The Bobcat's Tate (5 page)

We are animals
, Lainey had thought to herself, but she knew how much her mother prided herself on being an assimilated, civilized shifter, one who acted like a human and never an animal.

She turned
her attention back to Marigold. “Explain to me what all that Cypress Woods Witch stuff was about.”

“
Well, basically, Myrtle is super old, supposedly a hundred and twenty, and she’s always had the sight. She used to live by herself in an area of Blue Moon County known as the Cypress Woods, and she’d wander into town, her eyes looking all milky, and make some kind of obscure prediction, and it would always come true. Supposedly. Then she’d go back to the woods. Eventually, when she got old, she got Alzheimer’s, and now she lives in a nursing home. But apparently she still gets visited by the spirit from time to time, and her predictions still come true. Supposedly.”

Marigold
never stopped moving as she talked. She pulled a plate of sandwiches out of the refrigerator and handed it to Lainey, along with a plate of cookies.

Next
, she pulled out a big pitcher filled with something amber, which smelled alcoholic and delicious. “I’ll be in charge of the drinks,” she said. “That’s important.”

Marigold
buzzed with energy, zipping around the kitchen, gathering up glasses, dumping ice cubes in them. The next thing Lainey knew, she was following her outside onto the back porch, which ran the entire length of the house. Marigold set down the pitcher on a table made of a cable spool, and poured a drink into each of the two glasses.

There was
a row of planter boxes full of herbs on the porch railing. Marigold picked some mint leaves and dropped them into the glasses. Then she sat down on the porch swing.

“Mint julep,” she said. “Drink up.”

“Not until you tell me what all this fated mate stuff is about.” Lainey settled on to the porch swing, set her purse on the table, and glowered at Marigold. This was really rattling her nerves.

“I would, but you’d think that I’m crazy.
” Marigold took a sip of her mint julep.

“Too late,”
Lainey muttered.

“Do you know what I do for a living?”
Marigold continued, ignoring her.

“What you do for a living?”
Lainey echoed, startled by the change of subject. “I don’t know…I’m hoping it doesn’t involve handling sharp objects or anything that could start a fire.”

Marigold ignored the snipe
. “I’m a love psychic. I help people find the one that they’re meant to be with. When I saw you walk into our kitchen, I immediately knew that your fated mate would be at Ginger’s wedding, so you need to be there, too. This is my new mission in life. You’re my new BFF, and we’re going to find you that man. Or shifter, as the case may be. Drink up.”

Lainey
found herself really, really needing a drink. She took a healthy swig of her mint julep.

“Wow,” she said, momentarily distracted
from the certifiably wacko woman sitting next to her. “This is liquid heaven.” She took another sip and savored the sweet, smoky taste of bourbon, sugar and mint swirling on her tongue.

“So, I’m working out ways that we could get you invited to
Ginger’s wedding. The reception is no problem, but that’s not where you need to be. My psychic vision is a little muddy on the exact details, but it’s definitely telling me that I need to find a way to get you into the wedding reception, which is a little challenging, since of course the guest list is already full, but I will find a way. What are you doing?”

Not running for the door, like a sane person would,
Lainey thought. She’d pulled a pad of paper from her purse and was doodling on it.

“Nervous habit,” she said.

Marigold peered at it. “Nice. Is that a sketch of me? I like it.”

Lainey
shrugged. “Thanks. I kind of do it without thinking.” She’d been a doodler since she was a little girl. Every time her parents started lecturing her about how none of the popular girls at her school ate a second helping of dinner, she’d find herself doodling on the tablecloth, the wall, her own arm…a habit that her parents hated almost as much as her habit of asking for seconds.

When she’d decided to quit working for her parent’s comp
any as a bookkeeper, she’d managed to snare a job as an art teacher. Granted, it was at a reform school where she went to work every day expecting to be shanked, but still. She was an art teacher. That’s what counted.

“So,” Marigold continued.
“Wardrobe. Something pretty, flattering, but not too sexy because it’s a wedding. Still, we need a little cleavage. We definitely want to highlight that rack.”

“I met you ten minutes ago
,” Lainey protested. “Are you seriously checking out my rack?”

“Yes, but it’s strictly professional.
I’m not that way inclined. You saw my fiancé, Henry. He pushes all the right buttons. Literally.” She flashed another evil grin. “All right, makeup. I can be your makeup artist. I’m thinking a smoky eye—”

“Stop
.” Lainey held up her hand in protest. “I am not going to a wedding that I haven’t been invited to, and I am not hiring you. I don’t need a love psychic. I am done with men, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Good, because I don’t want to hear about it.
People who say they don’t need a love psychic are exactly the people who need them most. And I am offering my services for free. You should be thankful. People pay me good money to help them find their fated mate.”

Lainey
took a healthy swig of her mint julep and realized she’d drained the glass.

“Careful,” Marigold said. “Those things pack a wallop.”

“Pour me another one, and it might even sound like you’re making sense.” Lainey held out her glass. Marigold poured again, but only half-full this time.

Lainey
took another sip, and the sweet liquid warmed her like a well-stoked fire. “So, I’ll bite. Who’s my fated mate?” As she asked, a picture of Tate Calloway flashed through her mind, and she realized that she was actually hoping Marigold would say his name.

Right.
The jerk who thought she was a tiara thief, who’d pretended to flirt with her so he could pump her for…information, unfortunately.

“I don’t know yet,” Marigold said. “My powers don’t always reveal everything to me right away.”

“Of course not,” Lainey grumbled cynically. “That would be much too easy.”

“Okay, I think you’d look good in a peach tone,” Marigold continued, surveying
Lainey with a clinical gaze.

“Aren’t you going to suggest a girdle and a crash diet?”

