Storiebook Charm (A Spellbound Novel 1) Page 2

  “You’re okay.” He exhaled, catching his breath and reorganizing his thoughts.

  Wide-eyed, she gasped, turning to him. He wasn’t positive, but her eyes looked red-rimmed, as if she’d been crying. She blinked and sank back down so that only her shoulders and head were above water. Her eyebrows knitted together and she dipped her chin, peering at him. “Reid Malone? Is that you?” She didn’t wait for an answer before asking, “What in tarnation are you doing? You scared me half to death!”

  And just like that, she’d turned the tables, making him feel guilty for trying to help her. “I thought you were drowning.”

  “I wasn’t.” She’d reached the part of the lake where she could stand. This time when she rose from the water, she was like a phoenix, all fire and glory against the backdrop of the orange, yellow, and red streaking the horizon. She walked toward her truck, water dripping from her cutoffs, from the white T-shirt still knotted at her rib cage.

  “Yeah, I can see that,” he said, coming out of the water behind her. He swallowed, stifling every bit of his physical reaction to seeing her. “Next time you’re not drowning,” he said with a low growl, “I’ll just leave you to it.”

  She stopped at the tailgate, putting one hand on the edge of the beat-up truck, and then, like the damn siren he knew she was, she turned to face him. “You do that, Reid,” she said, real slow, her soft Southern accent as luscious as her body. Her gaze flicked to his chest—and below, before rising to his eyes again. “You take yourself a good long look, because this has been a crap day. I’m leaving Whiskey Creek in the morning, and this is the last you’ll ever see of me.”

  He heard what she said. Crap day. Leaving Whiskey Creek. But all he could do was swallow and drink her in. Long legs, curvy hips in those low-rise shorts heavy with water, the corners of the pockets slipping down farther than the edge of the shorts themselves. And that T-shirt, sticking to her body, plastered against her curves.

  Oh yeah, he took a good long look—every bit of her seared into his brain, from the light dusting of freckles across her nose to the beauty mark on her stomach.

  And everything in between.

  Chapter 1

  Present day…

  Storie Bell was a witch. Not the kind that lived in Harry Potter’s world. No, she was more like Glinda, the good witch of the North, minus the munchkins and Dorothy.

  Only when she tapped her heels together three times, she didn’t suddenly fit in. Didn’t miraculously have the life she longed for. But things were about to change, no thanks to magic. She and Harper Patterson stood in front of 13 Houston Street, gazing up at their futures.

  “You know,” Kathy Newcastle, the town’s premier—and only—real estate agent, said from beside her as Harper hurried off to meet a delivery truck, “now that you’re finally here and moving in, I can tell you. You almost lost this place.”

  Storie turned to the agent. “How so?” Saying the dilapidated old gas station was a fixer-upper was a colossal understatement, but it had good bones and it was hers, left to her by her father. The idea of anybody else wanting it was just crazy, but to her, it was a treasure in the rough. A place she could make her own and settle into.

  “Jiggs Malone did everything he could to make a deal with your daddy. He wanted this place, but bad.”

  “Why?” Storie shot a wary glance at The Speakeasy, the bar right next to her new business. There wasn’t a chance in hell she’d let any Malone have a piece of anything belonging to her. Her father might have claimed to like Jiggs, but she knew better. There was bad blood there. Maybe not as vicious as the Hatfields and McCoys, but enough that she didn’t trust a Malone any farther than she could throw him. Well, given that she had her witchcraft and could hurl him halfway across town, she revised her sentiment. She didn’t trust a Malone any farther than her best friend, Harper, could throw one.

  Kathy looked up and down the street, as if she were readying to reveal a big secret. She’d hit the half-century mark, but her sun-scorched skin, combined with the poofy style of her chestnut hair, aged her another ten years. Kathy, though, hadn’t shied away from Storie despite the whispers and murmurs of the townsfolk about Storie having unnatural powers.

