True magic can happen on Halloween night under the full moon…if you only believe…
Dominique Meacham reached toward the cardboard box hidden at the very back of the closet, but then hesitated. Disappointment was rule of thumb in her life. Was it silly to hope after all this time? To think a pair of red leather shoes held magic?
She glanced to her black cat Pye Wackett. “Oh, once upon a time I had believed, Pye.”
The long haired cat climbed down from his perch by the laptop, and came to do a dance next to where she knelt. The silly beast then head-butted her arm, almost seeming to push it forward. So strange, the feline seemed to be able to read her mind, and appeared almost as eager as she to see the cardboard container opened.
“It’s not kitty treats, if that’s what you think.” She scratched his soft black fur that held a strange mahogany cast to it. “Being a cat you probably just want the box to sit in.”
He meowed loudly as if to say, get on with it, coward.
Carefully lifting the shoes from the box, she stared at them, recalling a Halloween night three years ago when she’d won them at a high school fair…
o0o
The box was covered with red foil paper, the type used at Christmastime; rather odd, since no one else had bothered to wrap their donations. No thrill, surely? Something discarded, unwanted by its owner. She’d won a prize in the cakewalk–time to pick what she wanted. So strange, it was as though she couldn’t focus on anything but that box. She climbed up the wooden bleachers, the glittering foil beckoning, lured as the Sirens had Ulysses. Something extraordinary was inside. In her vivid imagination, she almost could believe her faery godmother left it there for her to discover.
All the music, laughter and chatter in the gymnasium receded to mute, as she raised the lid.
Nestled within black tissue paper was a pair of fire-engine red heels. Again, why trouble to wrap the box and shoes? Just a pair of heels someone had worn once or twice and then contributed to the festival as a prize. Other prizes were stuff you’d give to a church bazaar―secondhand toys, clothing or baked goods―pies, cookies or cakes. Obviously expensive, the soft leather called out to be stroked. As she held them, she wondered if Cinderella had felt the same when she’d put on glass slippers and waltzed with her prince.
Instantly, Bran Mackenzie’s face shimmered in her mind. He was so heart-stoppingly beautiful, with wavy blue-black hair and pale grey eyes―and, oh, she had danced with him last Valentine’s Day, underneath white crepe streamers and red paper hearts! Oh, what she wouldn’t have given for him to kiss her! Her mama warned her against him―a bad boy―fussing about how he was never without his sunglasses. What was he hiding? she forever complained. Despite all the maternal forbiddings, Dominique wanted her first kiss to be from Bran. Only Bran. No matter how pointless the wish, it wouldn’t die within her heart.
Rushing through the double doors to the outer lobby, where no one lingered, she kicked off her tennis shoes and slipped on the pumps. They fit as if fashioned for her! Buckling the straps about her ankles, Dominique stared down at the shoes she’d won, pondering if they were magic. She felt different, suddenly, no longer a child, but transformed by the Gucci heels.
Born on the stroke of midnight on Halloween, she would turn eighteen in two hours. “Time to put aside childish things and embrace the night.” She laughed, and stepped away from the school’s entrance, and into the warm autumnal darkness.
She had a bit of trouble gaining her balance, never having worn heels before. Never owned a pair. Mama didn’t approve. When she reached the hill, the yellow harvest moon broke from behind the clouds, flooding the nightscape with an eerie gold, as if kissed by faerydust. Once more, she paused to glance down at her new shoes. This was insane! They were just a pair of heels someone had discarded, put up as a prize for the carnival. Only…she’d known as she opened the lid on the box, they were special somehow. Once she’d put them on, all had changed.
“Do you grant wishes, Ruby Slippers? I could use a little magic in my life.” She closed her eyes, and then clicked her heels thrice. Instead of Dorothy’s mantra of there’s no place like home… words fell from her lips, born from the unrequited hope in her heart, “There’s no one like Bran…there’s no one like Bran.”
How dumb is that, her mind taunted. Bran little noticed her. All the people of the town shunned her, whispered hateful taunts like witch―or worse. Some hated her with an evil passion she could not understand. Some feared the jeerings of witch were true. Why should Bran be any different? Putting on a pair of second-hand shoes and uttering a wish wouldn’t alter anything. Life was simply not that way.
