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Eventually, Harlon thanked Bridget and hung up — just as the doorbell rang downstairs.
Grimacing, he checked his watch. “Five forty-five. Where does the time go? And since when are guests so damned punctual?”
I laughed, secretly relieved.
“So inconvenient,” I joked.
He ran a hand through his thick hair — another hallmark of a warlock, or at least a man with supernatural blood. Most mere humans went bald with age.
“Then I suppose I should use our time well. I hoped to ask if you knew of any properties for sale. You know, given your local knowledge.”
His expression was neutral, but I could sense his magic inching toward me.
I played dumb while raising my mental shield — slowly, subtly, lest he notice.
“Oh. Did that place along Oak Creek not work out?”
He shrugged. “I was hoping for something a little more remote. Not too far out of town, but somewhere off the beaten path would be good.”
Someplace like yours.He didn’t say that much, but the words slithered into my mind, and I nearly parroted them back to him.
Resisting magic was like tuning out an annoying, intermittent noise. Like when Abby used the weed whacker on my only morning to sleep in or when Roscoe barked hysterically, then stopped, only to kick back in again. Not too difficult in principle, but nigh impossible once the sound got under your skin.
“Unfortunately, every parcel of land up to the national forest has been bought up,” I said, still playing dumb.
His eyes sparkled, and I cringed. Was that his Plan B — to convince town planners to carve out part of that protected land and rework the zoning? As absurd as it sounded, Harlon could probably pull it off.
“Every single parcel?” Harlon waited, letting the silence stretch.
“There is Granite Wash Ranch,” I tried, mentioning the latest big-ticket property to be listed. Everyone in town was talking about it.
He shook his head. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t meet my specifications.”
You mean, no vortex?I nearly quipped.
“Anything else you can think of?” Harlon probed.
In the awkwardness of the long, quiet minute that ensued, my defenses slipped. Crap.
“Oh. You mean where I live?”
He nodded warmly, and his magic congratulated me on being a good girl.
I flashed a sunny, Pippa-grade smile. “Too bad it’s not for sale.”
His grin didn’t falter. “Too bad.”
His magic wormed its way around me, prodding for weak spots.Not for sale yet,a siren’s voice whispered.But just imagine if you sold it. You’d never have to work another day in your life.The warmth around me intensified, like a candlelit bubble bath on a chilly night.You could even work out a deal and live rent-free in your cabin to the end of your days.
“Perhaps you’ll reconsider.” He pulled a large manila envelope from his briefcase and slid it across the desk. “Go on, open it.”
As if my heart weren’t already hammering away.
At a loss for words, I fiddled with the envelope. And, holy crap. When the flap opened, I caught a glimpse of a wad of greenbacks. Correction — many, many wads with lots and lots of greenbacks.
Harlon chuckled. “Go on. Have a look.”
I pulled out a bundle of bills.Hundreddollar bills, neatly wrapped in a white paper strip with the total marked in pink numbers. A one and so many zeroes, my eyes blurred.
