Call It Magic Page 10

  “You . . . you can heal him?”

  “I can try,” Katy said gently, holding out her hands. “Let me have him, honey. I promise to do everything I can to help Timmy.”

  Angus looked down, causing several huge tears to fall on the motionless cat—its wet fur implying the boy had been clutching it for some time—and sucked in a shuddering breath. “He . . . he’s gonna be a year old next month,” Angus said as he looked up, his uncertain eyes stopping on his father before lifting to Katy. “I told him that Papa was taking Quantum to you, and Timmy said . . . he told me he wanted to go, too.” Another shudder wracked the boy’s body, and he finally passed the cat to Katy. “The tack box fell over on him when I climbed on it to look out the window. I smelled salt air, and I wanted to see Bottomless. Ye gotta heal him, Aunt Katy, because he was looking forward to living with you after I told him how much fun you are.”

  “I promise to try,” Katy said hoarsely, carefully cradling the cat’s lolling head and pressing its limp body to her chest. “But you need to know, Angus, that it might be too late. Timmy might not want to . . . he could be—”

  “No!” Angus shouted. “He wants to live!”

  “Ah, son,” MacBain murmured, sweeping the boy into a fierce embrace. “Go, Katy,” he roughly commanded over his shoulder.

  Katy turned to leave, only to stop short when she nearly ran into Gunnar, her own tear-filled eyes widening in surprise. Apparently, she forgot he was there. “Nay,” she snapped when he turned to exit the trailer ahead of her. “I mean, I prefer ye stay here,” she said more evenly, the hint of a brogue thickening her words.

  Gunnar nodded and stepped aside to let her pass.

  “Angus, ye know we must accept what we cannot control,” MacBain said as Katy disappeared down the ramp. “And Timmy’s living or dying is his decision, not Katy’s or Gram’s or yours.” He leaned away to tilt his son’s head up. “And ye must respect that.”

  “But . . . but he didn’t decide anything, Papa. I killed him.”

  “Nay, son. Ye merely climbed up on a heavy trunk in a moving vehicle and it fell. So who’s to say the bumpy road’s not to blame? Or me, for driving the truck? Or even Timmy himself, for not getting out of the way in time?”

  Gunnar lifted his hands and scrubbed his face. That cat definitely hadn’t gotten out of the way in time, as its tiny neck was clearly broken. He absently petted the nose nuzzling his arm and looked out one of the windows to see Katy running up the station driveway, only to frown when she suddenly veered left and ran in the patch of wooded lawn. He could see through the trees that she stopped at the fire pit and sat on one of the stumps, then saw her scan the parking lot, the front of the station, and even look toward the road before she bent at the waist and pressed her cheek to the cat.

  “I hope you’re prepared for the consequences of your actions today,” MacBain said, drawing Gunnar’s attention. “You’re probably scaring ten years off your mama’s life right now as she searches for you,” he went on as he stood and led his son down the narrow aisle between the horses—all four of which seemed more concerned with chomping their hay than with the tragic little drama playing out around them.

  Gunnar realized MacBain had also forgotten he was there when the man’s step faltered slightly before giving him a nod on his way past.

  “But Mama’s not scared because she doesn’t know I’m missing,” Angus said, having to run to keep pace as his father strode up the outside of the trailer with him in tow. “I told her I was getting up when you did this morning and riding my bike to Aaron’s so we could work on our treehouse before he had to leave with his dad. But I planned to call once I’d given Aunt Katy my surprise so Mama wouldn’t worry when I didn’t come home for lunch. Only instead of going to Aaron’s, me and Timmy waited behind the chicken coop, and when ye went in the barn to get Buttonhole, we ran in the trailer and hid up front behind the bales of hay.” They rounded the front bumper of the truck—Gunnar following despite knowing this was absolutely none of his business.

  But he was rather interested in how MacBain intended to handle the situation. And he was intrigued by Angus’ obvious lack of concern about being in trouble, evidenced by the fact the boy was blithely explaining how he’d lied to his mother and snuck past his father despite knowing he’d be found out. Hell, the kid actually sounded proud of himself.