As she reached the bottom of the hill, she nearly stumbled.
Bathed in the golden rays, Bran Mackenzie sat, half-reclining, on the stone bridge that spanned Goblin Close Creek. Next to him, stretched out as if they were old friends, was her cat Pye Wackett. Bran’s hand absently stroked the feline’s long body. An artist’s study of light and shadows, Bran was majestic. “Handsome” was too feeble a word to describe this Celtic prince who seemed to have materialized from the preternatural moonlight.
Her heart stopped. She couldn’t breathe. When it finally did beat, the rhythm was erratic, pounding, bruising against her ribcage. Don’t fall off the heels and tumble down the knoll, she silently admonished herself. A hundred feet or so she walked to the bridge, the space more like a mile—all the while, questions running through her mind.
He was sitting all alone, save for the kitty. The corner of her mouth quirked up as she noted he had on his shades. Her mama’s words arose to mind―and just as quickly, she pushed them from thought. Was he waiting for her? Stupid girl, her mind mocked, Bran Mackenzie―the most popular guy in town―would have no reason to wait for you. She was as far from his orbit as Mars was from Pluto.
She glanced down to the red heels, appearing almost black under the moon’s rays. The odd thought once more flitted through her mind…had her Ruby Slippers carried her where her heart wanted to be? She only had seconds to decide what she’d say, how she’d act, but reasoning was beyond her.
She saw the flare of his cigarette, then the stream of smoke he blew into the air. He appeared to be chuckling to himself…or the black cat. He tilted his head down and shook it, as if saying he didn’t believe what he saw.
As she drew near, she thought she heard him singing words from an old song by Gary Puckett: My love for you is way out of line. Better run, girl. You're much too young, girl. Surely, her mind played tricks? This golden faerydust was infecting her mind! Maybe this was nothing but another dream, and she’d awaken in her bed. It wouldn’t be the first time she had dreamt of Bran.
Self-doubt rose. Was he finding humor at the little girl playing dress up? Maybe he was only making fun of her. He knew of her crush―hell, the whole town did―thought it amusing, and was teasing her.
Bran looked up. His deep voice queried, “Left the school fair early, Dominique?”
Nervous and trying to hide it, she shrugged. “Everything seems so…childish.”
“It is childish. Why’d you go? You’re no longer a child.”
She swayed in the pumps, unable to stand still. “Not much else to do…I’m too old for Trick-or-Treating. Why are you sitting on our bridge?” The bridge was on her land.
“I’m not sitting―I’m leaning.” He smiled, so sexy he should be outlawed.
“Okay, why are you leaning on our bridge?”
“Waiting…for you. Or should I say, we are waiting for you. I take it this mangy beast belongs to you?”
Waiting for you. The simple statement rocked her. Oh, she’d love for those words to be true; only, she wasn’t brainless enough to set herself up for that humiliating disappointment. “Pull the other one, Mackenzie. And yes, Pye is my cat. Or rather, I am his human. I don’t think anyone can ever be the master of Pye Wackett.”
The cat rolled over and exposed his belly for scratches, and promptly rumbled when Bran complied with the silent command. “I know…you named him after that old Kim Novak-Jimmy Stewart movie. The one with the brother who was a warlock. He went around turning street lights off with his powers. I’ll think of the title in a minute.”
“Bell, Book and Candle. Wonderful movie, and I always wanted to look like Kim Novak, but that’s not why I named the cat Pye. It’s an old witch’s familiar name. You would see it in old manuscripts about the Burning Times.”
“Gruesome stuff. I figured you for a romance reader,” he teased.
“Why do you think that?” She was curious what he assumed about her. The idea that Bran did think about her at all was novel. Oh, she was constantly mooning about him, but she never really considered he might have opinions about her. Maybe she didn’t want to know, but it was too late to take back the words.
He looked her over as if really taking time to study her. “Oh, I don’t know. You just seem to have stars in your eyes. As if you have one foot in this world and another off someplace magical.”
