Page 7 of Dream Weaver (Spellbound in Sedona #3)

COOPER

At five to nine the next morning, I found myself staring at the rear entrance of Heavy Metal Sedona. When Walt rolled up the doors, he looked surprised to see me back.

Hell, I was surprised too.

“Good morning. Good to have you back.”

“Good to be here,” I murmured, more polite than honest.

I’d left the previous day one hundred percent resolved to give Rich an ultimatum. Either he let me prepare for the season with the rest of the team, or I would find a different crew to work for.

And yet, here I was, back at the metal shop. Why?

Well, I’d never been a quitter, and one stubborn, antisocial blacksmith wasn’t going to make one of me.

Also, because a midnight ramble in bear form had given me a million reasons to spend a season exploring this fascinating landscape. How did such tiny, fragrant flowers spring up from such arid, lifeless ground? What would their honey taste like? How many intriguing little hideaways lay out there in that red, rocky landscape, waiting to be discovered?

When I returned, I’d had a good, long look at the picture hanging on the west wall of the firehouse. The one of Kevin, who’d been killed a few years ago. It blurred, though, with a similar picture hanging on the wall back at my home station in Wyoming.

Kevin had died four seasons ago, and the Yavapai Hotshots hadn’t had a major mishap since. Not with the lucky ax crafted by Abby.

Intrigued? Yes, I was, in spite of my aversion to witches and witchcraft.

So, I’d decided to give Abby one more day. I could always deliver that ultimatum later.

“Morning.” Bob filed in, followed by Matt and Pablo.

“Good morning,” Pablo mumbled.

“Not sure it is,” Matt groaned between sips of steaming coffee.

Walt came over and assigned me a locker. Had he been holding out to see if I would survive my first day with Abby?

Probably.

Pablo clapped me on the shoulder. “Congratulations! You get your own locker and everything.”

Yeah, that would make up for working with Miss Grouchy Arizona. Still, it was nice to be accepted — by some people anyway.

I swapped my jacket for a thick leather apron. Wishful thinking, maybe, since Abby hadn’t let me anywhere near her precious project.

Yet.

She ran in at five past nine, clearly flustered. Late to dropping Claire off at school, maybe?

Spotting me, she stopped abruptly.

“Morning,” I murmured, tying my apron carefully.

She narrowed her eyes, clearly suspicious. But I wasn’t guilty of anything more than sheer persistence — or ignorance. My metalworking experience mostly consisted of keeping the bellows going and handing my uncle tools. I was about as qualified for this as open-heart surgery. And like open heart surgery, there really could be lives on the line here, if Rich and Alice were to be believed.

With a grunt of — greeting? disappointment? — Abby disappeared behind the door of her locker. Yes, she was that slender. She made enough noise for a herd of mustangs, though, throwing down her bag and changing her shoes in that aggressive way of hers, like they’d personally wronged her.

“Hey, Abby. Did you feel that this morning?” Matt asked.

The commotion behind the door stopped immediately.

“Feel what?” she peeped a little too casually.

“My girlfriend said she felt the vortexes flare right before sunrise.”

I made a face. Did Matt really believe that spiritual mumbo jumbo?

Abby’s reply was as neutral as the cement of the workshop floor. “They flared?”

“Yeah. She said the vortexes threw out huge pulses of energy. She couldn’t sleep afterward.”

The dark circles under Abby’s eyes said she hadn’t either.

But Huh was all she said.

“Oh. Rich said you wanted this,” I said, handing her an old ax he’d hauled out of storage.

Some women were into boxes of chocolates or flower bouquets. Personally, I could be buttered up by a jar of nice, thick wildflower honey.

Abby dug vintage axes.

Her eyes lit up, and her cheeks flushed with excitement.

My inner bear seized on that and galloped off in a totally inappropriate direction, crooning about love, forever, and destiny.

Destiny? I froze. No way.

I cleared that nonsense out of my mind. Stupid bear.

Abby snatched the ax out of my hands and turned away, shielding it.

“You’re welcome,” I muttered.

“Thank you,” she murmured, heading off to her corner of the shop like a dog with a bone it had no intention of sharing.

She was so excited — and/or preoccupied — that she didn’t react when I joined her. She just went on inspecting the axes — the vintage ax and the one she’d mocked up the previous day. So far, she’d only made the head of the mock-up. From the look of things, the fittings were on today’s agenda, because you didn’t just stick a steel head on a wooden handle and start hacking away — not unless you wanted that steel head to fly off and hurt someone. It had to be fitted snugly with two long, thin bars, a rivet, and several wooden wedges.

I knew this only because Abby disassembled the vintage ax. She studied each part reverently, turning each piece over in her hands and running a finger over every surface. Then she got work creating copies for her mock-up. That took the rest of the day, and I got as much hands-on time as I had the previous day.

Namely, zero.

“How old is this?” I asked, reaching for the time-worn handle.

“Old.” She swatted my hand away.

“What are you using it for?”

“You’ll see.”

She’d gone from a single-syllable answer to two syllables. Cause to celebrate?

