Page 26 of Dream Weaver (Spellbound in Sedona #3)

COOPER

I thought my first few days in the metal shop had been the worst, but that one took the cake. At least it was my last day.

I’d spent all of Sunday desperately looking for solutions before finally giving in. Abby had made it perfectly clear that she was done with me.

Fight for her! Talk to her! my bear insisted.

I wanted to, but no meant no, and I had to respect that…even if it killed me.

I loved her, and deep down, I was sure she loved me back. But Abby was just too scarred for a relationship. A healthy one, at least. The kind I’d taken for granted my whole life.

So, lucky me. That didn’t make my soul weep any less, though. For me, and for Abby.

My mother liked to say that love was infinite — a party that always had space for one more. When someone left the party, they left an empty chair, like Peter had, but the love was still there.

But maybe not everyone was up for that kind of party. Maybe all Abby could manage was tea for three or four. The same three or four, with no tolerance for party crashers like me.

Plus, there was Claire, and I got that Abby needed to put her first. I just wished first didn’t mean only .

I took a deep breath. Ultimately, all that mattered was that Claire was happy. But, damn. I would really have liked to contribute to that, even in a small way.

I glanced at the drawings decorating my locker. I would be taking those with me, for sure.

Heaving a sad sigh, I got back to sanding the edges of my latest ax handle. If only regrets could be smoothed out as easily.

About an hour into that torturous day, a motorcycle revved outside, and everyone turned.

“Well, look who’s back in town,” Bob said fondly.

The other guys were all grins.

Outside the open rear bays of the shop, a man gave his custom Harley a few last revs before cutting the engine. He dismounted in one easy motion and made a beeline for Abby.

A growl built in my throat, but Abby lit up. “Mike!”

I frowned.

“Her stepfather,” Matt whispered. “Or something like that anyway.”

Mr. Hells Angel was tall, solid, and supremely confident. He moved with the grace of a panther, though not as quietly, due to the way his leather chaps and jacket creaked. His hair and horseshoe mustache might have been gray, but the guy was incredibly fit. He wrapped his arms around Abby and rocked from side to side protectively.

My inner bear growled. Jealousy was a bitch.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I came as fast as I could,” he murmured.

She’d practically disappeared in his embrace — all but her hands, patting his back. I barely heard her muffled reply.

“Thanks for coming.”

“I already stopped by the school,” he told her.

Aha. So, stepdad was here to protect Claire.

I told myself not to be jealous. That the more people Claire and Abby had covering their backs, the better.

But, damn. It hurt not to be one of them.

“Thanks. I’m sure it will be okay,” Abby told him.

“It will be,” he growled while thunder rolled in the distance.

I glanced at the perfectly blue sky, then froze in realization. Slowly, I peeked back at the biker. And, yes, there it was — the slight shimmer of air around his shoulders.

Warlock. A powerful one, judging by the angry crackle in the air.

When he turned to glare at me, clouds blotted out the sun, and another drum roll of thunder rumbled over the landscape.

Bob peered out the open rear doors. “Are we getting a storm? It looked so clear a minute ago…”

Abby stuck an elbow in the warlock’s ribs, then waved to me. “That’s Cooper. You know Pablo and Bob…”

She skipped from me to the others, like I was just another colleague.

I let out a long, wounded breath, then went back to work. I had three last ax handles to finish.

An hour passed, then another. The stepfather — Mike — leaned against his bike out back, coolly contemplating life, the universe, and the mechanics of cam chain tensioners. I half expected him to whip out a copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and start reciting.

But behind that calm, casual demeanor lay the restless soul of a predator. His eyes roved the area continuously, and every time a car approached the shop, he held his hands at his sides like a gunslinger prepared to spray an entire town with bullets for his cause.

Abby. Claire. They were his causes.

They could have been mine, too.

I hacked and sanded the hickory handle.

At eleven thirty, Hells Angel mounted his Harley, revved as loud and long as an Indy500 car on the starting line, then peeled away. An hour later, he returned, revving several more times before killing the engine.

I made a face. Okay, okay. He was a rough, tough motorcycle guy. We got the message.

Rough, tough, but with a heart for the people he loved. I could tell by the way he prowled over to Abby.

“She’s fine.”

She , I gathered, was Claire, and judging by the time, she’d just had recess. I had the impression Mike would have preferred to stake out the school parking lot all day, but that kick-ass principal had probably chased him away until the end of the school day.

Mike didn’t add, No sign of Jay, but I figured that was who he’d been watching for.

