One
“Evangeline Malcolm Carstairs on ayacht!”Sitting on a deck chair overlooking gray Atlantic waves turning pastel with dawn, Evie took a selfie of herself in the bright pink hot pants she had found in her Great-Aunt Val’s wardrobe. Rather than downsize, her aunt had left Evie to recycle all the things she no longer wanted. Beat thrift store shopping. “I grew up in a trailer park and your family owns ayacht. I should probably go scrub the toilet.”
“The head,” Damon Ives-Jackson corrected. “And my adoptive father owns the yacht because he stole people’s money. My real father was a desert rat.”
A fact they’d only discovered a few months ago, but not one that changed their cultural divide. Their moral and emotional gaps were less simple to define given Jax was an honest lawyer and seeker of justice, and her family descended from a legacy of women who did what it took to survive. The months it had taken to reach this level of companionship had been entertaining.
Evie snorted at his description of his genius biological father and stretched out her leg so she could study her newly polished toenails. “Yeah, a desert rat who owned a silicon mine, a microchip company, and was both a lawyer and engineer. My daddy pounds nails for a living. And yourmotherwas a political analyst. Mine reads crystal balls. Let’s face it, dude, we are not compatible.” Although they’d done a fine job ofcompattingin the yacht’s luxurious quarters last night.
“Not seeing a large difference between political analysis and crystal balls.” Setting aside his phone to sip his mimosa, Jax admired her preening display.
That henoticedher gave her a thrill. Intelligent men tended to disregard her as a petite flake—which came in handy upon occasion, admittedly. But a girl liked having her special man pay attention when she fixed herself up.
For their final yacht date, Jax was wearing funky linen trousers tied with a rope. And no shirt. Although she admired his sculpted muscles, she envied his ability to brown nicely in the sun. Her redhead’s skin didn’t. Which was one reason they were out here at dawn.
Wariness tinged his reply. “So, you’re saying we should break up because your family isn’t rich, even though my family is dead, and I’m nearly dead broke? If you’re looking for excuses, we could go with your family having lived in the same town for four centuries while mine has no roots.”
Well, yeah, when he put it that way... “You grew up with country clubs andyachts.I grew up with witches with attitudes. You could be a hotshot lawyer if you didn’t hang around with me.”
He settled back to sip his drink and presumably ponder her complaint. “My adoptive father stole his clients’ funds. Your family holds witch parades and drives out a corrupt mayor, then supports a transgender candidate to take his place. And you are altruistically suggesting that we give up the best sex I’ve ever had, so I can have yachts and belong to a country club?”
Evie tried to wrap her ADHD-afflicted brain around that. “Well, if it’s all about the sex, okay, we’re good. A bad influence for Loretta, maybe, but kids have to learn adults make mistakes too.”
“And now we’re a mistake. You really know how to make a guy feel special.” Jax reached his muscular leg over to her lounge and rubbed his toes up her naked leg.
Evie gave up. “I’m done trying to save you from yourself. I’ll miss our weekend getaways now that the yacht has been sold. How is your dad doing these days?” Evie nibbled at her cranberry bagel, snapped photos with her phone, and toyed with the deck chair adjustment. Sitting still wasn’t exactly a habit she’d ever developed.
Jax grimaced. “Stephen has sold the house, his cars, his partnership in Stockton and Stockton, and now the yacht. He thinks that will be enough to pay off the clients he owes, plus court fees and so forth. Living on social security and a pension will be good for him.”
“I’m glad you agreed to be his character witness. Your aura is brighter for it.” Evie breathed deeply of the salt air and admired the ball of gold rising over the surf while catching surreptitious glimpses of Jax’s awesome pecs. She’d known he was no weakling since that first day she’d done her best to maim him last spring. Since then, she’d had time to learn just how those hard muscles felt up close and personal.
She tingled all over and wondered if they might have time for one more round before they had to go home...
Since the meathead was being his usual dutiful lawyer self and checking his overnight mail, she figured she ought to act like she wasn’t a sex maniac, pretend she had a business, and check hers. It was just... she could do three things at once while he was concentrating on one. She slid her bare foot over to rub his and opened a message from one of her neighbors.
Jax leaned over and blew in her ear just as she whistled and sat up straight, nearly taking off his nose. She waved the phone at him. “Look! This might be a realio trulio case!Her grandmother may not be her grandmother!”
Undaunted, Jax nibbled her ear—until his phone sounded an alarm, then beeped. “Hold that thought.” He flipped to his text messages, cursed, and showed her the screen image.
Roark! The last time they’d seen him, he’d been hightailing it out of town in pursuit of happiness or Sasquatch. Or maybe both. “What on earth is he doing?” Evie grabbed the phone to study the background. The big Cajun was creeping around Witch Hill? Why?
Jax was already out of his chair. “The alarm was Ariel’s security being cut off. The image is from Ariel.”
“How did she take that photo if her cameras are cut off? Why would he cut her security?” Following him up, Evie began gathering their breakfast dishes while her thoughts spun with worry for both Ariel and Roark. “He looks awful, but maybe that’s just the shadows? Will she be okay?”
Jax returned the text with a brief word or two. Evie knew his neurodivergent sister didn’t process long communication. The phone didn’t beep back, and he cursed some more. No communication was worrisome—but not unusual.
“I’ll clean up. You try to reach Reuben. He was pulling together more propaganda for the mayor’s campaign late last night and may still be asleep.” Running down to the cabin, Evie did a hasty scrub of their dishes and dashed back to strip the linens while Jax paced and tried to wake up people who could reach Ariel faster than they could.
Ariel was as close to a non-verbal Crystal Child as Evie would probably ever meet. Her aura was crystal clear, and she was so sensitive to conflict that she’d retreated inside herself and might break like pricey glass if pushed too far. Psychiatrists had other words for her, none of them right.
She flung a shirt up at Jax, who wiggled it on while punching keys on the phone. The man could multi-task when needed. She threw the rest of their things into the Harley’s saddlebags, gave the cabin a swift check, and joined him on deck. He grabbed her waist, kissed her as if he meant it, then dragged her to the gangplank. Well, so much for a last minute quickie.
This had been a fascinating summer, but idylls had to end. Her luck with men generally never lasted even this long—which made her wary, if only for their ward’s sake. Jax had been too busy this summer setting up his new office to look for anyone more his type. That didn’t mean Evie dared dream that the illusion would continue. Which meant she needed to assert her independence.
“If I had my own car, I could stay here and look into this granny case.” If she had an actual job, maybe she wouldn’t mind so much when he moved on. She ran to keep up with his longer legs.
“Buy your damned Miata. Loretta is a billionaire.” Loretta being their ten-year-old ward. “She shouldn’t be riding around town in a broken-down utility van or a bicycle.”