I jump up, bang my knee on the table, hobble-run to the kitchen, wet a towel, and extinguish the fire, which is mostly out by the time I reach it anyway.
I was not about to let one of my romance novels go down in a blaze.
Adrenaline rushes in my veins as I sit back down. “That wasn’t good,” I murmur, unfolding my legs and staring at the book. It feels like my bones are rattling inside my skin. My breath is too big to be held.
“It’s all okay,” I tell myself. “I’m going to open this book and see if there’s a spell that will do what I need. There probably isn’t, but it doesn’t hurt to look, right?”
Of course it doesn’t hurt, just like it doesn’t hurt to window-shop. This is practically the same thing.
Besides, Stone won’t listen to me. So maybe there’s something in here that will help him see what I do.
I’ve tried reason. I’ve tried explaining. I’ve even had him shut down—but Stone Maddox refuses to bend.
He doesn’t seeme.
And I don’t need him to.
But I do need him to see the truth.
I peel the cover back slowly, and a wind rips through the room, blowing my hair across my face. The lights flicker. The windows shudder.
I drop the cover and sit back. That’s a coincidence, right?
Sure. A coincidence.
The windows are old. The electrical is ancient. The air conditioner kicked on.
A shaky breath slips from my mouth, and I decide to try again. The moment my fingers touch the book, it buzzes. I flinch, but swallow down my worry and open it. The same thing happens—wind slices, windows rattle, lights quiver.
I scoot back. “It’s time for reinforcements.”
Cristina yawns as she opens the door. She tugs at the bathrobe she wears over a pair of silky pajamas. At her feet sits a piggycorn. A rumble comes from inside the house and suddenly five more of the little creatures appear. They race down the hallway toward the door, sliding to a stop on their rumps, each bumping into the one in front of it, and pushing the first piggy onto the porch.
They’re adorable, with tufts of pink fur atop heads from which a delicate golden horn protrudes. They are the cutest.
Almost, if not cuter than a lambicorn.
“Come in,” Cristina says tiredly. “The piggies came to greet you.”
I run my fingers atop silky heads of hair as I follow Cristina into the old farmhouse. It smells like baked bread and patchouli—yeasty and welcoming.
“When do Rowe and Pane return?” I ask as we enter the kitchen.
Cristina pulls out a pan and a carton of milk. “I can’t remember. In a few weeks? From the pictures, it looks like they’re having a great time in Fiji.”
“I bet.” I scan the counter and spot pictures of Rowe and Pane dotting the surface. “And her mom? Doesn’t she live here, too?”
“Moved in with her boyfriend, Bill. But I think they’re traveling in his RV.”
“Oh, right. I knew that.” Rowe and I are friends, but not besties. “And so you’re watching the farm while they’re gone?”
“Someone’s gotta keep this place running,” she says with a sly smirk. “Besides, with the spa, we’re open five days a week.”
Months ago, Rowe’s farm was in foreclosure. But Pane turned it into a day spa as his entry in the competition to win the Maddox Group. Now it’s a thriving establishment.
Cristina pulls her blond hair over one shoulder. “So tell me, what’s all this about?”
“Well.” I inhale a deep breath, hoping to find some courage. “Stone Maddox came by.”