Abby nodded and went back to hammering the last ax head. The very last one. One we ought to have sweated — and triumphed — over together. But all I heard was a solitary bang…bang…bang.

The tension between us must have been palpable, because Matt came over to whisper, “Damn. What did you do to piss her off?”

I glared him away.

Even Bob wandered over to whisper his own two cents. “Just give her time, son.”

I’d come to the same conclusion. Sadly, that probably exceeded my life-span.

Destiny had either made a huge mistake, or it was out to punish me.

Abby worked through lunch, as I’d intended to. I had to finish those handles — but I needed something from the supermarket too. So I made a quick run there, forcing down a sandwich on my way back.

The moment I turned the corner to the back lot of the metal shop, Mike stepped out, casting a dark shadow.

“Not so fast, kid.”

I stopped, meeting his glare. If a lightning bolt flashed out of the sky to fry me, so be it.

My inner grizzly growled, and for once, I didn’t try to muffle the sound.

His eyes glowed, and he leaned in. “Let me make a few things clear to you. If you hurt Abby, I will hurt you twice as bad. I will draw it out slowly, and you will be screaming for your mother before I’m done.”

I heard him out, because I’d been raised to respect my elders. Even elders who wanted to crush my bones.

“You got that?” he finished.

A cloud passed over the sun, casting a bigger, even more menacing shadow over the entire area.

“Yes, sir.”

He frowned. “You think I’m messing with you, kid? Because I swear, I’m not.”

Thunder rolled, emphasizing his point.

I shook my head, “No, sir.”

His nod said, Damn right, I’m not.

“I would never hurt her,” I said, because now it was his turn to hear me out.

I love her, my bear declared, though I managed to suppress that part.

“I would never hurt her. Not Abby, not Claire. Never,” I swore so fiercely, my voice cracked. “There’s just one thing I can’t figure out.”

He crossed his arms. “And what’s that?”

“How to keep her from hurting herself.”

The corner of his eye twitched, and he didn’t say a word. But I could tell I’d struck a chord.

Unfortunately, I’d struck one in myself too, and the words kept coming.

“Whatever hurt she has comes from a long time ago, not from me,” I growled, keeping my voice low. “Hurt she keeps wrapped around her like armor. And I get it. I get the pain, the need to put up walls. But it’s those walls standing between her and happiness, not me.”

Mike pursed his lips, and the wind that had been swirling around my ankles faded slightly.

“The rescue train could stop right in front of her, and she could have a free ticket, but she would still refuse to get aboard,” I continued.

He cocked his head, confused.

I shook my head, exasperated. “I want her to be happy. I want to make her happy. But she won’t let me. And that kills me.” My voice cracked again, but I went on croaking. “It kills me.” All the steam went out of me, and I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, muttering, “Maybe she’s right. Maybe this is all she needs.”

Mike’s eyes dropped to the ground, telling me he disagreed.

Well, so did I. But what could I do?

I kicked the ground. I really had to get back to work. I couldn’t leave without one last word, though. “I’m glad she has you.”

It hurt to admit, but it was true. Abby loved her sisters, and she adored her stepfathers. A damn good thing, because if she didn’t have them, she would have nobody. Plus, having Mike around to protect her made it that much easier for me to walk away.

Not that any part of this was easy.

I stepped away without waiting for Mike’s reaction. Back in the shop, I used the last scrap of momentum I had to walk over to where Abby banged away.

She straightened, giving me a sharp look, but I kept my eyes on the bench behind her.

“That’s for Claire.” I put down a pint-sized juice, then walked away.

Funny how a carton of juice could make your throat go dry.

The damn thing stayed with me for a while, though. I suspected it would for a long, long time.

At 2:45, I dusted off the last ax handle, checked it again, then added it to the neat row of nineteen — now twenty — leaning against the wall. Then I put away my tools and swept up.

At three, Abby’s watch alarm rang, and she and Mike left to pick up Claire.

I carefully peeled back the tape holding Claire’s drawings to my locker and rolled them the way museums did with masterpieces. Then I grabbed a crayon and drew my own picture, along with a few words. Dear Claire…

I stopped, momentarily stuck. Then I went on.

Sorry to leave on short notice, but it’s time for me to go fight fires. Thanks for teaching me about horses and other things. Take good care of yourself and your mom for me.

Love, Cooper.

I looked it over, then stuck it under the juice and did an about-face. It was 3:10, and I had to get moving.

I shook Walt’s hand, took one last look around the shop, and walked out forever.