“I guess that is a polite way to put it.” She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “So what are you doing here being a slave to my cat?”
“Seriously―I was waiting for you. The cat just popped around to introduce himself. I thought he might be waiting on you, too.”
Pushing the shades down to the tip if his nose, he looked over the frames, taking in her long hair worn loose, the red square-neck sweater, tight white shorts and dichotomic high heels. Flames roared through her, ignited by the path of those pale warlock eyes.
“I dropped my sister off at the carnival earlier. I saw you go in and figured you’d walk home. There’s trouble tonight. I deemed it best that I made sure you got safely to your front door.”
“Mason, Lee and Dewey,” she guessed, disgust clear in her tone. “Sir Mason the Monster and his shit-eating toadies. Wonder if the Stuarts removed the glass globes on their bridge lights? The Three Stooges toss rocks at them every Halloween.”
“No rocks this time. They have .22s. Sheriff Tate’s patrolling, on the lookout for them.”
She gave another derisive laugh. “Big comfort there. He won’t do anything to the town psychos, and you know it.”
“Dominique, they are psychos. Golden boy is sick―a socio-psychopath. The day will soon come when they will be forced to do something with him. You walking home alone is putting a target on your back. I thought I’d hang around and see you got home. Remember the time Mason tried to set your hair on fire?”
“Not something one on the receiving end forgets. I was only six. He terrified me. My hero! You ran him off,” she teased, touched Bran considered her welfare; surprised he recalled the incident from years ago.
“No one has ever called me a hero before.” He reached out and picked up a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his finger and thumb. The cat swatted at him, perturbed to lose the tummy rubs. Dropping the lock, Bran took another drag on the cigarette. He looked her over again and gave a quirky half-smile. “Love your Halloween costume.”
“Just shorts and a sweater.” She shrugged, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “I didn’t dress up.”
“You could’ve fooled me.” The corner of his mouth tugged a bit higher. “Little girl playing woman.”
She frowned, suddenly peeved. A child playing dress up was the last thing she wanted Bran Mackenzie to see her as. Sliding her hands under her heavy breasts, she bounced them a couple of times. “These aren’t fake, boyo. Despite Nancy Lawson going around telling I stuff them with toilet paper―they’re real.”
Bran tilted his head back and howled with laughter. It caused Pye to jump to his feet, not sure what was going on.
Oh, he had a sexy throat. A lot of men didn’t, but Bran’s throat was a perfection that should be captured in a sculpture. She wanted to kiss that throat, lick it. She almost shook her head to dispel the golden moondust from clogging her brain and feeding these fantasies.
“Being male, I think we are born with a bullshit meter, and can tell the difference between extra soft Charmin and the real thing. It never crossed my mind they were anything but all Dominique. You always struck me as shy, so tongue-tied around me. You mostly stared. You stare at me a lot.” Taking another pull on the cigarette, Bran glanced away from her and at the landscape, thrown into gold monotone shadows by the half-hidden full moon.
“Can I have a puff?” Dominique reached to swipe the ciggy from his fingertips.
As she tried to take it from his hand, Bran swung his extended arm away from her and to the side, making her follow. His longer arm kept the half-smoked cigarette out of reach. So busy leaning, trying to snatch it, it took an instant to realize the position brought her body against Bran’s.
She stilled, her eyes traveling the length of his arm to his face, mesmerized by those pale grey eyes, watching her over the rim of his shades. She swallowed hard.
“Why do you watch me so, Domino?” His voice was a whisper, his breath fanning over her face.
Flames rolled through her veins, her body awakening to the pains and hungers of being a woman, of wanting so desperately what she couldn’t have. She felt dizzy, swaying to him, craving him with every pore of her body. She drank in his breath, leaned to him, hoping, praying he would kiss her.
“Hmm…gone back to being shy, Domino?” It was a challenge.
For an instant, he faintly tilted toward her, as if caught up in this strange magic. The spell shattered as a car sped down the hill, the headlights illuminating them. Bran put a hand to the back of her head, pulling her to the safe harbor of his chest and neck, shielding her face against prying eyes. The Corvette zoomed past them and then accelerated up the steep incline, disappearing.