  “I can’t say for certain,” Kathy said, “but I do know it has something to do with the bigwigs who’ve been coming around to the bar for the last six months. Jiggs has some deal cooking. Maybe he thought he could buy the place, fix it up, then flip it real quick. His clock is ticking, if you know what I mean.”

  Jiggs Malone had seemed ancient back when Storie was a senior in high school. She knew he was probably about sixty-five or so. Plenty of years left. Sounded suspect to her, which meant there was more to the situation than what Kathy knew. Her jaw tightened at the very idea that Jiggs had tried to buy the place from her father. More reason to steer clear of any and all Malones.

  A couple came up the sidewalk toward them, slowing as their gazes met Storie’s. They whispered something to each other and kept walking, nodding curtly as they passed. No matter how many years had gone by, it was something Storie would never get used to.

  “Don’t mind folks,” Kathy said, giving her arm a light squeeze. “People talk, but they’ll come around.”

  Storie looked back at her new business. Before long, a sign would be hanging from the porte cochere and swinging in the breeze. The Storiebook Café, with the tagline, Where happy endings begin…

  Mixed and matched pots would overflow with multicolored flowers. And inside? Coffee. Tea. The best food this side of the Brazos River. All with the added bonus of books.

  “The Storiebook Café,” she said, her voice dreamy and far away. “It’ll be a novel experience.” She laughed at her own bad pun, but in truth, it was just what she was after. Something fun, quirky, different, and a place to call home. She could have relied on her vision and her magic...but she was determined to fit in this time. No more moving around because she couldn’t control her powers. She’d use a spell here and there, but they’d hired a good contractor because that was the only way to appear normal, and Storie was done being an outsider in her own life.

  Alone.

  Isolated.

  Lonely.

  But maybe Kathy Newcastle was right. Maybe folks would come around, stop their whispering about her, and just let her settle down in the one town she’d called home, albeit briefly, during her childhood. “I hope so,” she said.

  “It’s about as perfect as it’s going to get,” Harper said, coming back to join them, her Southern accent as thick as honey dripping from a hive.

  “Thanks to the contractor,” she said. “Where'd you find that man?”

  Kathy waved at a woman across the street. Behind her, a mangy stray dog trotted across the courthouse square, disappearing around the corner of the old limestone building. The woman lifted her hand, stopping for a minute, staring.

  Would folks ever be able to just accept her?

  A dark cloud suddenly pressed down on Storie and a chill spiraled slowly through her. She got this feeling more and more often, almost as if some darkness was seeping into her bones. If only she could hide her magic, she’d be okay, but she’d learned over the years that hiding her powers didn’t really work. Everywhere she’d lived, her magic surfaced in one way or another, and people talked.

  “Mr. Garland? I've been in the business long enough to find the best people,” Kathy said. “Once everyone sees what you’ve turned this place into, and if they come to your grand opening, I’m sure they’ll love it.”

  Storie and Harper both gaped at her. “What do you mean if?” Harper asked. “Why wouldn’t they come?”

  Kathy snuck a look at Storie, sighing. “People around here have memories like elephants.”

  Harper rolled her hand in the air, prompting Kathy to go on. “What does that mean?”

  Storie’s skin pricked. She knew exactly what Kathy was talking about. More than anything, she wished she could erase the past, but she was stuck with it, like a shadow
that followed her everywhere.

  Kathy’s eyes flashed and suddenly seemed laced with suspicion. “It means rumors about Storie still run rampant around here.” She turned to face her. “You only lived here a year, but that’s long enough to make an impression.”

  “What kind of impression?” Harper demanded, her accent barely softening the edge in her voice.

  Kathy hesitated before finally turning to Storie. “Let’s just say that folks are still a little spooked when they think about the books all flying off the shelves in the high school library, or the water in the lake as hot as a bathtub. Now you and I know you had nothing to do with any of that, but when folks can’t explain something, they have to place the blame somewhere—”

  Harper scoffed. “And they blame Storie? What, like she’s a witch, or something?”

