Page 8 of Dream Weaver (Spellbound in Sedona #3)

ABBY

First the vortex disturbance, then Jay’s call. I couldn’t help thinking something was up. My sisters, on the other hand…

“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you,” Pippa said.

She and Ingo had returned from their trip just in time for a sunset ride. Apache, her pinto, and Buckeye, Erin’s roan, flanked my horse, Lucky. Flanking me , really, making it clear I wasn’t alone.

God, I loved my sisters. They’d immediately picked up on my sour mood — not difficult, given the car doors I’d slammed or the way I’d thrown my phone (at the soft porch seat because I couldn’t afford a new one, but still) — and had talked me into a short ride.

Ingo had promised to investigate the disturbance at Airport Mesa first thing in the morning. In the meantime, he’d volunteered to cook dinner while Nash played soccer with Claire, freeing me up for a ride with my sisters.

I gulped, glancing back toward the main house. To think those two had ever been on my red list…

Which just went to show what a shitty judge of character I was. Jay had started out on my green list. So, maybe I should start trusting every man I disliked and hating every man I trusted from now on.

Like Cooper. Did he deserve an upgrade to my yellow list?

Lucky tossed his head, making his harness jingle. Was that a yes?

The orange juice thing had gone right to my heart, and I knew the rescue train hadn’t been Claire’s idea. I just found myself wishing they’d drawn a carriage for me too.

“It’s not the first time Jay’s done this, right?” Pippa pointed out.

Unfortunately, no. Every couple of years, my ex would get it in his head that, hey, maybe he ought to be a father after all, and demand his “rightful” place in Claire’s life.

The shithead hadn’t even been at Claire’s birth. Erin and Pippa had, and their tears of joy had matched mine when they’d held Claire for the first time. But Jay? No call to check on us. No card. Nothing.

“He’s probably just trying to impress some woman,” I grumbled, thinking about his last call, two years earlier.

Pippa snorted. “If he is, I feel sorry for her.”

I did too — except she might as well have been me . Hell, it had been me. The old me, at least, who’d not just fallen for Jay’s undeniable charms but plunged headfirst down a cliff — a cliff like the one our horses steadily picked their way along on the way to our favorite sunset viewpoint.

A hunk of a bull rider with twinkling, cornflower-blue eyes, Jay could have had any of the groupies who’d thrown themselves at him, but he’d wanted me . One look at me in the stands of a rodeo had been enough for him to hunt me down the next day and the next and the next, armed with that devastating smile each time.

No one had ever shown that much interest in me. No one.

Leather creaked as I shifted in my saddle, wishing Lucky would pick up the pace. Maybe that way, we could outrun my memories.

After a few days of fairy-tale pursuit, I’d relented and ended up in Jay’s bed. I’d loved every minute of those amazing couple of weeks. Every stroke of his callused hands, every kiss, every whisper, every hot, hard thrust. He’d truly made me feel like a queen.

You had to give it to Jay: he knew how to put a woman on a pedestal and worship her.

Unfortunately, his attention span was only marginally longer than his bull rides. Before I knew it, he was on to the next cute chick who’d caught his eye — and the next and the next. Jay could staff his own rodeo, and fill the stands, with the women he’d sweet-talked into his saddle over the years.

Sorry, baby, he’d had the nerve to say when I’d found him in bed with my successor. But, hey. We had a good time, didn’t we?

He’d dumped her just as quickly, but that was little comfort to me.

I’d been Jay’s queen, but the day I hunted him down to say I was pregnant, he’d treated me like a whore.

How can you be sure it’s mine?

Like I was the one with a lover at every stop on the rodeo tour.

“Maybe he’s just after a free place to stay,” Erin grumbled.

Equally possible. Nine years ago, Jay had been on top of the world. Now, injured and broke, he was a washed-up ex-rodeo star living off friends, dusty trophies, and rapidly fading star allure.

“He said he wants custody.” My voice cracked.

“He’ll never get it,” Pippa assured me. “Not after what he did five years ago.”

Erin shot her a look. I touched the scar on my cheek, gritting my teeth.

“He’ll never follow through,” Erin said firmly.

Apache’s hooves scraped over rock, emphasizing her words.

“All bark and no bite,” Pippa tried a joke.

“Ha-ha,” I grumbled.

But she was right. Jay was a wolf shifter, and he rarely followed through on promises.

Threats, on the other hand…

Lucky tossed his head, telling me to enjoy the view while I could.

I patted his pale mane. “Beautiful.”

Sunset colors split the sky into stained-glass panes of pink, orange, and red. The landscape echoed that, contributing panels of green from all the pines and oaks. The lights of town twinkled in the distance, along with the closer few dotting our ranch.

My ranch, I reminded myself. My sisters, my daughter. My life.

I raised my chin resolutely. I was the master of my fate and the captain of my destiny. I was a tough, capable woman, a respected metal artist, and a damn good mother. Jay was a nobody, and I would not allow him to steal my peace, let alone my daughter. Not now, not ever.

“Never,” I whispered into the wind.

* * *

That night, I tried dreaming Jay out of existence.