Locked in the spell of being so close to Bran, Dominique felt heat rolling off him. Intoxicating. His male scent drew her, filled her brain until she was drunk. He smelled so good. They stayed motionless, their eyes locked, breathless, neither one able to move.
“Your heart’s beating like a wild bird. I feel it against mine.” He said in hushed awe, his eyes studying her face intently.
She chanted in her mind kiss me and set me free, over and over, and for a shard in time, she thought he might. Suddenly, Bran shifted and pushed away from the edge of the bridge. A fledgling witch’s magic just isn’t potent enough, she sighed.
“Ow!” he cried, turning around to look behind him. “Your damn cat just took a plug out of my back.”
Whimsical, she sighed. “Pye gets to have all the fun.”
His head whipped back around to stare at her. “Did someone give you anything to drink… like punch? Brownies that tasted funny?”
“No. Want me to stand with my feet together, then bend my arm and touch my nose to prove it?”
“Well, something’s gotten hold of you tonight. You’re not the shy Domino I’ve watched growing up.”
“Maybe I’m just drunk on moonlight and faerydust,” she laughed. Then she blinked, not accustomed to her own laughter.
She so seldom had anything to smile about, let alone laugh over. Why, Pye Wackett had been such a blessing when he turned up sitting outside her window one stormy night, demanding she let him in! She finally had a friend, someone to talk to, so she wasn’t alone in the night.
Trying to regain her mental footing she asked, “Why do you wear shades all the time?”
He shrugged. “Light tends to hurt my eyes. They’re gradients, so not that dark. Besides, the moon’s quite bright. Bright enough to see more than you think.”
Maybe see too much.
“Come on, let’s walk you home before I do something foolish.” His tone was slightly angry. Pushing his glasses back up his nose, he took her hand and started up the hill, nearly dragging her behind him.
She resisted. Not now. Oh, please, her mind screamed. This was as close as she would ever to be having her dream coming true. It was painful to think of letting it go. “I don’t want to go home.” She locked her knees and set her weight against him.
Pausing, he turned around. “Didn’t your mama warn you it’s not safe to be out with men?”
“Regular sermons on it. ‘Rough, hairy beasts. Eight hands. And they…they all just want one thing from a girl,’" she said.
“Your mama is Jack Lemmon?” He asked incredulously, then laughed. “I’ve seen Some Like It Hot. I am beginning to think you are an old movie buff.”
“I do spend a lot of late nights watching TMC. Not much else to do.” She felt the shroud of sorrow that was her life trying to wrap itself around her, to blot out these new, magical feelings. It often felt as if something in her life seemed determine that she should never experience happiness. “Mama says I should …especially…” Dominique swallowed back the truth before she made a fool of herself.
The cat came pussyfooting up, meowing for attention, distracting him. Bran’s head slanted to the side. With the shades on, his pale eyes were hidden from her. “Especially what, Domino?”
Looking down, she gave a pretense of petting Pye when actually she was trying to prevent him from seeing her face. It was unfair he could see her emotions all open for his inspection, while he hid behind the shades. Even so, she couldn’t stop the words from coming. “When she catches me watching you.”
She recalled when she was thirteen, riding her bike past the park. Bran was there playing tennis with some others from his class. She had stopped, just outside the green chain link fence, pretending she was merely watching the match. To this day, she barely recalled the two girls and the other guy who were his partners. She had stared, mesmerized in a breathless spell as she observed him toss up the yellow tennis ball and serve it. He was so handsome in the white shorts and shirt that it made her heart ache. People would laugh and call it a crush, but she knew with a certainty that she had fallen in love with Bran Mackenzie that day—and nothing since had caused the longing to fade.
“Your mama’s smart. You should run home as fast as those red shoes will carry you.”
She wavered. This was the first time she’d spoken more than a few words in passing to him, more than a hello at the Dairy Queen, or a smile and wave as he passed by in his shiny black Jaguar. He always waved at her, and likely had no idea how important that small gesture was to her, how it filled her heart to soaring. His smile kept her on a cloud for a week. She wanted to stop time, and savor these precious moments, cherish them later in the dark of night when she lay in bed and thought of him.
