Head Over Heels

CHAPTER ONE: ON THE PROWL

The little witch had disappeared again.

Nicholas Ware propped his shoulder against the fireplace mantel and surveyed the crowd gathered in the living room of the rambling Victorian house. She wasn’t among the goblins and ghosts gyrating on the dance floor, or huddled near the steaming punch bowl with Frankenstein and his friends. Nor was she necking in any of the dark corners of the big room with Count Dracula or his cronies.

Still, Nick knew she hadn’t left the party. Not only would she consider deserting her Aunt Hepzibah’s annual pre-Halloween bash a shocking lapse of manners, but that instinct he’d developed upon first meeting Prudence Anne McClure told him she was nearby. Brewing mischief.

He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over her contact. No. If she was avoiding him, a text would only confirm he’d noticed. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and pushed off from his vantage point, prowling through the room as the niggling unease pricked him again. Once he would have questioned the feeling. At twenty-two, he’d scoffed at it and shaken the dust of Cauldron, Oregon from his feet. But he’d learned a lot in the last seven years. Four months back in town had taught him even more.

He stalked slowly through the crowd, searching for a glimpse of her tousled brown curls or black dress. When he’d first caught sight of Pru earlier in the evening, he’d smiled at the huge peaked hat she was wearing, and admired her witchy make-up. She’d painted her face in shades of blue and green, then with just a few lines of black, had created the illusion of a spider hovering over one of her big green eyes. It was totally a Pru thing to do—simple, effective—the same get-up she’d worn each year. But then she’d turned, and his smile had disappeared. A long slit ran up the side of her witch’s outfit, the clinging material parting wickedly to reveal her slim white leg to mid-thigh. That certainly hadn’t been there years ago when he’d lived in Cauldron and accompanied Pru to Heppy’s parties. That sexy alteration to her costume was new.

Oh, yeah. Tonight, Prudence was definitely dressed for trouble.

He glanced around again. Hollow-eyed spooks and preening black cats—construction paper silhouettes cut with Prudence’s characteristic precision—dangled from the ceiling. A grimacing orange pumpkin seemed to urge him onward to a door leading to the back rooms.

A Little Bo Peep with female wolf in her eyes waylaid him in the hall.

“Love your disguise, Nick.” Shifting her long, hooked staff to her other arm, the redhead ran a finger down the sleeve of his gray suit jacket. “Imagine, someone like you posing as a staid businessman.”

“I am a staid businessman.”

“Oh c’mon, I don’t believe it. What exactly do you do?”

He shrugged. ”Mainly, restructuring. When my company acquires a struggling business, I go in to assess operations, identify talent, and rebuild the infrastructure.”

Her brown eyes gleamed. “That sounds exciting.”

“Not especially.” Actually, his job wasn’t exciting at all. It simply required the objectivity to see what was salvageable and what—or who—needed cutting. And the ability to follow through. Most people–like Pru, for instance–lacked that resolution.

He didn’t.

Rhonda’s fingers trailed back up his arm, and he caught her hand in mid-stroke. Holding it firmly, he asked, “Have you seen Prudence?” then released her and stepped back.

Her red lips curved into a pout. “Ah, yes, she’s working as your assistant, isn’t she? Although why you need an assistant when you’re only here temporarily, I just can’t understand.”

“Can’t you?” he drawled.

“No.” She paused to allow a Scarecrow and Tin Man to pass, waiting until they left before adding, “Unless the rumors running rampant that you’re planning to relocate your business to Cauldron are true.” She batted her false eyelashes at him, her expression inviting him to confide.

Nick resisted the unspoken invitation. “Aren’t rumors always running rampant in Cauldron?”

“Well, yes. But not that many that involve money.” She waited. When he didn’t reply, she stepped closer, widening her eyes. “C’mon, Nick. Everyone’s dying to know what you’re up to. Give me a hint of why you’re lingering in Cauldron so long.”

“And have it plastered all over the internet?”

“I’ll keep it off social media. I promise. Not even a hint on Instagram.”

He looked down into her hopeful face. Did she really think he believed that? Rhonda gloried in her role as Cauldron’s premiere lifestyle influencer too much to resist posting a good story. Her “Cauldron Crier” website—an extension of the vintage weekly newspaper her family owned—had become the town’s primary source of news and gossip.

Tiring of the game, he said firmly, “I came back to spend time with my dad. After he died, I stayed to handle his affairs. That’s it. Now, have you seen Prudence?”

“No,” she said sulkily. She gestured vaguely down the hallway. “She’s probably in the kitchen helping her aunt get ready for the bewitching hour.” She stressed the last two words, rolling her eyes as she added, “Someone should really tell dear old Hepzibah that kissing at midnight is a New Year’s Eve, not a Halloween, tradition.”

