Gena Showalter Bundle

“She’s had a really tough life.” Frances shifted from one foot to the other. “Her father, my ex, was a bad, bad man. He did things to her, and I didn’t know about it until too late. When she turned twelve, she ran away from home. I didn’t hear from her until about a year ago. She doesn’t like me much, but she’s been staying with me, and we’re short on cash. And I—I thought,” she stammered, “I’d hoped if you hired me, you might want to hire her. I swear on my ex’s grave, may he forever burn in hell, that I can get us both here right after my shift at the café. And we’ll work seven days a week if you need us.”

Most of the animosity Katie felt toward Heather drained away as quickly as if a plug in a tub of water had been pulled. Her imagination filled in the gaps Frances’s explanation left out, and the end result wasn’t pretty. Her heart ached for the little girl Heather had been. “Why does she dislike me?”

Frances’s lips compressed. “She’s never spoken of it, but I can guess. You’ve got everything she’s always wanted. You’re successful and you’ve got a man that loves you.”

“Jorlan doesn’t—”

Frances cut her off with a self-disgusted snort. “She hates my guts, too, if that helps. If you don’t want her around, I’ll understand. But, if it’s okay, I’d still like the job.”

Katie was probably going to regret this, but she said, “It’s yours, Frances. And Heather, too.”

Another glorious smile lit the waitress’s face. “Really? You mean it?”

“You can start tomorrow.”

“Oh, Katie, thank you! Heather’s real good with flowers and such, and I’m a real fast learner. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.”

They discussed what time Frances and Heather should arrive, what sort of things they would be doing, and how much money they would earn.

“I can never thank you enough, doll.” Frances’s hands shook with the force of her delight. “I swear you won’t regret this.”

I hope not, Katie thought as they walked back to the porch.

Jorlan and Heather were chuckling over something Heather had said. The girl was standing too close to him. Way too close for Katie’s peace of mind, and she felt a twinge of regret for her impulsiveness already. Frances ran to the couple and threw her arms around her daughter. “We got the job,” she sang happily. “You and me both.” Laughing, she twirled them around.

Heather abruptly pulled away. She acknowledged the news with a half smile.

“There are ten rules I forgot to mention,” Katie said. “Well, they’re safety tips, really.” She threw Jorlan a do-not-talk glare. “There will be no adjusting them.” When she had everyone’s undivided attention, she began. “Number one, do not attempt to fix anything without checking with me first.”

Two female heads nodded in unison. Jorlan crossed his arms over his chest, and she just knew he was waiting for her to say please. “Number two, always make sure a room is properly ventilated before you begin working. Numbers three through ten, Jorlan is off-limits.”

“Jorlan?” Heather’s nose crinkled. “I thought he was Hunter Rains, the self-help guy.”

“You thought wrong. His name is Jorlan, and he’s mine.”

Frances stared over at Jorlan with horror. “You don’t have to worry about me making a move on you. Men are the Black Plague of Death upon the Earth, so why would I want one?”

Jorlan frowned.

Katie just prayed Heather listened to her mother’s words of wisdom. “Well then,” she said, brushing her hands together. “I’m glad that’s settled.” She was just about to change the subject when Frances did it for her.

“I’ve got a joke for you. A husband looks at his wife and says, ‘I’m in the mood to try a new position tonight. Something I’ve never done before.’ The wife sends him a flirty eyelash flutter and says, ‘A new position sounds wonderful. You can stand by the ironing board and I’ll stretch out on the couch, drink beer and fart.’”

Everyone chuckled except for Jorlan, which was to be expected. Yet somehow, the expression tightening his features didn’t fit with simple male irritation. This seemed altogether more serious. Frown sharpening, he whipped out one of his “weapons” and scanned the surrounding area.

“I sense trouble,” he said.

Katie lost her smile. Her gaze jerked around the porch. “What’s wrong?”

With his palm gripping her forearm, he pulled her off to the side until they were alone, but his gaze never ceased its search. “A sorcerer is here.”

“Are you sure?” Katie didn’t feel anything, didn’t feel the faint stirring inside of her that she’d felt this morning. But she had to ask. “Is it Mon Graig?”

“Nay.”

“How do you—”

“’Tis a different kind of magic.” Jorlan drew in a long, deep breath. “I sense no immediate danger—but one must be careful when dealing with hidden powers.” With that, he deposited her back on the porch. Without another word, he slipped away and slowly circled the house.

“Was that a spatula?” Frances asked, her face drawn together with curiosity.

“Yes,” Katie answered as if it were perfectly normal for a giant of a man to wield a cooking utensil as though it was a lethal blade. “Yes, it was.”

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