“It’s not late. Besides…it’s my birthday―or will be, in a couple of hours.” Dominique bit her lower lip. Just to spend a little time with Bran would mean everything to her, the best birthday present ever.
“Domino, it’s not wise to be out with me.”
“Haven’t you heard…that Meacham girl isn’t too bright?” She smiled through crystalline tears, threatening to fall.
“Ones who aren’t bright don’t see how sharp you are. How special,” he said softly.
“I hate pity, Bran.”
Looking up the dark, winding drive toward the house hidden from view, she felt so empty. Something inside her would die if she returned to the old manor and had to welcome her eighteenth birthday with only Pye to share the moment. If she couldn’t have Bran’s friendship, she sure as hell didn’t want his pity. Trying to force the tears down her throat, she dropped his hand and stepped back.
“Come along, Pye.” She was having trouble swallowing; her throat was so choked with unshed tears. “Thanks…for being concerned. That was most kind of you. There’s no need to see me home. See you around…sometime, Bran.”
Have a happy life, her mind whispered. Stepping past him, she started up the long, winding drive with the overgrown yew hedge lining each side. Pye was right at her heels.
Catching up to her, Bran reached out and snagged her arm. “Dominique, I said I’d see you to the house. I don’t want Mason and his toads to jump you.”
“I’m a big girl…” I don’t need a knight in shining armour, her mind cried. But she did. Desperately.
He laughed, “Domino is all grown up, eh? Precisely, why I don’t want those creeps near you.” Letting go of her, he fell in step beside her, slowly going up the long driveway. The cat ran circles around Bran’s legs, meowing.
Ancient oak trees lined each side, blocking out moonlight. The trunks were thick from age, enough to hide someone if they were standing behind them. Suddenly, she shivered, her mind conjuring images of Mason and his blond Dorian Grey beauty stepping from behind one. Mason scared her, so despite her words, she was comforted with Bran beside her.
“Why are you wearing shades at night?”
“I told you, the full moon’s bright.” He lifted them up and to the top of his head. “There? Better?”
“It’s hard to see your eyes with them on…see if you’re serious…or laughing at me.”
“I promise you…I never laugh at you, Domino.” As they reached the end of the double row of trees, Bran swung around to block her path. “Why do you watch me so much, Domino?”
Because she loved him. Oh, how she loved him.
He’d laugh at her if she told him that, but it was the truth. She had since the first time he’d stepped between Mason and her, saving the bully from setting her hair on fire. Mason had been chanting, burn the witch, burn the witch. But that seedling emotion came into full bloom that hot summer afternoon by the tennis courts. She couldn’t elucidate the feelings. It wasn’t puppy love—of that, she was sure. Her stupid heart whispered destiny when she looked at him. Regardless of knowing that love would never be returned, she’d contented herself with worshipping Bran from afar. Now, he was so close she’d never be satisfied with that small crumb of life ever again.
“I cannot explain,” she admitted in a whisper. “I don’t dare say it aloud.”
“I’m too old for you, Domino, by nearly five years. I will graduate college come spring. After that I am going to England to stay with my grandfather, do some graduate work over there. I likely will be gone for some time.”
Dominique could feel her heart shattering into a thousand pieces. Her blood turned to ice. She knew she could never have Bran. He was much too good for her. But to never see him again? She felt her world turning black. Words swelled, trying to break free, to tell him all the precious feelings she held inside. Instead, too used to life’s disappointments, she just nodded understanding. She’d been a fool to hope even for a fleeting moment. A tear trickled over her cheek and fell down onto the red leather shoe. Even Ruby Slippers couldn’t give her what she wanted.
“Come on.” He took her upper arm to guide her toward the towering antebellum mansion, looming ahead of them. In the unearthly golden moonlight, it appeared in grace and perfection, as it must have been in its prime. The shadows hid the shabby, rundown condition revealed by the harshness of day.