“Heavens, no. Why would I want to disguise a figure like that? Guys around here love bigger women. Look at Ginger. She and I showed up in town a year ago, and immediately she got snapped up by the Alpha, the most eligible bachelor in the county. It’s a good thing he moved fast, because everybody was sniffing after her.”

“Really?”

“True story. Your figure is your fortune. Eat a sandwich, will you?” Marigold shoved a sandwich into her hands, and Lainey leaned back in her seat and bit into it. The chicken salad was creamy and delicious, with just the right amount of crunchy celery. Even better, nobody was glaring at her as if she were committing a sin by enjoying her lunch. “I’m going to go call Ginger and make sure she’s not freaking out about the Cypress Woods Witch and her tiara being stolen and all that jazz. Don’t go anywhere. I’m not done deciding what you’re going to wear.”

“Don’t worry, I’m
already officially too tipsy to drive,” Lainey said, around a mouthful of sandwich. “I’m a cheap date.”

She leaned back in her chair and nursed her mint julep as Marigold headed inside the
house.This was certainly unexpected. She’d come seeking peace and quiet, not crazy schemes and wandering witches and a town where all of the inhabitants seemed to have escaped from the same lunatic asylum.

Oddly, that didn’t b
other her as much as it should, since the residents of the lunatic asylum were plying her with delicious mint juleps and obscenely good sandwiches. The old Lainey would have absolutely refused to crash a stranger’s wedding in pursuit of some nameless mystery man. The old Lainey would have been petrified of her family’s reaction to such an appalling breach of etiquette. The new Lainey/Kat/whoever-she-was-now was shocked to realize that she was seriously considering letting Marigold talk her into this harebrained idea.

Imogen stuck her head o
ut the back door. “Do you know Tate Calloway? He just called to find out if you checked in here.”

Ouch,
Lainey thought, straightening up in her chair. He actually hadn’t believed her when she’d said she was checking into Imogen’s boarding house? He was probably ready to put out an APB on her car. He probably thought she was halfway to Georgia by now, with a tiara tucked in her purse. Jerk. Double jerk.

Fine
. I will let Marigold sneak me into someone else’s wedding and even though fated mates aren’t real, I’ll at least have fun and flirt like crazy. Take that, Tater-head.

“Everything in Blue Moon Junction tastes so delicious,” Lainey said, tucking into a fluffy pile of eggs. They’d skipped breakfast at the boarding house, and instead Marigold had dragged her into town to meet Ginger at a small Main Street diner called the Henhouse.

“
There’s something about country cooking,” Ginger agreed.

“It’s very nice of you to come meet us the week before your wedding,”
Lainey said. “You must be incredibly busy.”

“Actually, any chance to escape my darling mother is a blessing
. I mean that with love, but she’s turned into a mother-of-the-bride-zilla, not that I expected any less. She’s been planning this since I was born. Probably before that. I can see her doing the wedding planning in utero.”

“Me
, too,” Marigold agreed. She was eyeing Ginger’s last piece of cinnamon toast. “Are you going to eat that?” Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed it off Ginger’s plate.

“
Yes, I was, actually,” Ginger groused. “You stole my toast. That’s at least a misdemeanor, and I’m marrying the county sheriff.”

Marigold mumbled something around her mouthful of stolen toast
. Lainey couldn’t make it out, but it sounded insulting.

Ginger
turned to Lainey. “I hope Marigold hasn’t been talking your ear off.”

“Well, a little. I practically
feel as if I know you, she’s talked about you so much.”

Ginger laughed. “Just ignore about 90 percent of what she says. She’s certifiably crazy.”

Lainey put her fork down. “Oh, my God, you noticed it, too?”

“How could I not? We’ve been friends for like eight years. Marigold is
nutso. Wackadoodle. Cra. Zee. But it’s fun to watch.”

“I know, right? It’s kind of like being in a romantic comedy, and she’s the
ditsy friend who drags everyone into all kinds of crazy shenanigans, which everyone barely survives.”

“Most of the time, they do,” Ginger nodded.

“Hey, I’m sitting right here,” Marigold said. “I can hear you!”

“So
, you’ve got good hearing. You’re still crazy.” Ginger tucked into her gooey, golden cheese omelet.

Laine
was startled when Marigold tapped her fingernail on the placemat, jerking her out of her daze. “Hmmm,” she said. “That’s a nice picture of Ginger.”

“Oh, heck
! Pardon me..” Lainey looked at Ginger apologetically. “It’s just a nervous habit. I always—”

“That’s it!” Marigold shouted suddenly, slapping her hand on the table
. Other diners paused to stare at her, then turned back to their meals.

Lainey
and Ginger glanced at each other.

“Told
ya. Certifiably crazy,” Ginger said, and went back to eating her omelet as if Marigold did that kind of thing every day.

She probably d
oes.

“Ginger, see how beautiful her sketches are?
Kat needs to come to the wedding to do sketches that you can put in your wedding album. She could sketch you and Loch, the maids of honor, the groomsmen, the wedding cake, the grounds of the mansion…oh, my God, I’m such a genius.” Marigold clapped her hands together gleefully.

Ginger
took a closer look at the sketch as Lainey poked at her eggs, trying not to be self-conscious. Lainey always drew with a light, quick touch; the picture had curlicue filigrees on it, and she’d sketched Ginger with big, sparkling eyes.

“That is very pretty,” Ginger
said.

“We should go out to the wedding site today, see how everything’s coming along. I have a feeling we’re needed there. Never argue with a psychic,” she added as
Lainey started to protest.

“
I’ll come with you. I was headed over there anyway to meet my mother. Lainey, if you could come to the wedding to do sketches, I would love that. I’ll have my mother cut you a check. Here, I’m taking the placemat to show her.” Ginger tucked it in her purse.