Page 4 of Dream Weaver (Spellbound in Sedona #3)

COOPER

You can learn something from any person, my uncle Rory liked to say . So, over the next few hours, I did my best to watch Abby in that spirit. She was good — very good — with efficient and accurate hammer blows that pounded the sledgehammer into submission. Wisps of hair escaped her ponytail, and sweat glistened over her tattoos, making them flicker like real flames.

When she paused for a sip of water, my hopes rose. Surely her arm was tired from all that hammering. Surely she would accept help now.

But, no. She only stopped long enough to root through a drawer, pushing scraps of colored paper aside until she found a crayon. Yes, a crayon. She slammed the drawer shut then made a few marks on the steel.

I stepped closer. “I’m here to help, you know.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Look, I’m as happy about this as you are…”

Her grimace promised me her misery far outweighed mine.

“…but you may as well use me for something.”

She regarded me silently, then thrust her water bottle at me.

“Fine. Fill this.”

It was more permission than request, and not exactly the type of task I was hoping for. But, whatever. I snatched it up and stalked to the makeshift kitchen, making vows all the way. I would stick it out for today, then have a serious word with Rich back at the firehouse. Either he let me out of this ridiculous assignment or he would be down one crew member. Fire crews all over the West were shorthanded, and my experience could land me a job faster than Abby could say, Go away.

In the meantime, I would channel Uncle Rory’s patience and try to learn something. Like what kind of supernatural she was, for starters.

I spent the next three hours watching, waiting. Gradually deciding witch fit.

Why? Because the flames of the forge licked at steel, but never, ever her hands, no matter how close they came.

Because a few well-placed blows coaxed solid steel into an entirely new shape — one it accepted unconditionally, like a dog eager to please its master.

Because her hammer moved with its own energy, bouncing back to deliver one punishing hit, then another.

Some kind of elemental magic was involved. I was sure of it.

Plus, she was moody as hell and definitely a renegade — two classic signs of a witch. Also, she hated people. And bears.

She hated me.

Maybe she doesn’t hate. Maybe she’s been let down too often, my grizzly murmured.

Possibly. But that wasn’t my fault. The sooner I got back to working with people who understood concepts like cooperation , communication , and cheerful , the better.

She did work her ass off, though. By lunchtime, the stumpy sledgehammer had been transformed into a pick shape, with one lumpy end that would eventually be made into an ax head.

“You get an hour for lunch,” Walt told me. “Use it.”

The supermarket was only a couple of blocks away, so I set off on foot, picturing myself ambling through the woods instead of a busy main road. I flexed my fingers, imagining my bear claws snapping a salmon out of a river and my lips plucking juicy berries for dessert.

All that was a world away from the ham and cheese sandwich I picked up at the supermarket, but that was okay. I’d spent most of the off-season in bear form, tanking up on the peace of leafy forests and snowy mountains. Now, it was fire season, which I spent predominantly in human form — a rhythm I’d settled into ever since becoming a firefighter two days after graduating high school.

I returned to the metal shop a few minutes shy of an hour, plonked my unfinished carton of juice on a workbench, and went back to “work” — i.e., watching Abby.

“Do you have younger brothers?” I asked at some point.

She looked up, brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Just wondering. You’re very good at ignoring.”

She snorted and turned back to work, but I caught the way her eyes grazed over my chest first.

So, yay. I wasn’t in her little brother category. I didn’t have a lot of hangups, but being the youngest of the Lundsven clan was one of them.

The next two hours passed the same way as the morning. Abby hammered away all afternoon, not flagging one bit.

At three p.m., her watch alarm sounded. She hurried to her car, only whirling to bark an order.

“Don’t touch anything.”

I didn’t, except for petting Louie, who commiserated with me on the back step while Abby was gone.

At 3:25, she was back — with a kid. A really bubbly, outgoing one holding a fluffy pink toy bunny. All the guys in the shop cheered.

“Claire!”

The girl waved happily, showered Louie in hugs, then came over to me, all sunny, friendly, and trusting.

“Hi! I’m Claire. This is Hopper.”

“Hi, Claire. Hi, Hopper. I’m Cooper.”

The most social interaction I’d gotten all day, and half of it was with a stuffed animal.

“Do you work here too?” Claire asked.

I held back a snort. “Just…uh, volunteering…”

Abby edged closer, all mamma bear protective of her cub.

Hazy memories stirred in my mind, and I remembered my mother doing the same to protect me in the woods, once upon a time. Except in that case, the mamma bear really was a bear, and I was the cub.

I smiled faintly. Next time I called home, I would have to tell my mother about that memory. She would love that.

Abby steered Claire over to a nearby workbench. “How about you draw a picture?”

Ah. Now, the crayons and colored paper made sense.

“Okay. Oh! I’ll draw one of you and Cooper!”

Abby gnashed her teeth. “Anything you like, sweetie.”

“Oh! Juice!” Claire squeaked, spotting my carton. “Can I have some?”

Abby shook her head. “It’s Cooper’s, and he’s been drinking from the carton.”

She made it sound like I had the cooties.