He walked up the steps and onto the portico, all the way to the front door. She smiled faintly. No one used the front door. She couldn’t recall the last time someone had ever come to call. She didn’t fret about anyone spotting them. No one was home. There’d be no one to celebrate her birthday with her. She hadn’t expected it. She took the key from the pocket of her shorts and fumbled with the ring.
Bran reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Happy Birthday, Domino. If you were celebrating your twenty-first birthday, this night would be ending a different way. For your eighteenth, you’ll just have to settle for a kiss.”
He leaned toward her and brushed his lips across hers. So fleeting, she wanted to grab his arms and hang on forever. Instead, he pulled back. For a long moment he stood staring at her face bathed by twinkling faerydust and moonlight―his hidden by the shadows, unreadable. “Goodnight, Domino.”
Emotions were flying around in her, wild, frantic, so many things she needed to say to him, to ask him. Instead, she stood there accepting Bran was walking away from her. Walking out of her life. Come spring, he would leave for England. He began whistling an old tune by a singer named Bobby Vee, Come Back When You’ve Grown Up, Girl.
Choking back the tears, she called after him, “Go ahead! Run, coward! Someday, you’ll regret not giving me a proper kiss on my birthday.”
Pye stood, dancing back and forth on his feet. Confused, he wanted to go inside with her, and also felt the urge to follow him.
Bran’s laughter rolled softly through the night. “Oh, I regret it already.” He moved farther down the driveway, but he turned around and kept walking backwards. “Tell you what, Domino—how about a date?”
The question jumped out of her throat. “A date?” Hope exploded in her heart.
“Yep. What say you? Three years from now––meet me at the bridge, wearing those red shoes, and I’ll give you a proper birthday kiss.”
She nearly strangled. “Bran Mackenzie, I hate you!”
“No… you…don’t.” Haunting, mocking words.
She wanted to call those hateful words back, but he took off, jogging back down the darkened driveway, not looking back.
o0o
She rubbed her thumb over the red leather, debating if she should put them on. “Once a fool, always a fool, I suppose.” Pye yawned in boredom.
Three years and no word from Bran. For all she knew, he was still living in England with his grandfather. No postcards, birthday wishes, no jolly St. Nick on a Merry HoHo card. His mother had closed down their house and joined her son overseas, not wanting to ramble about in the huge mansion by herself, once his sister had gone to college. Drawn like the stupid moth to the flame, she had walked by at twilight, hoping to see a light on the old Victorian manor.
Yesterday, with the bite of autumn in the air and leaves falling covering the ground, she had ventured up the winding driveway of his family’s estate, out on her daily walk. Somehow, her steps had carried her to the gates of the old manor. She hadn’t meant to go there. She never had before, but something drew her. No lights were on inside, nothing showed signs of anyone about. Casting a last glance over her shoulder, she had gone on home.
Now, torn by the compulsion to put the red shoes on once again and the nagging voice saying she was setting herself up for another disappointment, she finally gave in and slid them on. “Well, if he isn’t there, then no one’s about to witness me being a total sucker for believing in faerytales,” she told the cat.
With Pye following along, chasing dry autumn leaves, she was halfway down the darkened driveway when doubt began to win the battle with common sense. Feeling slightly sick to her stomach from following the foolish folly, she almost turned back. However, as though the shoes had a will of their own, her steps carried her onward. She broke free of the inky shadows at the mouth of the drive. The bridge loomed ahead, the grey stones pale in the moonlight.
No one was there.
Had she really expected anything more? For a girl who had found life rarely smiled upon her, disappointment was expected. Oh, why hadn’t she stayed in the house where her heart couldn’t be hurt again? Approaching the bridge, she reached out and touched the stones where Bran had once sat. It felt warm, as if someone had recently been sitting there. Her hand jerked back. Where the heart wants so desperately, it has the power to play tricks on the mind.
She sighed, afraid to touch the stones again. If one didn’t believe, didn’t reach for that hope, then nothing would ever come true, would it? Placing her hand flat to the stone, she held it there. It did feel warm.
