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Rye walked slowly toward her. He’d spent the past hour trying to decide how to tell her that he’d made a mistake and she had to go. Now. Tonight. He couldn’t afford to care about her troubles, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be her knight in shining armor. He was the last man in the world to fill those shoes.
He grabbed the envelope and removed the single sheet inside. It was easy enough to tell that the attractive older woman in the picture was Echo’s mother. They favored quite a bit.
“It was on my b
ed,” she said. “Just...sitting there. I thought it was a recipe.” She took a couple of deep, too-fast breaths. He worried she was on the verge of hyperventilating. “It’s a threat to my parents, right? My cell phone is worthless here. I dug it out of my bag instinctively, then just stared at it for a moment. I can’t call anyone, can’t send an email or...or...” Her eyes widened. “Police. Are there police here? A constable? A...an inspector?”
“Of course, but...”
She stood, seemingly a bit stronger now that she had a plan. He didn’t dare to tell her that the single constable in Cloughban wouldn’t know what to do, wouldn’t care, wouldn’t help at all.
“I have to go,” she said. “That’s all there is to it. When I get to the next town over I’ll call my mom’s cell, and I’ll call Dante, too. Maybe Gideon. Definitely Gideon.” Mercy? No, Mercy was too far away to get immediately involved, though it was possible one or both of her brothers would call her. “I’m not that far from Paris, I can get there in...”
Rye placed his hands on her shoulders. A few hours ago he would’ve been relieved to hear those words. I have to go. He’d had the same thoughts all afternoon. Yes, Echo Raintree had to go. Out of his life, away from Cloughban. Away from Cassidy. Dammit.
“You’re not going anywhere.” Against his new plans, against his better judgment.
“But I...”
“I have a phone, a landline. You can use it to call whoever you need to call.”
“Okay, thank you.” She looked up at him, eyes wide, lips full and far too tempting. “I’ll do that, but then I have to go.”
He knew that was a bad idea. With magic and without, he knew that no matter how unwise it was for her to stay, leaving would be worse. Dammit, she was going to turn his life upside down.
“You’re going to stay here,” he insisted. “We’re not finished.”
She shook her head.
His temper got the best of him and he snapped, “You can’t tell me the entire Raintree clan can’t protect two of their own from whatever or whoever threatens them.”
“Oh!” Echo’s green eyes shone. Her tense shoulders dropped a little as she relaxed. “If they’re on Sanctuary land they’ll be fine. Maybe they can take over my old job for a while.”
“Your old job?”
She grimaced. “I was keeper of the Raintree Sanctuary.”
In his experience, she did not have the discipline to be the keeper of anything. She was a roamer, a butterfly. A princess, not a queen. “You were replaced?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I quit last year and left a few months ago. Dante was very unhappy, but others have filled in since then. My parents can be next in line.”
She relaxed; she smiled. “They won’t like it, but they’ll be safe there.” He could almost see her body unwinding. “Everyone else I care about can more than take care of themselves.”
Of course they could. Raintree.
On occasion Rye had to remind himself that Echo was no normal woman. No lost and mildly gifted stray looking for others like herself, no independent in need of his assistance.
Doyle arrived early tonight, too. He sauntered through the front door, squinted as his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the pub, smiled when he saw Echo. His shoulders squared. Holy God, the woman was trouble. Doyle had been a perfectly steady and reliable employee since coming to town eight months ago. The man was nearing thirty, as Echo was. He was handsome enough to have caught the interest of a handful of women in town, ordinary enough not to cause a stir. Like most of the others in Cloughban, Doyle was different. Telekinesis was his gift. Rye had caught him moving pots about the kitchen a time or two, but he didn’t like anyone to watch. Once, when Rye had walked in and caught Doyle playing—or practicing—several pots had wobbled in the air and then hit the floor at once. The stones fed Doyle’s gifts, as they fed those of the other independents—strays—in town.
Echo nodded in Doyle’s direction. “I have a couple of phone calls to make, but when I’m done can I get a bowl of soup and some brown bread? I think I’m getting addicted to your brown bread.”
Doyle beamed. “Aye, lass. I’ll get to it.”
“Thanks.”
Again, she looked up at Rye. “What are you scowling at, boss?”
“I’m not scowling. This way to the phone.” He gestured with one hand and she stood. For a moment, a second or two, she stood too close. He could feel her body heat, smell her shampoo, sense the tremendous energy that rolled off her very fine body. She held her breath, and so did he.
