Free Spells & Stitches by Barbara Bretton Page B

Luke and I try to do.”
    Try, of course, being the operative word.
    Bettina’s blueflame guttered and I was alone again. Or as alone as you can be with four spoiled cats. EZ meowed for my attention, poised to leap onto my lap but puzzled because my lap no longer existed.
    “Not much longer,” I told her, leaning over the best I could to give her a skritch behind the ear. “I won’t be lapless forever.”
    The look she gave me was highly skeptical and who could blame her. I was at the point in my pregnancy where my feet were a distant memory and the thought of sleeping on my stomach sounded like a fairy tale.
    I printed out photos of Luke’s brothers and sisters. All except Meghan, the youngest, who didn’t have a Web presence that I could uncover. I knew she was Luke’s favorite, but beyond the facts that she was single and moved around a lot, I didn’t know much else about her. I was about to start on nieces, nephews, and extended family when Luke exploded through the back door like his hair was on fire.
    I shrieked. The cats scattered. At least three or four hidden pixies probably reached for their worry beads.
    He was at my side so fast you would swear he had magick, pulling me into an embrace that took my breath away. Literally.
    “Luke!” I struggled to put a little space between us so my lungs could inflate.
    He kissed me like one of us was going off to war. “I thought—” He stopped, then kissed me again.
    Silvery white sparks flew everywhere. They ricocheted off the microwave, bounced off the walls, pinged my laptop, sent shivers up my spine. We’d been striking sparks from the moment we met and I hoped it would go on forever.
    I placed my hand on his chest and leaned back. “What’s going on?”
    “My mother.” He was doing that cop thing he does, eyes searching everywhere for signs of danger.
    I started to laugh. “Your mother?”
    “She’s been trying to call you. She said she left a few messages, then got the voice-mail-full message.” Some of the tension left his voice. “She decided you’d gone into early labor and were lying on the kitchen floor alone and dilated.”
    “Oh, crap.” I gestured toward the cell phone on the kitchen table. “I turned it off after the third time she called about Sunday brunch. It never occurred to me she’d worry about me.” Why would it? She barely knew me.
    “World-class worrier,” Luke said, “and family is her specialty.”
    “But I’m not family.”
    “Yeah,” he said, stroking my hair. “Like it or not, you are now.”
    I didn’t have a chance to ponder that statement because Luke’s cell emitted three long, three short, then three long beeps. Bunny MacKenzie’s SOS.
    “She’s fine, Ma,” he said by way of hello. “Her phone ran out of juice is all.”
    I suppressed a giggle as he rolled his eyes in response.
    “She was working from home this morning ... yes, we have a landline . . . why didn’t you try that number?” Long pause. “D’you have a piece of paper and a pen? It’s—” He recited it into the receiver twice, just to be sure. “She’s got a lot to do, Ma . . . no, she’s right here ... okay.” He pushed the cell in my direction. “She wants to talk to you.”
    “No!” I mouthed, backing away, but even two hundred miles away, Bunny was formidable. “Hi, Bunny ... yes, I’m fine ... sorry about the phone ... I will ... promise ... okay ... see you on Sunday.” We said good-bye and I clicked off.
    I handed the phone back to Luke, then rested my head on my laptop’s keyboard. “All of this drama is exhausting.”
    “They mean well, but they’re serious pains in the ass.”
    I gestured toward the pages scattered across the kitchen table. “There are an awful lot of you MacKenzies.”
    He picked up one of the pages and started to laugh. “Family crib notes?”
    “It’s either that or make them wear name tags.”
    “We don’t have to do this. I’ll tell them you have to work or something.”
    “I