“Well, here goes, Pye.” she said, the words laced with self-mocking, “You’re no Toto, but Judy Garland has nothing on me.”
Closing her eyelids, she clicked the heels of the red shoes together three times. For several heartbeats she was loath to opening her eyes. Finally, she lifted the lids. Nothing had changed. Scattered clouds passed over the moon, throwing the landscape in deep shadows. Darkest despair welling up in her chest, she swallowed the hard lump back.
“Dumb, dumb, dumb! Pye, how stupid can one girl be?” Dropping her hand, she took a step back and spun to go.
“Do you always talk to your cat, Domino?”
The haunting words floated from the blackest night at the mouth of the drive. Her heart stopped, and she felt faint, unable to draw air. Domino. Only one person called her that.
Bran.
That fist of disillusionment inside her released, morphing to hot pleasure, which flooded through her body. It sped to her heart, where it felt like it might burst. Cautiously, she walked toward the disembodied words.
“I’ve heard most good cat owners do,” she replied. “It’s when they start talking back that you begin to worry. They say highly imaginative children talk to imaginary playmates. Having a cat to natter to is probably the grown up version.”
Pye’s eyesight handled dark better than a human’s. He dashed into the blackness, where Bran materialized from shadows. Slowly, he walked into the moonlight. “As I told you the last time we stood here, you are no longer a child.”
Bran. Looking a bit older, more mature…but he was still wearing his shades. Bad boy to the core!
She couldn’t help it. Laughter burst out. It was either laugh, or cry.
In his hand was a long-stemmed white rose. He held it out to her. “Happy Birthday, Domino.” When she hesitated to accept it, he asked, “Did you think I wouldn’t keep my word to you? We had a date, remember?”
“Yes, I remember. I wasn’t sure you did. You’ve been in England for a long time. You even have an accent now. You could’ve sent me a postcard to let me know you were alive.”
“I did. And birthday cards…Christmas. I had a feeling you weren’t getting them when you never answered me.”
She closed her eyes against the pain. “Mother. She was dying of cancer…”
“And afraid you might leave her alone. I assumed as much.” He stepped close and brushed a butterfly kiss to her cheek. “But nothing was going to bar my way from keeping our date. Did you never wonder how I knew you watched me so much? Well, I was watching you, too. There was always an odd sense of Fate when our eyes met. I was too old for you. But a voice whispered, ‘Someday, when she grows up.’ Well, you’re twenty-one now, or at least you will be on the stroke of midnight.
She shook her head. “Don’t you know what they whisper about me, Bran? Nothing has changed. I am still that crazy Meacham girl who they fear is a witch.”
“Fear? I know you are. How else could you have stolen my heart all those years ago…one hot summer day, when you stood clinging to a fence watching me play tennis?”
“Bran—” Buffeted by wild emotions, she couldn’t find words.
“I love how you say my name.” His long, elegant magician’s fingers cupped her chin, tilting it up. “In fact…I love you, Domino. And have, for a very long time. I just had to wait until the time was right.”
He kissed her gently, then not enough. Domino stepped into his embrace and relished the kiss she had wanted so desperately three years ago.
She couldn’t help it…the heels on her red shoes clicked thrice once more setting the seal on her final wish––to be Bran’s wife.
Pye, reading her mind again, let out with a “Meeeeeeeeeeoooow!” of agreement.
About the Author—Deborah Macgillivray
Deborah Macgillivray, Award Winning Author with Montlake Romance/Amazon Publishing; Kensington Zebra Historicals; and Dorchester LoveSpell. Her books have been translated by publishing houses around the world including Random House Kodansha Ltd. (Japan); Romance Nova Cultural (Brazil); ACT (Russia); Knaur (Germany) and Ediciones Pamies (Spain).
Scottish Medieval Historicals (Dragons of Challon series) and Contemporary Paranormals—on the quirky side—(Sisters of Colford Hall series), novellas that features cats as characters, and Regency novellas.
Member of: RWA; Authors Guild; Host of The Haunt @ PRN
She is winner of the prestigious Gayle Wilson Award of Excellent for Best Contemporary Romance for RIDING THE THUNDER (2008)