  Which meant one of two things: Either this was Angus’ first serious transgression and MacBain was trying to figure out how to deal with the boy, or it was just another one of many stunts his son had pulled, and the man had simply given up trying to rein him in.

  Nope, neither. Because when MacBain finally stopped beside the driver’s door and dropped to one knee to look his son level in eyes, the glare he gave Angus actually made Gunnar wince. “Then you’ll be spending the next month mucking out stalls for scaring ten years off my life for riding in that trailer all the way from Pine Creek. And,” he quietly growled when the boy started to protest, “for deceiving yer mother, you’ll not go near any electronics until all of next winter’s firewood is split and neatly stacked in the shed.”

  “But Papa! That’ll take me all summer!”

  The man’s features softened. “You’re lucky ye’re going to have a summer, Angus,” MacBain said, thickly. “That heavy trunk could just as easily have fallen on you, and ye could be just as dead as Timmy.”

  “He’s not dead!” Angus cried, looking toward the station only to suddenly gasp. “See! Papa, do ye see!” he shouted, pulling away and running up the edge of the road until he was even with the station driveway. “Timmy, stop! Ye can’t go near the road!”

  Gunnar had to grab the bumper of the truck to steady himself when he saw a gangly, black-bodied, white-footed cat darting back and forth down the driveway chasing after a leaf caught up in a swirling breeze. He glanced over to see MacBain appeared just as stunned, the man now fully kneeling as he stared, not at the cat, Gunnar realized, but at Katy as she followed her miraculously recovered patient at a more leisurely pace.

  Nope, not possible. Gunnar looked back at what had to be a doppelganger, because the cat Katy had carried out of the trailer had had a broken neck.

  “Sweet Christ,” MacBain softly murmured.

  Yeah. That. What he said.

  Except the man still stared at his sister.

  Angus looked both ways for traffic and ran across the road. “You healed him, Aunt Katy! I told you Timmy wanted to live!”

  “That you did,” Katy called to him with a smile. “Turns out Timmy only had the wind knocked out of him, so all it took was for me to breathe some air back into his tiny lungs.”

  Gunnar had to grab the bumper again, because honest to God, Markov’s wilderness angel—aka Jane Abbot—had saved the future king from drowning nearly the same way, only she had entered his submerged plane and given him air by way of a kiss.

  Angus scooped up the still dodging and darting Timmy with an excited whoop, then continued up the driveway at a run. “Here’s your surprise, Aunt Katy,” he said, stopping and thrusting the miracle cat out to her.

  Gunnar was able to hear Katy’s sigh as she accepted the robustly given gift, because despite it still being none of his business, he was striding up the driveway right behind MacBain—partly because he wanted to find out why the man was obviously upset with his sister, but mostly because he wasn’t going anywhere until he touched that cat.

  “His full name is Tuxedo Tim,” Angus continued in full presentation mode, “because Nora says his white paws and chest and mustache make him look like a groom at a wedding.”

  Gunnar had no idea who Nora—wait. MacBain had married a woman who already had two children, a boy and a girl. Nora must be the girl, because Robert and Catherine had only had boys together. Three, he recalled, thanks to his nearly photographic memory, further recalling Angus was the oldest. He saw Katy nudge her nephew along, continuing ri
ght past her brother and boss as if she didn’t even see them. Well, or else she’d definitely seen something in MacBain’s eyes that she didn’t want to deal with.

  Gunnar turned and fell into step beside her. “Angus?” he said, looking around Katy to smile at the boy. “I happen to love cats, and I wonder if I might hold Timmy.”

  Angus lengthened his stride enough to look at him. “Tuxedo Tim is Aunt Katy’s cat now, so it’s up to her who holds him.” He then looked up at Katy and veered closer. “But I don’t think you should be letting strangers hold him,” he whispered.

  “Mr. Wolfe is the fire chief here in Spellbound Falls and Katy’s boss,” MacBain said as he caught up with them.

  Katy silently handed Timmy to Gunnar without looking at him, then broke into a jog as she crossed the road and disappeared around the front of the truck.