When Nick didn’t respond, Rhonda slanted him a considering glance from beneath lowered lashes. “Although maybe the custom has some merit. I’m sure Prudence has big hopes it will loosen up Edmund.”

About to move on, Nicholas paused. “Edmund?”

Rhonda nodded. “Eddie Swain. He’s decided ‘Edmund’ sounds more appropriate for someone running for mayor. If he’s here then you can bet Prudence will be nearby.”

“Oh, yeah? Why is that?”

Rhonda looked surprised. “Haven’t you noticed? They’re becoming quite the steady couple. They’ve been keeping their relationship ‘hush hush,’ of course. Waiting for his mother’s approval, no doubt.” She added with faint bitterness, “Eddie won’t do anything without mama Isabella’s say so.”

“And Isabella doesn’t like Prudence?”

Rhonda shot him a faintly disbelieving glance. “Are you kidding? When Prudence has no money, and a crazy aunt to boot?”

“Heppy’s not crazy.”

“She’s not all there, either. Trying to cast spells!” Rhonda gave a ladylike snort.

Nick shrugged, returning to the point that concerned him more. “So why doesn’t Ed’s mother break them up?”

Rhonda grimaced. “Probably because Prudence is so darn popular in this town—a regular little Pollyanna, in fact.” She gave the wooden floor a discontented thump with her staff. “Being seen with her is bound to help Ed’s campaign. Heaven knows, he won’t win any popularity contests on his own. He hasn’t changed much from high school.”

Nick regarded her thoughtfully, studying the resentful look on her face. Becoming aware of his scrutiny, Rhonda looked up and forced a smile. “But let’s get back to more important issues, like you…and me.” Her finger went on the move again, roving along his bicep and across his chest as she breathed, “Will I see you at midnight?”

Nick caught her hand as it edged beneath his lapel, removing it with unmistakable finality. “I doubt it.”

She moved closer, not accepting the rejection, but Nick walked away. The vague feeling drove him harder now, joined by a growing anger as he headed down the hall. So Pru yearned for the town’s fair-haired boy, did she? She’d certainly kept that secret from him. Not that he expected her confidences. Despite being the best assistant he’d ever had—organized, efficient, anticipating his needs before he voiced them—Prudence maintained as much distance between them as possible these days. He’d caught her sketching during her lunch break once, her slender hands moving with unconscious grace across the page. She’d snapped the sketchbook shut the instant she noticed him watching, as if even her artwork was now too private for him to see.

So far he’d let her keep her secrets, amused by the wariness in her eyes when he was near. But not tonight. Tonight he was done waiting. He wanted her within reach. Something was up; change was in the air. Like the nip of a cold breeze, he could feel it with unnamed but ancient instinct that kept him on the hunt.

He moved through the crowd with the single-minded purpose that had made him so successful in business. People stepped aside as he kept going steadily forward without pause. Hesitation, he’d learned years ago, was for men who didn’t know what they wanted.

He knew exactly what he wanted.

Instinct drove him onward and the same damn instinct stopped him at the kitchen door. There he paused with his palm pressed against the paneled wood, his eyes narrowing as he heard the words, “Love potion…”

* * *

“…Would be nice, don’t you think so, dear?”

“Hmmm?” Prudence missed her aunt’s question, distracted by a shivery feeling at the back of her neck. Instinctively, she reached up beneath her hair, her fingers brushing the elastic at her nape. Catching hold of the band, she drew off her hat and dropped it on the counter.

Turning back to the old-fashioned stove, she picked up a wooden ladle to slowly stir the golden liquid bubbling in a black pot. Steam rose, dewing her cheeks with fragrant mist and crinkling the fine hairs at her temples into tiny curls. Filled with the rich, spicy scents of pumpkin pies and apples, the air in the big kitchen felt warm and thick. Through the mist, the room took on the dreamlike quality of a surrealistic painting. The caramel coating the apples on the wooden counter caught the light in glossy curves. The amber liquid in the pot flowed in shifting, circular patterns. Pru stared down, watching it swirl round and round. Her eyelids drooped heavily.

“I’m so glad you agree with my idea,” Hepzibah said.

Pru blinked, her aunt’s voice dispersing the slight drowsiness stealing over her. Patting a faint yawn, she said apologetically, “I’m sorry, Aunt Heppy, I must have missed something. What were you saying?”

“I was telling you,” Hepzibah repeated patiently, “about my idea to make a love potion.”