  “She happened to be nearby every time, so it’s easy to add one and one together.”

  Harper threw a pointed glance at her before muttering, “Ridiculous,” under her breath as she turned and walked away. Harper was Storie’s only real friend. They’d met when Storie moved back to Somervell County, first settling in Clement, and then, finally, ready to stop letting her past and her powers dictate her choices, she’d come back to Whiskey Creek. Harper and Harper’s two daughters were as close to family as she’d ever get.

  “What if folks don’t come?” Storie asked, half to herself, but loud enough that Kathy heard.

  “They’ll come,” she said. “This town needs a bookstore, and it needs a coffee shop.”

  Whiskey Creek had its share of restaurants and even had a bakery, but no coffee shop. Nothing but The Speakeasy right next door, and another dive on the road out of town.

  “You’re giving them both,” she added.

  “Where people can find their happy endings,” Storie said, but she wondered if she’d made the right decision.

  Magic drained Storie, especially magic involving objects outside the natural world. She couldn’t explain it, but there it was. She wondered if it had something to do with being around non-witches. Could too much of the ordinary world zap the witchcraft right out of a girl? Was that what had broken up her parents and chased her dad away from the magical realm?

  She didn’t have the answer to that question, and likely never would. Her thoughts drifted back to the library incident. Justin Davidson had followed her around town for days. Finally, at the library, he’d gathered up enough gumption to ask her to prom. A normal girl would have giggled or flirted or just said yes. But not Storie. No, her nerves made her magic go haywire and the books started flying off the shelves, hurtling to the floor and forming enormous piles. Justin turned white and backed away, they did not go to prom, and the whole incident had put her in bed with a fever for two days.

  The scalding lake water had been a test. She just wanted to control her powers. How else was she supposed to practice? But that exercise, while less trying on her body, had still made her tired.

  The energy drain was one reason Storie had always been so careful to keep her powers at bay, especially around Harper. Mortals and witchcraft didn’t mix. That was the biggest lesson her father had taught her, and one she took to heart. If Harper knew the truth, it could cost her their friendship, and Storie wasn’t willing to risk that.

  Her calico, Miranda (named after Miranda Lambert, of course), rubbed the side of her body against Storie’s leg. Storie crouched, running her hand in long strokes across her back. “I know,” she murmured so only the cat could hear. “It’s not ridiculous to worry that nobody will come, is it?”

  She knew, in fact, that it was completely true. But Whiskey Creek had always felt like a real home, and this time she was going to do whatever it took so it would be different. She was counting on it. All she wanted was to settle down and blend in.

  Miranda meowed, as if to tell her that, yes, this time it would indeed be different. And then she scampered off.

  “Buddy’s doing right by you?” Kathy asked about the contractor.

  “So far,” Storie said. Harper nodded.

  “Your daddy knew Buddy Garland, Storie.”

  Storie tilted her head. “Did he, now?”

  “Sure did. They go way back.”

  Her dad had never mentioned Buddy, but then again, that wasn’t a huge surprise. He’d been horrified that his one daughter was a witch, and he’d done everything in his power to hide from it. Secrets. His life had been full of them, and now that he was gone, she knew there were a whole lot more that she’d never know.

  Six months had gone by since he passed, but the veil of sadness still happened unexpectedly. It happened despite the secrets and their differences and even though he’d never understood her. How could he? He was mortal and she wasn’t, and he’d never let her forget it. She’d borne it like a curse, hiding who she was from everyone. It wasn’t like witches just roamed the streets with people saying, “Hey, have you met the witch next door?”

  She missed her dad.

  Kathy laid the back of her hand on Storie’s forehead. “Bless your heart, sugar, you look chilled to the bone. Everything will work out just as it’s supposed to.”

  Kathy hadn’t added the word hopefully, but Storie knew she’d thought it.

  She waved away the reassurance. “I’m fine.” But that darkness had seeped in again, unsettling her to her core.

