Free Magic by Tami Hoag Page A

waste her energy on an attraction to a man who made up silly songs and pulled playing cards out of thin air.
    “What do you say, Rachel?” Bryan queried softly. He suddenly felt compelled—almost propelled—to step closer to her. It was too early in the day to question the wisdom of getting too near, so he gave in to the urge. He inched a little closer so she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. It would have been so simple to raise his hands and frame her face. The desire to do that and to lean down and kiss her swam through him.
    His held breath burned in his lungs as he waited for her answer. Would she let him stay? Why did it matter so much? This trembling hope inside him had to do with something other than Wimsey, but he refused to think of what it could be. He told himself he needed this job right now because he needed something to focus on. It wasn’t that he was interested in getting involved with Rachel. Despite the argument his inner voice had put up the night before, he wasn’t convinced he could help her.
    But as he looked down at her, at the uncertainty and the questions that filled her eyes, the need to have her say yes grew inside him to mountainous proportions. And the attraction both of them would rather have denied strengthened and tightened its hold.
    “What do you say, Rachel?” he asked, his voice a whisper. “Will you give me a chance?”
    Rachel swallowed hard. Her heart was pounding, her knees were wobbling. There was something more in his question than permission to work in the house. She read it instinctively as she stared up into his earnest blue gaze. She felt it in her heart, and fear cut through the haze of this strange desire. How could she cope with a man who believed in magic?
    In some distant part of the house a door banged and voices sounded.
    She couldn’t, Rachel whispered to herself. The last thing she needed was a man who believes in magic.
    Bryan flinched slightly. He had heard the words spoken only in her soul, and they went straight to his heart.
    Before he had a chance to wonder about it, the voices that had sounded faraway were suddenly sounding again—just outside the parlor. Then the doorway was filled with the substantial form of Deputy Skreawupp. The deputy hooked his thumbs behind the buckle of his belt, his arms framing his pot belly. He scowled, his frown reaching down his face nearly to his double chins. He bore a striking resemblance to Jonathan Winters but hadn’t nearly the same sense of humor.
    Bryan raised his eyebrows and stepped back from Rachel, breaking the tension that had enveloped them both. Suddenly a hand reached around from behind the deputy and a finger thrust forth.
    “There she is!” Addie’s voice was muffled by the deputy’s bulk. “She’s the one.”
    The deputy lumbered forward, his dark gaze pinned on Rachel, whose expression was the very picture of stunned surprise. “All right, angel face, the jig’s up,” he said, his voice a flat, comical monotone that could have belonged to a detective in a movie from the forties.
    “I beg your pardon?” Rachel squeaked, her gaze darting from the deputy to her mother and back.
    Addie gave her a cold, hard look. “She’s the one, Officer. The intruder.”
    “Mother!” Rachel exclaimed, aghast. Embarrassment flamed in her cheeks.
    “She looks like my daughter, but she isn’t,” Addie said. “She’s an imposter. She broke in here last night and stole my dentures.”
    “That’s low,” the deputy said, shaking his head reproachfully. “I’ve heard it all before. Desperate times and desperate measures. Makes me sick.”
    “It’s not true!” Rachel insisted emphatically. “I am her daughter.” She turned toward Addie, her big eyes imploring. “Mother, how could you say that?”
    “You’re not my daughter. My daughter left me,” Addie said flatly. She lifted her slim nose regally and gave a dismissing wave of her hand. “Take her away, Deputy. I’m going to go have my