  Gunnar cradled the squirming, surprisingly strong cat against his chest and gently pressed one of his fingers along its neck from its shoulder to its head. He’d heard a few years back about a man smashing into a tree while skiing in Europe and being declared fine by the local hospital, only to keel over dead in the resort lounge that very same night when he’d tossed his head back taking a drink of beer and a vertebra in his neck had snapped in half.

  Gunnar definitely didn’t want Timmy’s neck to finish breaking on his watch. So he stood on the lawn of the church holding his now purring excuse to still be there, and watched MacBain open the truck’s passenger door and hoist his son inside. He handed the boy a cell phone and told him to call his mother, then walked to the trailer just as Katy led a delicate-featured, long-legged horse down the ramp.

  Gunnar knew riding horses, and this one was a beauty for its age, which he estimated to be early twenties, even though it appeared to have the physique of a teenager. Katy silently handed the lead line to her brother, then ran back up the ramp and reemerged one minute later with a bridle tossed over her shoulder and carrying a well-worn English saddle.

  If finally dawned on Gunnar that brother and sister weren’t talking because he was there.

  Yeah, well, tough. He wasn’t leaving until someone told him what in hell had just happened. Because he was pretty sure dead cats shouldn’t be loudly purring or licking a young boy’s tears off their paws. And he also wanted to know why MacBain appeared to be angry at his sister.

  Gunnar glanced over his shoulder, then walked up the slight knoll and sat down on the church steps, figuring a little distance might make them forget he was there again. He absently brushed pieces of hay out of Tuxedo Tim’s fur as he watched MacBain take off the wrappings protecting Quantum’s legs while Katy saddled her horse and then slipped off its halter and put on its bridle—the silent dance revealing the duo had done this often over the years.

  MacBain tossed the leg wrappings into the trailer, lifted the heavy steel ramp as though it were made of plastic, walked over to Katy, and grabbed her raised leg and lifted her onto Quantum’s back, then quickly grabbed hold of the horse’s bridle. “I’m dropping off the two geldings at Inglenook, then helping Duncan ferry the mare across the fjord to his house. When I’m done, I’ll swing by and give ye a ride back here to your truck.”

  “Thank you, but I have too much to do today to hang around Inglenook. I’ll get a ride with someone headed to town,” Katy said, urging Quantum forward.

  MacBain held fast. “I’ll pick ye up in four hours.”

  “You’ll be wasting your time, because I won’t be there.”

  When her second attempt to leave merely resulted in Quantum’s hind end sweeping in an arc as its head stayed in place, Gunnar heard Katy’s sigh all the way from the church steps. “Leave it be, Robbie,” she said, her eyes pleading. “And don’t ye say anything to Mum. I don’t want . . . I can’t . . . please, just leave it alone.”

  MacBain studied her face for nearly a minute, his features drawn, before he simply let go of the bridle and silently stepped away.

  Immediately, Katy urged Quantum into a trot up the side of the road, checked over her shoulder for traffic, then crossed just beyond the station driveway. MacBain moved to the front of his truck and watched as she broke into a canter the moment she reached the recreational trail, which Gunnar knew ran past the turnoff to Inglenook some six or seven miles north of town.

  So nope, he wasn’t the reason for their silence. He didn’t know what Katy wanted her brother to leave be, but the woman obviously had no intention of discussing it with him now or later. Nor her mother, apparently.

  It never ceased to amaze Gunnar the personal stuff he could learn about people on the Internet. Then again, he’d learned something just as interesting in person today. Even though these Scots were undeniably protective of their women, the women weren’t afraid to stand up to them. At least Katy wasn’t.

  As soon as she’d ridden out of sight, MacBain walked around to the driver’s door, climbed in, and said something to his son, then started the truck and pulled onto the road also heading north.

  Without Tuxedo Tim.

  “Hey, miracle cat,” Gunnar said, gently grasping its chin in mid-lick to make it look at him. “Besides rising from the dead, can you really talk? Only to Angus or to anyone? Because I was wondering if you could tell me what in hell just happened here.”