  Thinking about the mother who’d abandoned her always brought those feelings to the surface. She’d erected a thick brick wall around herself after her dad had told her the truth eight years ago. What twenty-year-old woman wanted to learn that her mother had given her up? Storie preferred the fairy-tale version in her head, the one where she was an ordinary girl who’d had a mother and father who loved her, and had a place to call home. The one where her Prince Charming would show up and accept her for who she was, and where she found her happily ever after.

  But if her own mother had completely washed her hands of her child, what were the odds that a man, let alone her Prince Charming, would ever show up? And if he did, that he’d accept her for who and what she was?

  No, Harper and her daughters were as close to family as she was going to get.

  She looked back across the street, but the square was deserted. The woman who’d stopped for a minute was gone now. No surprise, given the heat. Far too hot to be milling around.

  Slowly, the darkness faded and she felt like herself again.

  She blinked back the tears that had threatened to pool in her eyes. So what if she was destined for a life without a man? And who cared that her mother had given her up so easily? Her daddy had done his best and thanks to him, she and Harper were making a go of The Storiebook Café.

  “Harper found a great little house,” Kathy said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to find you a place, or maybe you’re not sure if you’re here to stay?”

  Storie smiled. Kathy wasn’t spooked by the idea that she might be a witch. Making a sale, that was what she was after, and she could put up with the unexplained if it meant a commission.

  She shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere, but I’m fine in the loft above the shop.”

  A movement from behind one of the windows at The Speakeasy caught her eye.

  Kathy noticed. “Your daddy spent a lot of time over there,” she said. “God rest his soul,” she added.

  Storie cupped her hands over her eyes and peered at the brick building with the old saloon doors. The place looked like it could have been on a Hollywood lot, straight out of a Western. The women fell into a moment of silence. She hadn’t ever realized how lonely her dad had to have been, always on the run. Always trying to protect her. And later, spending so much time alone in a bar. If it hadn’t been for her, he might have fallen in love again. Had a different life. She pushed her guilt away. “It’s an old building.”

  “As old as your place. Been in the Malone family for as long as I can remember. ’Course Jiggs is knocking on death’s door. Bad ticker. Then again he’s been that way for a long
time. His little stint in the pokey didn’t help. But he’s a cantankerous old coot if there ever was one.”

  “He was in jail?”

  Kathy nodded sagely. “Moonshining,” she said, her voice low. “But he got off. Some big liquor company’s ready to pay a pretty penny to get their hands on his hillbilly pop. Don’t know why he doesn’t sell. I hear it could be worth millions, and well worth it. The stuff is pure heaven.”

  Storie didn’t care about moonshine, but she was curious about what had happened to Jiggs’s son. Just thinking about him still sent her heartbeat racing, setting her on edge when she thought about it. That day at the lake… “Where’s Reid these days?”

  Kathy’s lips rose into a little smile. “He was just in California visiting with his mama. Got back yesterday, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Storie got the feeling that Kathy was rarely mistaken. “He’s here?”

  “Sure. He pretty much runs the bar now, although his mama taught him that he was too big for a small town.”

  She stared at Kathy. Reid was here in Whiskey Creek? She swallowed, trying to get rid of the image of him that was emblazoned in her mind for always. Just thinking of him now sent a wave of embarrassment through her, heating her from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. She’d barely known him, but the way he’d looked at her that day at the lake, like a wolf stalking his prey… She shivered. “He runs The Speakeasy?”

  Kathy shrugged, her poofy hair rising and falling with the action. “He keeps to himself. Takes care of the bar and his daddy. Between you and me, I think he wants nothing more than to make tracks on outta here and shake Whiskey Creek’s dust off his boots.”

  Leaving Whiskey Creek was exactly the opposite of what Storie wanted. She was going after her dream, no matter what it took. She didn’t understand what would hold a man somewhere he didn’t want to be. “Then why does he stick around?”