Prudence’s head jerked up, her sleepiness replaced by alarm. She stared at her aunt, who was busily rolling crisp red apples in melted caramel. Hepzibah met her gaze, adding serenely, “I found a new recipe in the book.”

Prudence’s heart sank. To think, she’d actually been thrilled to discover the ancient, leather-bound tome in the attic of the old bookstore Hepzibah owned. With its hand-crafted binding and scripted, gilt lettering, Pru had been sure the book was a collector’s item and had expected her aunt to make quite a profit on the find. What she hadn’t expected was that Heppy would become obsessed with the volume and convinced she must have hidden “powers” that she’d simply never noticed before. “Although I have always loved Halloween,” Heppy had pointed out triumphantly to her niece. “Surely that should have told us something!”

Privately, Pru thought the only thing it told them was that Hepzibah enjoyed costume parties. Now she said warningly, “I thought you agreed to leave that book alone.”

Her aunt’s blue eyes widened in innocent surprise. “No, I didn’t, dear. I said I’d be careful.”

Pru’s alarm increased. She didn’t buy Heppy’s innocent look, not for one second. With her round dimpled face, double chin, and white hair bundled into a bun on the top of her head, her aunt might look like a fairy godmother escapee from a Disney film, but anyone who came within reach of Hepzibah’s wand was only asking for trouble.

Abandoning diplomacy, Prudence said firmly, “But you aren’t careful. You are not—I repeat, not—going to try one more spell out of that book.”

“But dear…”

“You almost killed off the Millers with the fumes from that concoction you made to scare away mice.”

“But it worked!” Aunt Heppy declared indignantly. “The mice went away!”

“Yes, and so did the Millers. They had to rent a motel room in Grant’s Pass for two weeks until the stench cleared.” And Prudence had spent that entire two weeks negotiating with the family, using every diplomatic skill she possessed to smooth things over and prevent a formal complaint to the town officials.

“A slight miscalculation.”

Prudence stared at her aunt. “Oh, yeah? And what about that wart tonic?”

“That worked, too!”

Prudence put her hands on her hips. “How can you say that? You humiliated one of Cauldron’s most respected matriarchs. Old Sally Watson ended up with more pimples on her chin than a hormonal teenager.”

“But she didn’t have a wart on her!”

“She didn’t have a wart on her before she drank it either.”

“That’s true,” Heppy admitted, her indignation fading a bit. “I don’t know how Sally got hold of that tonic. I intended it for Frank O’Sullivan. Everyone knows Frank is full of warts.”

Everyone also knew about Heppy’s mistake. Rhonda Burrows had taken great delight in relating the incident on the town website, complete with unflattering photos. As a result, several of Cauldron’s leading citizens were up in arms over Hepzibah’s antics, most notably Sally Watson and Edmund’s mother. Never mind that Heppy was a responsible citizen, who ran a successful business and faithfully paid her taxes. Before Edmund calmed her down, Mrs. Swain had even threatened to report Aunt Heppy to the health department if anything else occurred, coldly claiming Heppy was becoming a public safety concern.

Well, Prudence wasn’t about to let that happen. Heppy simply had to stop. Pru loved her aunt fiercely, but Hepzibah’s experiments were becoming a full-time crisis management job. The concoctions that worked—like the Millers’ mouse potion and the happiness tincture that had made Mrs. Chen laugh for three days straight—were just as dangerous as the ones that didn’t.

She said sternly, “Potions are dangerous, Aunt Hepzibah. What if the wrong person takes one again and becomes seriously ill?”

Heppy’s face brightened. “Don’t worry, dear. This time I plan to use Great Aunt Barbara’s lucky antique glass.” Abandoning her apples for a moment, Hepzibah stood on tip toe to reach into a cavernous oak cabinet. “No one can mistake this glass for another.”

Prudence glanced at the goblet Heppy was holding aloft. She couldn’t argue with that. No one could mistake the glass for another. There wasn’t one like it in the whole town; possibly the whole state. Made of opalescent green crystal, the goblet featured a snake wrapped around the stem. Great Aunt Barbara had been inordinately fond of snakes. Prudence had sketched the delicate goblet once, fascinated by the way the artisan had captured the serpent’s sinuous movement in glass, the iridescent quality that shifted from sea-foam to emerald depending on the light. It was grotesque and beautiful and even engaging. She’d swear the snake was smiling, like a glowing green worm.

Looking away from the glass, Prudence met Heppy’s gaze. Heppy was smiling, too. Just like the snake. Ignoring the hopeful expression on her aunt’s face, she said distinctly, “No love potions.”

“But you already told me I could,” Hepzibah said reproachfully. “You told me I could give one to Eddie.”

