Free Making Magic by Donna June Cooper Page A

me .”
    Grace was lying on a porch swing that Thea thought was more like a swinging couch. It was obviously handcrafted, with colorful thick cushions on the bottom and back and big bolster pillows on each end. Thea wanted to give it a spin, but Grace and her baby bump got priority.
    “Now that I think about it, he was probably looking for payback opportunities after all those pranks you and Becca pulled on him,” Grace retorted.
    “Becca?”
    “Jake’s sister,” Thea said. The sense of loss was only an echo now, but she could feel Grace watching her.
    “They were best friends,” Grace said. “And made a habit of ruining Jake’s love life by following him around and popping up at inconvenient times… singing .”
    Mel’s laugh was infectious. “Sounds like fun. What did you sing?”
    Thea frowned at her sister. But today was to be devoted to Mel. Grace would keep after her until she caved and performed for the bride-to-be.
    “Jake, Jake, Earthquake. Jake, Jake, Beefcake. Jake, Jake, Cupcake. Jake, Jake, Hotcake,” she sang. It wasn’t a tune, just a singsong that cascaded up the scale to the last word, which was delivered dramatically with arm flourishes and hair tossing like some kind of pre-teen pep squad. She remembered Becca’s throaty alto weaving through her own soprano and the bubble of Becca’s laughter at the end.
    Mel’s hand was over her mouth. “Oh my.”
    “They did it at every opportunity, including this dance they had one year at the festival,” Grace said, raising her eyebrows. “And I wasn’t the girl dancing with Jake, I must point out.”
    Thea had to smile. “No, but whoever it was, she wasn’t dancing. She was murdering his poor feet.”
    “I think I like this Becca. I haven’t met her, have I?”
    Thea shook her head. “She died.” She knew her voice had gone flat. “A long time ago.”
    “Oh.” Mel was looking from Grace to her and back. “I’m sorry. She must’ve been very young.”
    “She was,” Grace said. “Very.”
    The sound of hammering echoed around the hollow. They heard Daniel yell something down to Nick, who stood on a ladder below him.
    Grace sighed dramatically. “Well, personally I prefer my men a bit darker than our illustrious sheriff.” Her gaze was on her husband in the distance. “Jake is so very blond and—”
    “Hey!” Mel pointed to her own very short blonde hair.
    “Not you, but on guys it looks so…”
    “Annoying,” Thea stated, hoping to steer the conversation away from Jake and Becca. Jake’s hair really wasn’t his best feature anyway. She liked his eyes, which were the color of good whiskey.
    Grace sipped her tea, those green eyes of hers watching Thea over the rim. “Well, I like dark with a hint of wicked. Blond is so clean-cut and… What’s the opposite of dangerous?”
    Jake is plenty dangerous, in his own way , Thea thought. She knew that he had been crying yesterday before he interrupted her. Either he didn’t realize that she could tell, or he didn’t care. But his grief, for Becca, for his father, for Pops, had been apparent. And that had cut her to the core.
    “Oh, with the scruff he’s got going, he has a definite ‘bad boy’ vibe,” Mel chimed in, rubbing her chin. “And his hair isn’t really blond. It’s more gold. Kind of tawny.”
    That was true, but Thea didn’t want to think about Jake’s hair, or any other part of him. She rubbed Bailey’s ears. The dog seemed to be asleep in her lap, but acknowledged the attention with a twitch of her eyelid. “Is there a reason that the wedding is on a Wednesday?”
    Mel laughed. “Thea doesn’t want to talk about our nice ex-sheriff, does she?”
    “He’s not an ex-sheriff yet,” Grace said.
    “You said he was quitting. Is it because he got shot?” Thea realized how that sounded. “I mean, because of the injury? He seems fine.”
    “No,” Grace said. “I think he has his own reasons, but it’s not the wound.”
    “From what Daniel tells me,