Page 38 of The Water Witch (Fairwick Chronicles 2)

FOURTEEN

Islept soundly and dreamlessly. In the morning I awoke to sunshine and the sound of hammering. I dressed, noticing that the wounds on my ribcage were almost entirely healed. Duncan Laird was quite a powerful wizard. I shivered a little recalling his hands on me—on mynakedbody. How would I ever face him again? The transformation I’d undergone last night hadn’t unlocked my power and now we had another problem—a crazed undine on the loose who had the mistaken impression that I was keeping her from breeding.

I wasn’t going to figure out what to do without coffee, though. In fact, I was so foggy that I could swear that Ismelledcoffee. I went downstairs and found Bill, in navy sweatshirt and baseball cap, in the kitchen pouring coffee into my favorite mug.

“I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in,” he said, handing it to me. “I wanted to get an early start so I used the key under your gnome.”

“Oh,” I said, taking the mug, “how did you know the key was under the gnome?”

He grinned. “Everyone in this town keeps their key under their gnome. Anyway, I just wanted to check that the tarps kept the water out last night.”

“Oh yes,” I said taking a sip of the coffee. It was delicious, a perfect combination of the two blends I kept in my freezer. “I didn’t hear any leaks at all. You did a great job.”

He pulled his cap over his eyes and looked embarrassed at the praise. “It’s just a temporary solution,” he mumbled. “I’d better get to work on the roof. I think the rain’s letting up.”

I looked out the window above the sink and saw a line of clearing sky through the woods in back. Lorelei must have gotten tired of making it rain…or her wounds had worn her out.Ha!I thought. She probably didn’t have a talented wizard like Duncan to heal her wounds.

“…so if you just okay this estimate…” Bill was holding the clipboard out to me, head ducked, feet shuffling.

“Oh, of course. You’ll need a down payment. How much …?” I looked down at the statement and was pleasantly surprised by the total. “That seems fair,” I said. “Can I write you a check for half now and half when you’re done?”

Bill grunted assent and I went to get my checkbook out of my desk drawer. When I came down he was in the foyer on his hands and knees. At first I thought he’d slipped on the wet floor and I wondered if the house was deliberately sabotaging anyone who tried to fix it, but then he looked up and I saw he was holding an old rag in his hands.

“Just mopping up a little spill,” he said, getting to his feet and tugging his cap over his eyes. “I didn’t want you to slip.”

“Thank you,” I said, handing him the check. “That was very considerate of you.”

He folded the check and stuck it into the pocket of his sweatshirt. Then he stuck the rag—a scrap of plaid flannel—intohis back pocket where it hung out like a flag on the back of an oversized load on a truck. Bill wasn’t a spiffy dresser, but if he fixed my roof the way he’d fixed my hot water heater I was going to nominate him for Man of the Year.

“Should I give you a key?” I asked.

“I can just use the one under the gnome,” he said, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, “if that’s all right?”

I hesitated, wondering how these things were usually done. I’d gotten used to Brock coming and going as he pleased. Was Bill worried I’d accuse him of stealing something later? Or maybe he thought I was naïve for trusting a total stranger with the key to my house. Maybe he was right. But every instinct in my body told me to trust Bill Carey. Then I remembered what Liz and Diana had said, that no one wishing me harm could get to the key under the gnome. If Bill could use it, that proved he was as trustworthy as I thought he was.

“It’s perfectly all right,” I said. “I trust you.”

He lifted his head. For the first time I got a good look at his eyes—warm, golden brown eyes the color of good whiskey. They were shining, almost as if filled with tears. “I promise you I won’t give you any reason for ever regretting that,” he said in a rush, then he turned abruptly and fled.

“I’ll see you later, then,” I called as he headed for his pickup truck—a shiny new red Ford. He grunted and waved. What had happened in Bill’s life, I wondered as I closed the door, that made a simple expression of trust so moving?

I was heading upstairs to get dressed when my cell phone rang. I almost didn’t pick it up, but then I thought it might be Duncan Laird. I answered it without checking the number.

“Callie McFay?” a woman with a gravelly Australian accent asked. “It’s Jen Davies. Sorry I took so long getting back to you.”

“Not at all, Jen,” I said sitting down on the bottom step. “Iknow you’re busy. I saw the piece you did on Sarah Palin’s wardrobe stylist. Nice one!”

“Yeah, I felt a bit like I’d found Deep Throat.”

We both laughed, but Jen stopped first. “Hey, I appreciate the good review but I don’t think you called about that. Have you heard about the meeting in Fairwick?”

“I heard the Grove is coming to discuss with IMP whether the door to Faerie should be permanently closed.”

Jen snorted. “That’s not the half of what they’ve got planned. I think we’d better talk. I got into town early…”

“You’re in Fairwick?” I asked, surprised that Jen would spend any more time in the country than she’d have to.

“Yeah, the muckety-mucks sent me on first to scout out the lay of the land. I’m staying at a motel out on the highway. No offense to your pal Diana, but if I stayed at her inn one more time I’d never fit into my jeans.”

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