I woke angrier than ever — at him and myself. If dream weaving really was a magic power, I sure as hell didn’t have it.

The only positive of Jay’s out-of-nowhere call was that it put me in the perfect frame of mind to bang at steel once I arrived at work.

I turned the ingot — a block of raw steel — in my hands, getting a feel for it, reading invisible lines, and stretching it into the right shape in my mind. Then I buried it in the coals of my forge and went over my next steps. Enough tinkering. It was time to get down to business.

I picked out my favorite hammer, moved the glowing ingot to my anvil, and began.

Tap. Tap. Wham! Tap. Tap. Wham!

The red-hot metal flared, slowly succumbing to a time-old rhythm passed down through generations of blacksmiths.

Tap. Tap. Wham!

Every contact pushed the outside world further and further away, leaving just me, the metal, and the fire. My fire — the one beside me, and the one within.

Sweat streamed down my brow, and magic heated my veins as I slammed again and again and again.

All too soon, the metal cooled, and I had to pause to reheat it.

It was only after three more cycles — hammering away, then stopping to reheat — that I noticed Cooper there.

Which said a lot, because the guy was huge. And quiet, especially today. Giving me space. Letting me concentrate.

Or maybe just keeping himself safe?

Well, he ought to. I didn’t want or need an assistant.

I opened the forge vent to raise the temperature. The burst of air ruffled the calendar pinned over my workbench, and I frowned. Three weeks left in the month, and I had twenty axes to forge. A hydraulic hammer would speed things up, but working by hand let the metal sing back to me, guiding me as I coaxed it into its new form. Working metal was like training a horse — better to guide it, not break it, especially if you wanted a little magic to seep in with every strike.

I glanced over at Cooper, then at the metal resting in the coals. Then back to Cooper — specifically, those thick, bulging arms. I’d made a good start drawing the metal out to the desired shape, but…

Well…maybe it was time to start trusting men instinct had warned me away from.

I cleared my throat and looked up at him. Way up.

“Have you ever worked as a smith-and-striker team?”

Warm brown eyes regarded me steadily, and he nodded. “Yes. I strike for my uncle sometimes.”

I scratched my chin, then reached for my trusty twelve-pound sledge. I held it out to him, then pulled it back to my chest. Was this really a good idea?

Cooper snorted. “I can watch, or I can help. Guess which will speed things up for you.”

I grimaced, then held out the tool again.

He looked offended, eyeing the larger model behind me.

I huffed, then gave in and handed him a fourteen-pounder. Men!

Even that, he took with disdain. Clearly, he was coveting the twenty-pound beast hanging on the wall behind me. Well, he could use that when he proved himself.

Which he did, real quick.

I made him practice on a piece of scrap metal first, which got me another miffed look. But there was no way I was going to let him near my project without a dry run.

“Okay. Follow my lead. I hammer first, you follow. And when I say up —”

He nodded, cutting me off. “I give it one more tap, then stop. I know.”

I looked at him, then the metal, and began.

Bang! went my hammer.

Wham! His landed right in the footprint of mine.

I aimed a little farther right.

Cooper struck the exact same spot.

I led him through three more strikes, then blinked at the results. Wow. Solid technique, solid aim, and really solid blows. A single hit did the work of three of my own.

He smirked.

So, power and accuracy weren’t issues. The question was, how long could he keep it up?

Plenty long, as it turned out.

I heated the metal again, and we got to work in earnest.

Bang!

Wham!

Bang!

Wham!

We went five rounds, and when I called up, Cooper hit one more time, then halted.

A man who could follow instructions. Yay.

As for progress… Damn. Maybe I should have put him to work earlier. The square block of steel I’d started with was already long and slender.

I heated it up, and we went another round. The metal steadily gave way to our blows.

The next time I stopped and wiped sweat from my brow, I caught Pablo looking over. Bob, too.

Walt turned away quickly, but not before I saw him grin. Hmpf. What was up with him?

Cooper used the break to shed his flannel shirt, leaving him in a snug black T-shirt. Within an hour, he was up to the eighteen-pound sledge, and the shirt was sticking lusciously — er, loosely — to his skin. The ax head was taking shape by then, though the final details would take time.

Details, like the etched lines of muscle under that black T-shirt. I only noticed now and then, though. Truly. I was too absorbed in my work.

Not just work. Teamwork, a little voice whispered in my mind.

Yes, teamwork. Smooth and practiced, like we’d worked together for years.

Bang!

Wham!

It was a rhythm. A heartbeat. A dance.

Cooper barely uttered a word all morning, and neither did I. We didn’t need to. We were that in tune.

“Five-minute break,” I finally murmured, snagging my water bottle. My full water bottle, though I’d been drinking like a fish.

I stared at Cooper’s back as he walked off to fill his.

Then I stared a little more, because, well…wet T-shirt. Muscles. Big shoulders. Sweat glistening on skin.

I whirled away and stared into the forge. For once, I didn’t feel the need to escape into it. Where I was was just fine.

In fact — much as I hated to admit it — we made a damn good team.