Free The Shoppe of Spells by Shanon Grey

very sacred ground by the Cherokee and Creek tribes, they began allowing a few white men to settle here. Which is ironic, since the tribes wouldn’t settle here themselves. A joint tribal council gave the final okay on the people. Surprisingly, no matter what uprising or war ensued, the people who were allowed to settle in Ruthorford remained untouched. Disturbances just seemed to flow around them. The few “unauthorized” people who made attempts to settle here without permission were—how should I say this—forcibly discouraged. More than a few of the families here today can trace their lineage back to the original settlement.”
    “You?” She looked over at his handsome profile. The sun glinted off deep red highlights in his black hair.
    “Oh, no. I was born in Washington, D.C.” He thought for a moment. “I say that, but I guess anything is possible.” He reached down and snapped a daisy, holding it out to her. Careful not to come in contact with him, she accepted the flower. Its pretty face beamed at her. She smiled back.
    They had stopped walking. He turned and watched the pleasure play across her face. She lifted her emerald eyes to his. His breath hitched. Quickly, she looked away. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
    “Stop that.”
    “Sorry.” She looked down and studied the pavement.
    He started to reach out, but stopped. Instead, he let his words sooth her. “You have beautiful eyes.”
    “According to your friend—”
    “Ignore her. That was all an act.” Risking it, he dampened his energy and touched her chin, lifting her face upward until he was looking into her sparkling emerald eyes.
    Morgan felt a tiny tingle tickle her chin as he touched her. She ignored it, although she had trouble ignoring the heat she felt moving through her veins.
    “Melissa had beautiful, expressive eyes. You got them from her. They shimmer, like faerie dust. They’re very special.” His breath feathered against her lips and she realized how close they were standing.
    She swallowed and watched his focus move to her mouth, not her eyes. She stepped away. Without a word, they both turned and began walking again.
    Dorian picked up the story. “Ruthorford remained isolated from the rest of the country. Whether by intent or accident, the people remained close to their Native American sponsors.”
    “I haven’t seen any Native American descendants that I know of,” she mused.
    “You won’t. The Native Americans wouldn’t and won’t inhabit the area around here. They still say it is very special, sacred.”
    “Then why allow outside settlers?”
    They had arrived at Abbott’s Bed & Breakfast. Without answering her question and instead of going inside, he led her to the side of the building and through a black iron fence. They walked through the gardens she had seen the night before from inside the restaurant. As they passed the fountain, its spray cooled the air around them. In the back, century-old trees provided deep shade. Iron tables with glass tops were scattered around the lawn, the spacing giving good separation and privacy to each table. Dorian didn’t stop but moved down a slope toward the water. He parted the hanging branches of a huge willow, allowing her to pass. Another small table and chairs sat cozily sheltered under feathery limbs. He walked over and held the chair. Morgan slipped into it and looked around. She peered through the veil of branches, hidden but seeing. A light breeze whispered around her.
    “This is exquisite.” She smiled at him.
    “It’s my favorite place to hide—besides our gazebo during a light rain.”
    She noted his use of the word “our.” Was he referring to the Kilravens or her? That was something else they needed to deal with, and, given the circumstances, the sooner the better. She wanted to get out of here. Yet, the thought of never seeing him again tugged at her. She felt a slight ache.
    His chiseled features softened and she followed his gaze. Teresa was