Free Your Magic or Mine? by Ann Macela Page A

decision his way. “That’s okay,” he said, “I could come there.”
    “Here?” Her voice went up as though she didn’t believe he’d come.
    He heard another voice asking, “Who is that, Glori?”
    “Hold on,” she said. She must have put her hand over the phone, but he could still hear what they were saying.
    “It’s Marcus Forscher, Mother. He wants to come out here tomorrow to talk about Ed’s plans.”
    “That’s a good idea. Ask him to lunch.”
    “What?”
    “You heard me, ask the man to lunch.”
    After several seconds of silence, Morgan came back on the phone. “Look, why don’t you get here about eleven. We can talk and have lunch with my parents. They will want to hear our plans and might have some good recommendations.” She sounded more resigned than pleased to be making the invitation.
    “Thank you. I’ll look forward to seeing your parents again.” He was going to ask for directions when Samson’s whining and glances from him to the door and back took his thoughts in another direction. Oh, what the hell, he might as well ask. “By the way, would it be all right if I brought my dog? He could use the fresh air.”
    “Fine. Do you have a pencil? Here’s the directions.” She gave him explicit instructions and timing. “Oh, and one more thing? We dress very casually here.”
    “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good-bye,” he said and hung up. Her last comment struck him as curious. Sure, his parents had taught him how to dress. “Looking like an ivory tower bum is not the way to instill confidence in business donors,” his father had said. His mother made sure he understood fine tailoring. What did Morgan think he wore on the weekend in the country? A suit and tie?

     
    Gloriana hung up the phone and couldn’t help wiggling when a shiver ran up and down her back. She looked down at her arms. Goose bumps. She rubbed them vigorously.
    What was it with her reaction to that man? Hearing his low, deep voice had been the last thing she expected when she answered the phone. She could still feel his words reverberating in her skull. They seemed to set off little zings of energy right in her magic center. She switched from rubbing her arms to rubbing her breastbone; it helped only marginally.
    So, he wanted them to make their plans for the debate. Certainly a united front was a good idea. Ed would steamroller them if he could.
    What would it be like to have Forscher visit the farm? Mr. Perfect on her turf? Staring at her with those icy blue eyes, studying her like she was a mathematical problem he was trying to solve.
    She’d have to watch herself and not play those female games she despised—where the woman tried to jolly the guy out of his grim demeanor, tried to coax a smile, as if having a pleasant face would change the attitude behind it. Not that she did that normally, of course. No, he was going to have to take her as she was. If they were going to debate, they’d do it as equals.
    Even though, except for his “cauldron-stirring, potion-making” crack, she had no complaints about his treatment of her, she’d still be on guard. The man was an academic in a predominantly male field, and she’d met plenty of others in that situation who clearly thought they were beings of a higher order. He might revert to type if she let him get away with it.
    What kind of dog would he have? A man who obviously prized control would have an exceedingly well-trained animal, probably a German shepherd or maybe a Lab. What about a Border collie—no, too exuberant, too happy a personality. She looked over at Delilah lounging on the floor by the door. Certainly not a basenji with their unpredictability, mischievousness, and definitely minds of their own.
    It would be interesting to have him here, she decided. See what lurked under his shell. Maybe she could get beneath that hard surface, loosen him up, see if he was all grim and unrelentingly hard or not so bad once he relaxed. See if she could melt the