  When the cat’s only response was to lick Gunnar’s finger, he stood with a sigh and headed across the street to hunt down Welles. What good was having an intern if not for sending him to the Drunken Moose to pick up the chief’s breakfast? After, that is, the kid ran to the mercantile for kitty litter and cat food.

  “So, Tux,” Gunnar drawled as he sauntered up the station driveway. “Could you at least tell me if Katy’s lips are as soft and sweet as they look?”

  * * *

  * * *

  Once she was out of sight of town, Katy surrendered control of both her horse and the turbulent emotions swirling inside her. Quantum took advantage of the freedom by instantly surging into an energy-efficient gallop, and the tears Katy had been holding at bay finally burst free to splatter across her face and hair like wind-whipped raindrops. She let them come, knowing they carried the heartbroken energy of this moment and so many others of the past month, and knowing that, no matter how much she just wanted to run to her mum and let it all out, this was her only option. There was just too much she couldn’t risk sharing.

  Honestly, for all the times she had tried to create a miracle, why had she succeeded this time?

  And of all the people who could have witnessed it, why Robbie and Gunnar?

  Timmy hadn’t been dead, but he’d been close. Hearing his tiny, oxygen-starved heart struggling to beat when she’d pressed her ear to his chest, Katy had immediately sent her mind’s eye racing through his limp body to find the most immediate area of trauma. Two of Timmy’s neck vertebra were broken but miraculously hadn’t severed his spinal cord. Several crushed ribs were pressing on his tiny lungs, restricting his breathing, and one of his hind legs was shattered.

  But Angus had obviously known what he was talking about when he’d shouted that Timmy wanted to live, because as Katy raced through the cat’s battered body, swirling tendrils of white light reached out from each wound, trying to grab her, seemingly pleading for her to stop and help. The ferocity of his need outsized his tiny body.

  It was then Katy realized she’d had the missing piece of the puzzle since she was seven, when she’d snuck out of bed late one night to hide the last two cookies from Brody so she could have them the next day after school. As she’d crept to the stairs, instead of her parents being asleep in their own bed like she’d thought, she’d heard them talking in whispers in the living room below. So, of course she’d sat down on the top step to listen, because everyone knew whispering meant secrets. For hadn’t she overheard Papa just the week before telling Robbie in the barn that knowing a man’s secrets gave you power over him?

  Except she had
n’t been able to grasp the secret her parents were whispering about. All she’d heard was her sobbing mother complaining that it wasn’t right she could heal a cranky old man dedicated to plaguing his family, but she couldn’t save a teenager who, because he was too young to see past his present circumstances, had tragically given up on life.

  Katy hadn’t understood then, but she did now. Whoever—or whatever—she was trying to heal had to want to heal. That unless the determination to live was there, she could do nothing more than ease their final moments.

  Sweet little broken Timmy had desperately wanted to live, and that had made all the difference. Katy smiled ruefully. Maybe he hadn’t known he was supposed to have nine lives.

  The day after she’d overheard her parents, the talk at school had been about a really bad accident just outside of town where a pickup truck crammed full of teenagers slammed into a tree at eighty miles an hour. A bunch of ambulances and fire trucks and police and sheriff cars had been there with all their lights flashing, according to a third grader who lived right across the street from the tree. The girl had noticed Katy listening with the other kids and had announced she’d seen Doc Libby there, too, but apparently not even a big-time doctor from some big-time hospital in California could save that poor boy.

  Katy had wanted to shout that it wasn’t her mum’s fault, that the boy had given up. But she’d merely turned and walked away, remembering her papa telling her that trying to reason with a bully or explain anything to a braggart was like spitting into the wind, with her likely coming out the loser. She might have been only five or six when he’d shared that particular bit of wisdom, but she’d gotten the message.

  And that was why she’d never missed any of the self-defense lessons her papa had given her and her older sister, Maggie, every Saturday morning. If you couldn’t reason with bullies, sometimes you had to fight, she figured. It was also why, instead of leaving after, she used to sit on the Christmas tree bailer and watch Brody’s lessons.