I reached for the ax again, counting on my size advantage for self-defense if necessary. I nabbed it on my second try, earning a glare from Abby.

“You’re the one who took it apart,” I pointed out. “It’s not like I’m going to break it.”

“Anything is possible,” she muttered. “You know, like a bull in a china shop.”

I snorted. “More like a bear in a metal shop.”

Abby froze.

So did I. Oops.

Her hard gaze scraped over my cheeks and beard…down to my chest, then my arms…

“Bear, huh?” she whispered.

I opened my palms to her, showing her human hands and fingers.

“Not at the moment,” I replied quietly.

To my shock and wonder, she reached for my hands.

Her touch was halting. Careful. Her skin — no surprise — was callused.

Warm, my bear hummed. Nice.

My hands dwarfed hers, but somehow, they felt like a perfect fit.

My throat bobbed, the only movement I permitted my body.

Once, on a day off one summer, I’d shifted to bear form to wander a beautiful mountain meadow. Birds sang, and wildflowers danced in the breeze. A butterfly had fluttered by, then landed on my nose. I’d stood perfectly still, barely breathing.

Just like now.

Abby ran her hands over mine, then grasped my fingers, and—

“Ow.” I jerked away when she squeezed hard, ruining the moment.

Was she checking for claws?

“Sorry.” She pulled away quickly.

I rubbed my hands, wishing hers were still clasped in them.

Then I leaned in, seizing the moment. “And what about you?”

Her lips wobbled ever so slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what are you?”

The color drained from her cheeks.

“A witch?” I tried.

And, whoa. Talk about pulling a trigger. Her eyes flashed, and her hands balled into small sledgehammers. The fire in the forge sparked angrily, and I swear, the color of her tattoos intensified.

“I’m a blacksmith,” she snapped. “Now, let me concentrate.”

She turned back to the ax parts, but the way her chest heaved told me she couldn’t focus.

I nearly apologized, but what had I done, actually?

Still, I felt like shit, because she was upset. Not with me, maybe, but upset just the same.

An hour ticked by before I found a way to make a peace offering — filling her water bottle. She accepted it without a word — her version of a peace offering?

“Are axes still made the same way?” I asked, indicating the parts, new and old, on her workbench.

“Yep.” Her tone was as snippy as ever, but maybe a touch less grudging.

One thing was for sure. She had me stumped. Was she a witch or wasn’t she?

“Lunchtime!” Pablo called out gleefully.

Abby whirled away from me and headed for the private corner where she had wolfed down her huge, homemade lunch the previous day. Enough food for an entire fire crew — and we were notoriously big eaters.

I sighed and repeated my supermarket run — along with my vow to quit this job.

When we returned to work, Abby was…well, not subdued , but…quiet. No, that didn’t fit either. More focused, in any case, and not half as resentful as usual.

A good sign? A dangerous one? I kept my distance, just in case.

At some point, her watch alarm sounded, and she gave herself a little shake.

“I have to go,” she said, leaving the ax on her workbench.

I glanced at the shop clock. Three o’clock. Time to pick up her daughter?

“I’ll be right back,” she said, jogging to her car. “Don’t touch anything.”

I sighed. So much for making headway.

I swept the shop floor — the entire floor, not just Abby’s section, earning praise from Bob and chuckles from the others. Then, after a few sips of juice from the carton I’d bought at lunchtime, I practiced assembling the vintage ax Abby was using as a model.

Abby’s car — a green Ford older than either of us — was loud enough to serve as an early warning system. I put the ax back exactly as Abby had left it.

“Hi, Mr. Cooper!” Claire called, all bright and happy.

“Just Cooper,” I reminded her gently. “How was school?”

“Great! Look what I made in art class!”

“Wow! Is that Black Beauty?”

“Bucephalus,” she corrected without the slightest hint of exasperation. So unlike her mother.

“Bu-who?”

“Alexander the Great’s horse,” she said, all matter-of-fact.

Wow. A kid who knew ancient history — or the equine side of it, at least.

Claire made a round of the metal shop so everyone could admire her artwork. Abby, meanwhile, took one look at the workbench and shot me a dirty look that said, You touched, dammit.

I met her gaze, telegraphing something like, Yes, I did. But I handled your work with respect, and I put everything back as I found it.

Yeesh. What was up with her? I’d grown up with five siblings, and I knew how to share. Then again, I had a mom who’d imposed law and order in an otherwise chaotic household. Maybe Abby hadn’t?

Claire skipped over to her usual spot near Abby’s anvil. “Oh! Juice! Can I have some?”

Abby shot me another dark look. This one said, For God’s sake, did you not hear what I said yesterday?

Then she followed Claire’s gaze…and froze.

“Sure. I got you your own.” I pointed to the pint-size carton next to my big one. “If it’s okay with your mom, of course.”

I looked at Abby, thinking — but not daring to say — Ha. Gotcha.

“Can I, Mom? Can I?” Claire turned to Abby with big, irresistible eyes — luminous green, just like her mother’s.

Abby stared a moment longer, then nodded curtly. “Just make sure you say—”

“Thank you, Mr. Cooper!” Claire gushed, beating her to it. “Thank you!”

