They needed to gain some space between them, give themselves time to think this out before it went too far.

He hiked across the cool wood floors to the bathroom and took care of business. By the time he entered the kitchen, the running water had stopped.

Finding fresh java in a coffeemaker, he poured himself a cup and savored the silence. If he were at home, Seamus would be entertaining him with a cacophony of songs and sound effects. On the beach there was just the gentle murmuring of the ocean, the call of seabirds, and . . .

Waaaoof!

The clatter of claws on wooden flooring made him swing his head around. A black blur rocketed toward him, leaping upward. He maneuvered at the last minute to avoid full-body contact in an area that wouldn’t tolerate that sort of enthusiasm.

“Merlin?” he asked.

Waaaooof!
was the answer. The puppy danced around his feet, shaking like an earthquake. Cascades of water splattered the length of O’Fallon’s torso and he shielded his coffee cup and waited for the droplets to settle to earth. A boisterous laugh came from the doorway as Gavenia leaned against the doorjamb.

“Irish guy, meet Merlin. He’s had his bath. It’s up to you to dry him,” she said, pointing toward a sizable navy bath towel draped over one of the kitchen chairs. As she turned to go outside, O’Fallon called, “Wait! Where’d he come from?”

“He found me on the deck this morning. I was meditating and then next thing I know, I get a wet nose in my face—a nose attached to a very stinky dog.”

“I’ll be damned,” he said, squatting to pet the energetic hound.

“The Patience card was right on—all we had to do was wait him out. If we’d given up and gone home last night . . .”

O’Fallon shook his head in amazement. Merlin looked pretty bright for someone who’d been living on his own for two weeks. “Does he need to be fed?”

“Already done. I decided not to wake you.”

He gave her an appreciative nod. “I owe you one.”

“I’ll remember that,” she said, winking.

He pulled the towel off the chair, intending to do his part. Merlin reacted instantly, grabbing the towel in his teeth and backing away, a playful growl in his throat. A tug-of-war ensued.

“Grrrrr . . .” They struggled for control of the towel as Merlin dug in his toenails and pulled. The dog wrenched the towel out of his hand and headed for the door, O’Fallon jogging after him. “God, you’re worse than Seamus.”

* * *