“Sorry, kiddo.” I moved the carton away so Claire wouldn’t have to look at what she couldn’t have, then fetched her a glass of water.

“Thank you, Mr. Cooper.”

I grinned. Polite kid. “Just Cooper is fine, thank you.”

“What are you making?” Claire asked.

“A Pulaski,” Abby replied.

If I’d had my eyes shut, I would have sworn a totally different person had switched places with her. Her tone was sweet, loving, and optimistic, like the world was a great place with wonderful things and nice people.

Huh. So maybe the ice queen actually had a warm heart.

Claire nodded readily. Apparently, she was familiar enough with firefighting equipment to know about Pulaskis — an ax/adze used to dig trenches and chop undergrowth. Interesting.

“Only a mock-up, though,” Abby continued. “Before I start on the real ones.”

Ah. Now, it all made sense.

“Like practicing?” Claire asked.

Abby nodded. “They have to be really good. Really, really good, so they do their job well and no one gets hurt.”

I glanced over, catching the fierce concentration in Abby’s eyes. So, huh. Maybe Rich was right about entrusting Abby with this project.

My eyes drifted over her fiery hair and fierce expression. Maybe she was a witch. Gruff as hell, but not actually evil.

I scratched my chin. Was there any such witch in existence?

One thing was for sure. There was more to this spitfire than I’d first thought.

Bang! Bang! Abby went back to clobbering the metal.

Whenever she paused to check her work, Claire bombarded me with questions.

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

Two of each. Well, nowadays. An old ache settled in my chest.

Claire, I discovered, had no siblings.

“Do you have a dog?” she asked next.

I didn’t, though she had five. Roscoe was the only one allowed in the house, though.

I learned that and all kinds of details about the other four — colors, names, sizes…

The interview paused every time Abby hammered, but the moment the noise stopped, Claire tossed out another question.

“Do you have a horse?”

None. Claire had a whole herd, though she seemed to blur the line between toys and the real thing.

“Did you know only African elephants have big ears?” she said next.

No, I didn’t, but I did now. I also learned that Asian elephants had small ears.

“Are you a good blacksmith?” she asked in an abrupt change of subject.

Ha. “No. I’m a firefighter.”

“My grandpa is a firefighter. So was Mommy before I was born.”

Huh. I knew that about Abby, but I didn’t know it ran in the family.

“My grandfather was a firefighter too,” I found myself saying. “And my dad, my mom, my uncle, my cousins…”

The list stretched on for a while. Long enough for Abby to glance over, then quickly turn away.

“Wow. How many cousins do you have?” Claire asked.

I tapped the fingers on my left hand, then the right, then went back to the left again…and lost count.

“Lots,” I concluded.

“I don’t have any,” Claire said a little sadly.

“Yeah, but you have all those dogs and horses.”

Her dimples flashed, and I wondered if Abby had looked the same as a kid.

Over the next hour or so, I caught a few more hints about my temporary boss, and I wondered even more. Claire was all sunshine and rainbows. Abby was a thundercloud. Was that nature or nurture — or lack thereof, in Abby’s case? What had inspired Abby to go into blacksmithing? Was she a witch? And why did her scent make my bear all dreamy?

“What was your biggest fire?” Claire asked next.

I thought it over. A tricky question, because there’d been a lot — and as many different ways of measuring them. The same went for the emotions that came with some of them.

Head back, my brother Peter yelled in my imagination. Loud enough to be heard over the roar of the encroaching fire. I got this. You help the others.

That had been my first season fighting fires. Peter’s last.

I stared into the past. It hadn’t even entered my mind to beg Peter to retreat with me, the way I’d come to beg in my dreams.

Claire’s crayon stopped scratching. And, oops. So did Abby’s hammering.

I blurted out whatever came to mind first. “Diablo Canyon fire.”

“Oh! My friend Tana has a horse named Diablo!”

A welcome diversion. I grabbed it, asking about the horse and Claire’s friend.

Things went on in that vein for a while, though the side-eyed glances Abby shot me had a softer gleam to them.

Thanks to Claire, my last hours at the shop passed more quickly than the first. When five o’clock rolled around, the other guys cleared out quickly, but Abby went on working.

“All right, now. Time to call it a day,” Walt announced from the door a half hour later.

“Coming,” Abby replied to his third reminder.

She didn’t protest my efforts to help clean up, though she did a double take when I returned tools to their locations — like I was a complete fool who hadn’t paid attention to anything all day. So, yay for me. I could go home proud of one tiny victory.

“Oh, this is for you.” Claire held out a picture.

“Wow. Thank you.”

Claire beamed. Me too. She’d drawn me so big, my legs ran off the edge of the paper. She’d even sketched a crooked hammer into my hands — or was that a Pulaski? The pink squiggle supervising my “work” had to be Hopper, and the whirl of a stick figure by the blocky forge had to be Abby.

“Do you like it?” Claire prompted.

I held it to my chest. “I love it. Thank you.”

“See you tomorrow?” Claire asked as we walked to our cars.

I pursed my lips, not sure how to reply. Lies were always bad, but lying to a kid was even worse.

I settled for, “Have a good night, kiddo.”