I opened it, handed Claire her carton, and tapped it with mine in a toast. “You’re welcome.”

Claire giggled, making me grin.

“What did you do today, Cooper?”

Nothing, I almost blurted. Your mother didn’t let me.

I settled for “Mostly, I watched your mom work.”

“She’s a really good blacksmith,” Claire agreed, oblivious to my subtext.

Abby caught it, though. I could tell by the sharp look she sent me.

“She is,” I agreed. “That’s why I barely touched any of the fittings while she was gone. I wouldn’t dare. You know, because metal is so fragile.”

Abby rolled her eyes. Claire giggled.

“What did you do today?” I changed the subject.

Claire launched into a detailed description of her day while doodling with crayons. I heard all about what she had for lunch, the games she played at recess, the camper trip her friend Casey had taken with her family…

Abby’s phone rang, but she ignored it.

A minute later, it rang again. And again. Cursing, she turned away to take the call.

“Hello?”

A split second later, her body stiffened. “How did you get this number?”

Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good.

“I told you not to call me.” Her voice was low and venomous.

Claire looked up.

“Don’t you baby me, Jay,” Abby hissed.

Claire’s crayon hovered over the paper, and her sunny expression faltered.

Abby stalked out of the workshop, taking the rest of the exchange out of earshot.

I watched her go, then glanced at Claire, who’d gone pale. Shit.

I picked up a crayon, pulled up a stool beside Claire’s, and sat, blocking her view of Abby pacing outside.

“Here. Let me draw you a train.”

“A train?” Claire didn’t sound too interested.

“Uh-huh.” I lined up several sheets of paper and started sketching. “A special one.”

Claire leaned around me, barely paying attention. “How special?”

My first thought was a circus train that she could fill with animals. Then I got a better idea based on what she’d said the previous day.

“It’s a train that rescues animals and brings them to Sedona.”

And, whew. That got her attention.

“A rescue train? Cool.”

“Yep.” I drew a long line of flat freight wagons, one per sheet of paper. “I’m not very good at drawing animals, though. Can you help?”

She nodded eagerly.

“So, what animals go in the first wagon?” I asked.

Horses, of course. She even had names for them.

“This is Domino, and there’s Annie…”

I nodded, leaning in so she couldn’t see Abby gesticulating dangerously. If hands were knives, Jay — whoever he was — would be chopped into a hundred bloody pieces.

Claire’s second compartment was more of a dog kennel, while the third carried alpacas.

The next time I looked up, Abby was off the phone. She stood staring — or glaring — into the distance. She’d wrapped her arms around herself and was stroking her own arms, the way folks did when they needed comforting. Sedona’s mesas and peaks rose in the background, making her look tiny. Fragile, even.

My heart tore a little.

I’d never seen anyone so…so…

Alone, my bear filled in sadly. Lonely .

I burned to step over and make that hug a little more comforting. But Abby barely let me near her anvil. She sure as hell wasn’t going to let me close to her body.

All I could do was add another sheet of paper to Claire’s train. She filled a fourth and fifth wagon — greyhounds in one, pit bulls in another— and devoted a sixth to elephants. Asian elephants, the kind with small ears.

Outside, Abby rolled her shoulders, composing herself. Then she stomped back inside.

I inched away from Claire, working on the principle of never coming between a momma bear and her cub.

Abby’s eyes darkened, seeing me there, but they brightened again when she focused on Claire.

“Why don’t you show your mom the train?” I whispered.

Claire scooped up the papers and scampered over to Abby. “Look, Mommy! I drew a rescue train!”

Abby’s face was a mask, but a moment later, she cracked and kneeled to hug Claire.

“What a beautiful picture, sweetie.” She barely looked, but that didn’t stop her voice from wobbling.

I turned away, giving them space. I couldn’t help hearing, though.

“Is everything okay, Mommy?” Claire asked.

The tear in my heart ripped a little further.

“Everything is fine, sweetie.”

“He’s not coming back, is he?” Claire went on, clinging to her mother.

My turn to ball my hands into fists. Who was that asshole?

“No, sweetie. Everything will be fine. Everything is fine.”

The more Abby said it, the more I knew it wasn’t.

Jay, I figured, was her ex. Claire’s father, maybe. The guy who’d made Abby so bitter?

My bear growled.

Whoever Jay was, he was definitely a threat.

My chin itched as the stubble there thickened, and I couldn’t help checking the doorway.

But there was no one there. No threat. Just the ghosts of Abby’s past, invisible to me but screaming in her face, or so it seemed.

Behind us, the others started cleaning up.

“Closing time, everyone,” Walt called.

This time, Abby let me help with her area. She even let me walk Claire to the car and see them off. I stood there a long time, watching the red taillights of her Ford disappear into the steady stream of commuters.

When I got into my car and paused at the edge of the road, I burned to make a left and follow her, just in case. But home for me was a right turn, and Abby hadn’t asked for me to tail her.

After another long minute of indecision, I turned right.

My heart sure felt like it had taken a left, though.