Prudence’s eyes widened in horror. “Aunt! I did not agree to give Edmund anything of the kind.”

“Yes, you did, dear.”

“No, I did not.”

“Yes, you did. Oh, my goodness, I’m out of nuts.”

Hepzibah jumped down off her stool, and hitched up her skirt. Like Prudence, the older woman was dressed as a witch—the McClure women always dressed as witches at Halloween. Aunt Heppy claimed the practice started in honor of their ancestors, persecuted as witches in that long ago Salem on the eastern seaboard. Prudence suspected the custom really began in honor of an old McClure maxim: waste not, want not. Why make new costumes, when these were available?

Both dresses were styled the same, but Hepzibah’s vintage gown had been made for a woman of more generous proportions. Excess fabric dragged behind her on the old oak floor as she walked across the room to the pantry.

She disappeared inside, the remainder of her skirt trailing her like one of Aunt Barbara’s snakes as Prudence repeated loudly, “I did not tell you to give Edmund a love potion.”

Heppy popped out again, a bag of walnuts clutched in her hand. She headed for her apples. “Don’t you remember, dear? Less than ten minutes ago you said you were getting impatient for him.”

Pru drew a deep breath. “To arrive, aunt. I said I was getting impatient for Edmund to arrive at the party.”

“Oh.” Hepzibah looked surprised. “You didn’t mean you’re getting impatient for him personally? To make love to you?”

Prudence’s cheeks grew hot. Her late father had been such a stern, moralistic man. Definitely a product of his generation. Where on earth had his sister Heppy gotten such a liberal attitude about sex? “No, of course not,” Pru said. “I didn’t mean that at all.”

“So you don’t want to have sex with him?”

“No—I mean, yes.” Prudence drew a deep breath. “I mean that’s private, Aunt Heppy. Don’t worry about it.”

“I do worry about it, dear.You seem so unsettled lately, even when you’re with Edmund.”

“I’m not unsettled. I’m just…taking my time.”

“Of course, dear. But you’ve known him for years now. What are you waiting for?

For it to feel right, Prudence wanted to reply. For my heart to race when he walks in a room. For…something I can’t name. Which was stupid. She was twenty-six years old, for goodness sake, and yet she was more hung-up about sex than her maiden aunt.

Like Aunt Heppy had said, she’d known Edmund since she was a teenager. True, she hadn’t liked him then, but what did one know at that age? Now, she…she cared about him. He was steady, reliable. A perfect family man. Why, look how devoted he was to his mother. Most importantly of all, Edmund planned to remain in Cauldron the rest of his life. He’d even talked about buying a house in the center of town, close enough to her aunt that Prudence could watch over her.

Yes, he always consulted his mother before making decisions—but that showed respect for family, didn’t it? Not dependence. And if he was a bit predictable, well, that was stability. Security. Everything she’d learned to value after Nick had—

She cut the thought off before it could fully form.

Frowning a little, she turned back to the pot. She resumed stirring, watching the liquid catch the light in shifting amber tones—burnt sienna deepening to raw umber at the edges. So what was she waiting for? She wanted a meaningful relationship with someone she could fall in love with; was long past ready for physical intimacy. Yet, something always stopped her with Edmund. Maybe it was because he kept calling having sex “the next logical step,” as if their relationship was a business plan. Or maybe she was overthinking it, letting old ghosts interfere with a good man who wanted a future with her. She should simply put the past behind her…and then maybe this damn hunted feeling might finally go away.

Prudence drew a deep breath. “As a matter of fact, I’ve decided that it might be time for Edmund and me to…become more intimate.” Her nape tingled again. Pru rubbed it absently as she added, “I’m telling him so tonight.”

Heppy clapped her hands together, ignoring the nuts that flew around the room at the gesture. “How thrilling! How excited you must be.”

“Er…yes,” Prudence said rather doubtfully. She added more firmly, “So you can see a love potion is completely unnecessary.”

“Of course. You’re absolutely right. Eddie doesn’t need a potion at all.”

Prudence’s relief evaporated in mid-sigh as her aunt added thoughtfully, “I’ll give it to dear Nicholas instead.”

Prudence’s pulse gave a startled leap. “Nicholas?” She stared at her aunt in disapproving surprise. “Why on earth would you give him a love potion?”

Absorbed with arranging her apples on a blue-speckled platter, Heppy said absently, “He’s lonely, Pru. Even as a teenager he never seemed to fit in. Now that he’s come home, I think he needs someone.”

Prudence barely restrained herself from snorting in disbelief. Nicholas lonely? Heppy’s tender heart was definitely leading her astray this time. No one was more independent and self-sufficient than Nicholas Ware. He might be a loner, but he certainly didn’t have any trouble attracting women.

