Sight. That’s a Celtic thing, isn’t it? Irish or Scottish?”
“Her maiden name was Sullivan.” The laid-back woman I’d known for a week fairly bristled with feeling. Even her hair seemed agitated. She began pacing. “She’s a darling. She’s helped people all her life. She didn’t ask to have the Sight. Who would? But it runs in our family. Like the curse.”
The curse?
Seely reached the end of the room and spun around, making her hair fly out like a curly cape. “Do you know what that self-righteous old prune called her? A bride of Satan. My granny! She taught Sunday school for thirty-two years!”
A Christian witch. Well, if you could believe in witchcraft in the first place, why not? “What curse?”
She grimaced. “I didn’t mean to mention that.”
“Too late now. What curse?”
“The one another witch put on my great-grandmother for stealing her man about a hundred years ago.” She flung up her hands. “Why am I telling you all this? You don’t believe a word of it.”
“I believe several parts,” I said cautiously. Her granny probably was a good, loving woman who’d taught Sunday school and made up little herbal remedies for her neighbors. And thought of herself as a witch.
Seely’s expression softened as the corners of her lips turned up. “Poor Ben. You’re trying so hard not to tell me that I’m nuts. If it’s any consolation, I don’t believe in the curse, either.”
“Okay. The curse doesn’t count. But you said it was passed down in your family like, uh, the Sight.”
“I’ve heard about it all my life. I don’t really believe in it, but…” She shrugged, which gave her breasts a gentle lift.
I wanted to tell her how much I liked that sweater. I didn’t even let my gaze linger, an act of willpower for which I deserved a lot more credit than I was likely to get. “I know how family stories stick with you. We learn things when we’re kids that cling like burrs long after we’ve figured out they aren’t really true.”
“Yes!” Her laugh was shaky. “That’s it exactly. I don’t really believe in the curse, yet I can’t completely forget it, either. Daisy believes it.” Her feet started her moving again. “She thinks my father left us because a witch cursed the women in my family to unhappiness in love.”
“Hmm.”
She paused by the window, shrugged. “I guess it’s easier to believe in a curse than to think that he didn’t really love her. Or that he’s a noodle.”
“Cooked, I take it.”
She nodded and ran her fingers along the edge of the drapes, as if she found it easier to talk to them right now, instead of me. “I made it sound like I don’t remember anything about him. That isn’t quite true. He read me bedtime stories. He used to take me out in this little sidecar attached to his bicycle. I remember the way the fields smelled, the tug of the wind in my hair.” She swallowed. “The sound of his laugh.”
“Sounds like a noodle, all right.” I came up behind her and rested my hand on her shoulder. “He loved you. For some reason he wasn’t man enough to be responsible for you, but he loved you.”
“You aren’t on the couch.”
“Nope.” I folded my good arm around her and eased her up against me.
She didn’t exactly resist, but she didn’trelax, either. “Ben…”
I had a hunch she’d like it better if I made a pass. She’d know what to do when a man crossed that kind of boundary. Comfort was harder for her.
Tough. I stroked a hand down her hair. “So what’s the noodle’s name? Burns for the last half, I guess. Zebediah? Ezekiel?”
My hand was resting against the side of her face, so I felt her smile even though I couldn’t see it. “Well, it is biblical.”
“Mathew? Mark?” She’d relaxed against me, slightly sideways because of the sling. Her hip nestled into my groin. I wondered how long my brain could survive without oxygen, seeing that all of my blood was tied up in one part of my body. “Do I need to run through the rest of the Gospels?”
Her low chuckle delighted me. “Old Testament. Think lions.”
“Lion’s den. Daniel.”
“Bingo.” The top of her head was even with my eyes. Her hair was so soft…. I didn’t nuzzle it. Surely some celestial scorekeeper was pasting all kinds of gold stars next to my name. “I’m glad Duncan turned me down. Better to hear all this from you.”
She went stiff. “What do you mean, he turned you down?”
Uh-oh. Too much distraction. “Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”
“Oh, no.” She turned, pulling out of my arms, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “I want to know what you meant.”
“You weren’t telling me things. Important things. So I…hell.” I ran my hand over my own head this time.
“So you had me checked out? You had your brother check me out?”
“No, I told you—he turned me down.”
“Oh, that’s different, then! You wanted the cops to investigate me, but your brother wouldn’t do it, so everything’s fine!”
“I needed to know about you, okay? I didn’t want to know. I needed to. And if that doesn’t make sense, well, tough. Tough on both of us,” I said, my voice getting louder, “because I’m used to making sense, only here you are, and I keep doing stupid things and I don’t know why! I don’t make sense at all anymore!”
For a second after my outburst, there was silence. I scowled at her. She was smiling, dammit. “And you like that.”
Her smile just got wider. Then she lifted up onto her toes, put her hand on my good shoulder and her mouth right smack on mine.
“You…” Hard to form words with my head buzzing this way. “Why did you do that?”
“Impulse.” She skimmed smiling lips across mine. “Very poor impulse control I have at times.”
I, on the other hand, was great at self-control. I proved it by not grabbing her.
“Oh, dear, here comes another one. Help,” she said, sliding her arms around my neck and tickling my nape with her fingers. “They’re coming pretty fast now. Can’t seem to stop them.”
“Stop…” Her body brushed mine, scattering what passed for my thoughts. “Stop what?”
“Impulses. Wicked ones. Whoops.” She slipped the top button of my shirt from its buttonhole. “See what I mean?”
“Ah…” I ran my fingers down the whole, wiggly length of her hair, then slowly wrapped my hand around a
