Read Online Laced With Magic by Barbara Bretton - Free Book Online
Authors: Barbara Bretton
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timing.
“It’s late,” she said calmly. “Why don’t you pick up where you left off in the morning.” She turned to Karen. “Motel 6 is a little south of here. It’s spartan but you’ll be comfortable. I’ll drive you.”
Considering how much Chloe hated to drive, that spoke volumes.
Karen ignored her. “You drive me,” she said to me. “We have to talk.”
So do we, Chloe’s look said as another rumble of thunder crashed overhead.
“Chloe’s right,” I said to my ex-wife. “I’ll swing by the motel in the morning and we can talk over breakfast.” I wanted to make a few phone calls to old friends back in Boston and see if I could get a handle on what had been going on.
Karen considered her options for a few seconds, then nodded.
She turned to Chloe. “I’ve been on the road all day. I need to use the bathroom.”
“Fine,” Chloe said. “Just ignore the litter boxes.”
“No problem,” she said as she followed Chloe down the hallway. “I love cats.”
That should have been my first clue that it would be a long night.
6
CHLOE
The old wives were right. I never should have knitted him that sweater. My relationship was unraveling right before my eyes and heading straight for the frog pond.
Luke wanted me to sit down so he could explain why he hadn’t told me about his daughter, but there was no way I was going to have that conversation while his ex-wife was in my bathroom.
First love. First marriage. First child.
Those memories all belonged to Luke and another woman, and even the strongest magick couldn’t change that fact.
I know that humans marry and divorce the way I cast on new knitting projects. They move on to new spouses and new lives with an ease I don’t really understand. But when humans have a child together, like it or not, they are bound together forever.
I made another pass through the cottage while Luke stood near the front window, lost in thought. We had dodged a bullet back there at the church. Luckily the first Mrs. MacKenzie had been preoccupied with her own problems and had accepted our exploding water heater excuse without question. We couldn’t expect to get away with that a second time.
I was quenching another blue flame message from Lynette when I glanced over at the grandmother clock in the hallway. An uneasy feeling settled into the pit of my stomach, right next to the huge knot of apprehension at the prospect of driving the ex to the motel.
“She’s been in there over ten minutes,” I said to Luke, practically my first words to him since we entered the cottage. “Does she usually take that long?”
He looked like someone awakened from a deep sleep. “I don’t remember.”
“You were married to her.” I sounded exactly the way I felt: tense and angry. “You must have some idea.”
“We didn’t chart bathroom schedules.”
“Go in there and check on her.”
“Why don’t you check on her?”
“She’s your ex-wife.”
“It’s your house.”
We sounded like quarreling children. One of us had to act the part of the adult in the equation. I walked down the hallway and tapped on the door. “Are you okay in there?”
No response.
I looked over at Luke, who was standing next to me. “Now what?”
He knocked twice, harder. “Karen? What’s going on?”
No response.
He grasped the doorknob and tried to turn it.
“She locked it,” he said.
“Not a problem.” I placed my hands an inch away from the lock, narrowed my focus, and waited for the tiny pop.
“Try it now,” I said, stepping aside.
The door swung open and there was the ex-Mrs. MacKenzie, out cold on the floor.
“Shit,” he muttered, kneeling down next to her. “What the hell’s going on now?”
She looked frail and vulnerable, her childlike frame swallowed up by the oceans of fluffy yellow bath mat underneath her. I refused to feel anything but indifference toward her.
“Someone give the woman a Twinkie,” I muttered
“It’s late,” she said calmly. “Why don’t you pick up where you left off in the morning.” She turned to Karen. “Motel 6 is a little south of here. It’s spartan but you’ll be comfortable. I’ll drive you.”
Considering how much Chloe hated to drive, that spoke volumes.
Karen ignored her. “You drive me,” she said to me. “We have to talk.”
So do we, Chloe’s look said as another rumble of thunder crashed overhead.
“Chloe’s right,” I said to my ex-wife. “I’ll swing by the motel in the morning and we can talk over breakfast.” I wanted to make a few phone calls to old friends back in Boston and see if I could get a handle on what had been going on.
Karen considered her options for a few seconds, then nodded.
She turned to Chloe. “I’ve been on the road all day. I need to use the bathroom.”
“Fine,” Chloe said. “Just ignore the litter boxes.”
“No problem,” she said as she followed Chloe down the hallway. “I love cats.”
That should have been my first clue that it would be a long night.
6
CHLOE
The old wives were right. I never should have knitted him that sweater. My relationship was unraveling right before my eyes and heading straight for the frog pond.
Luke wanted me to sit down so he could explain why he hadn’t told me about his daughter, but there was no way I was going to have that conversation while his ex-wife was in my bathroom.
First love. First marriage. First child.
Those memories all belonged to Luke and another woman, and even the strongest magick couldn’t change that fact.
I know that humans marry and divorce the way I cast on new knitting projects. They move on to new spouses and new lives with an ease I don’t really understand. But when humans have a child together, like it or not, they are bound together forever.
I made another pass through the cottage while Luke stood near the front window, lost in thought. We had dodged a bullet back there at the church. Luckily the first Mrs. MacKenzie had been preoccupied with her own problems and had accepted our exploding water heater excuse without question. We couldn’t expect to get away with that a second time.
I was quenching another blue flame message from Lynette when I glanced over at the grandmother clock in the hallway. An uneasy feeling settled into the pit of my stomach, right next to the huge knot of apprehension at the prospect of driving the ex to the motel.
“She’s been in there over ten minutes,” I said to Luke, practically my first words to him since we entered the cottage. “Does she usually take that long?”
He looked like someone awakened from a deep sleep. “I don’t remember.”
“You were married to her.” I sounded exactly the way I felt: tense and angry. “You must have some idea.”
“We didn’t chart bathroom schedules.”
“Go in there and check on her.”
“Why don’t you check on her?”
“She’s your ex-wife.”
“It’s your house.”
We sounded like quarreling children. One of us had to act the part of the adult in the equation. I walked down the hallway and tapped on the door. “Are you okay in there?”
No response.
I looked over at Luke, who was standing next to me. “Now what?”
He knocked twice, harder. “Karen? What’s going on?”
No response.
He grasped the doorknob and tried to turn it.
“She locked it,” he said.
“Not a problem.” I placed my hands an inch away from the lock, narrowed my focus, and waited for the tiny pop.
“Try it now,” I said, stepping aside.
The door swung open and there was the ex-Mrs. MacKenzie, out cold on the floor.
“Shit,” he muttered, kneeling down next to her. “What the hell’s going on now?”
She looked frail and vulnerable, her childlike frame swallowed up by the oceans of fluffy yellow bath mat underneath her. I refused to feel anything but indifference toward her.
“Someone give the woman a Twinkie,” I muttered
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