“Exactly who are you planning on fixing him up with?” Pru asked, a sarcastic edge in her voice. “Rhonda? Because if so, you don’t need to bother. Rhonda’s had her eye on him since he came back to town.”

“Oh no. He and Rhonda wouldn’t make a good couple at all. Actually, I had someone much more suitable in mind for Nicholas. But that’s changed now, of course.”

“Oh? How come?” Prudence asked, her curiosity piqued. “Who were you considering?”

“Why, you, dear.”

Prudence gasped. “Me! Why on earth would you try to fix Nicholas up with me?”

“Well, your relationship with Eddie didn’t seem to be progressing. And you and Nicholas have become so close…”

“No, we haven’t,” Prudence said, revolted. “We aren’t close at all.”

“But you used to be. When you first came to Cauldron to live with me, you were inseparable.”

“Hardly inseparable…and that was years ago.”

“But you were engaged…”

“For all of a week.”

“And so much in love.”

“We were young and intense. It felt huge at the time, but…” Pru turned back to the stove, adding lightly, “If it had been real, he wouldn’t have left. And I wouldn’t have let him go so easily.”

“He was young…and impulsive.”

“Nicholas was never impulsive. He always knew precisely what he was doing and what he wanted.” Pru lifted the brimming ladle, then let the liquid spill back into the pot in a glittering, golden fall.

“He seemed to want you, dear.”

Prudence remained stubbornly silent.

Her aunt added coaxingly, “Don’t you think he’s gotten handsome, now that he’s older?”

“Not at all.”

“Perhaps you’re right, dear,” Heppy said agreeably. “Handsome isn’t quite the right word. Compelling is much better.”

“And overbearing is even more apt.” Prudence stirred the pot harder.

“But he’s so masculine—”

“So arrogant.”

“And big and strong.”

“And used to getting his own way.” Prudence wrinkled her nose disdainfully. “How could you ever think I’d still be interested in him?”

“But dear, since he’s come back, you talk about him all the time. Much more, in fact, than you talk about Eddie.”

Aghast, Prudence whirled around, amber liquid from the ladle dripping on the floor as she declared, “I do not!”

“Oh, but you do, dear. You say ‘Nicholas says this’ and ‘Nicholas said that,’ and ‘Do you know what that man had the gall to do today?’ Why, you talk about him constantly.”

“I complain about him constantly. That’s not the same at all. And so would you if you were his personal assistant.” Pru plopped the ladle back into the pot. “Do you know what he did yesterday? Reworked my entire computer filing system without asking. I know what I’m doing. But does Nicholas Ware ask for my input? Oh, no. Of course not. He just assumes his way is better. The man has the chauvinistic attitude of a feudal lord.”

“Do you really think so?” Heppy said wistfully. “He always seems so polite and charming to me.”

Prudence gave a delicate snort. “Charming—of course he’s charming. He’s too smart not to be charming when it’s to his benefit. Which brings us to the question of why he’s lingering here now that his father’s gone. To relocate his business, perhaps?”

Heppy brightened. “Do you really think so?”

Pru considered the matter, then shook her head. “No. He’s too hungry for power to settle in a small town like this. He probably just enjoys stringing everyone along. Making them wonder…especially the women.” Her eyes narrowing, she stirred fiercely. “Nick’s intelligent enough to know a little honey can go a long way towards greasing the wheels.”

Heppy looked confused. “Honey? Grease wheels? I don’t think that would work, dear. Honey is quite sticky you know.”

“I don’t mean honey, exactly. I mean… oh, you know what I mean. He charms everyone in sight—Susan, Christine, Dorrie. The man is a born gigolo.” She thumped the ladle against the side of the pot.

The pucker on Heppy’s wide brow deepened. “But aren’t gigolos poor? Nicholas seems to be quite wealthy now.”

“He’s wealthy all right. And accustomed to getting his own way no matter what methods he has to use.” The ladle moved in rapid circles. “Those intent looks of his—that gleam of amusement in his eyes. The way he smiles as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking. But he doesn’t. If he did, he’d know I think he’s a—”

“Dear…”

“Complete and total—”

“Pru!”

Unheeding of her aunt’s urgent tone, Pru paused, absently rubbing her nape as she savored exactly the right epithet to describe the infuriating Nicholas Ware. “A complete and total bas—”

She stopped mid-word, her back stiffening. Heat prickled along her spine. She knew—with the same sure instinct that had drawn them together years ago and then driven them apart—that Nick was there. Listening.

And she was totally right.

“Good evening, ladies,” drawled the complete and total bastard from behind her.

Buy to continue reading