Pierce slanted a worried look at Maggie who sat in the passenger seat of the SUV he’d borrowed from the Dallas coven. She’d hardly spoken the entire trip, except to read Ian’s directions or consult the map of Texas in her lap. Something was bothering her, he could feel it, but he didn’t know what.
He checked the rearview mirror. For the last twenty minutes, they’d traveled alone on this Farm Road. “How much farther to go?”
She picked up Ian’s directions. Thanks to a full moon and her superior Vamp vision, she was able to read. “We should be coming up on County Road Three any minute now. Once we turn right there, we’ll be on the O’Callahan ranch.”
“Great.” Pierce reached between the bucket seats and opened the small ice chest. “We’d better eat first.”
“Okay.” She retrieved a cold bottle of Chocolood.
He opened a bottle of synthetic blood type O. “Cheers.”
She didn’t respond, just sipped her Chocolood and gazed out the window.
What the hell was wrong? Pierce guzzled down half his bottle, then plunked it into the cupholder. “Maggie, are you disappointed that I turned out to be a rodeo cowboy from Texas?”
“No. I—I’m very happy for you.”
“You don’t sound happy. I thought you’d like an Irish boy. I’m the sort of guy you could take home to meet your parents.”
“Except that my parents died over a hundred years ago. And they would never approve of anyone who’s undead. Even me.”
“I’m sorry they rejected you. You—you never told me how you were transformed.”
She sipped from her drink, refusing to look at him. “Here’s the turn.” She pointed at a narrow road up ahead.
“I hope you can tell me sometime.” He hoped her transformation hadn’t been a violent one. He wanted her to be able to trust and love. But he could wait till she was ready. That was one good thing about being a Vamp. He could wait a hundred years if he needed to.
He turned the SUV onto the County Road. Ian had been right. Once he sat behind the wheel, his driving skills had come back. He looked around the countryside, and a surge of pride swept through him. They were now on O’Callahan land.
“I was a volunteer with the Salvation Army,” Maggie whispered. “We went into a bad area by the docks, and I got separated from the others. Night fell, and I was lost.”
Pierce turned toward her. “You were attacked?”
“It was more like—” She gasped.
He looked forward and flinched. Something had dashed into the road. He stomped on the brake.
Maggie screamed. They screeched to a halt just as a large animal leaped into the thick brush on the right.
Pierce sat still for a while, waiting for his heart to stop pounding. “What the hell was that?”
Maggie took a deep breath. “I thought you were going to hit it.”
He eased the SUV forward and spotted movement by a large oak tree. “Look! There it is!”
He’d seen the wolflike animal run on four legs, but now, it reared up on its hind legs and howled at the moon.
“It’s huge,” Maggie whispered.
The shaggy animal dropped to all fours and loped away.
Pierce shook his head. He could have sworn there were no wolves in this part of Texas. He drove forward, keeping an eye out for wild animals. A fence began on the left side of the road, the planks in sore need of a fresh coat of paint. Two brick columns flanked a narrow road. A rusty wrought-iron arch connected the two columns. Across the arch were two words—O’CALLAHAN RANCH.
This was it. Home. He turned onto the driveway and spotted a house at the end of the long drive.
It was a large, white Victorian with dark shutters and a three-story turreted tower on the left. The rest of the second floor was topped with a gabled roof. Lights from a Christmas tree twinkled in the wide bay window on the right. Steps led up to the front door and a wraparound porch. The whole house sat on top of a partially visible basement. Even in the moonlight, Pierce could tell the house needed a coat of paint, and one of the shutters was hanging crooked.
A sudden, dreadful feeling came over him that the ranch had suffered because of his disappearance. Would his family be angry when he reappeared after five years?
“It’s beautiful,” Maggie whispered.
She liked it? That was a relief. “You’re okay with how this is turning out? I mean, me being a rodeo cowboy from Texas?”
“With a secret baby?” She glanced at him with a smile. “You know, it sounds like something from a DVN soap opera. And Pierce is a perfect name for a vampire. Very fangish.”
“Yeah.” He stopped in front of the house and studied the rundown building. “Maybe I get to save the ranch.”
“Or maybe you’re a long-lost prince from Europe.”
He snorted as he removed the keys from the ignition. “Or maybe my father is actually an Arabian sheikh in hiding.”
Maggie laughed. “And I bet you have an evil twin.”
Right at that moment, the front door slammed open and a tall man strode onto the porch.
Maggie gasped. “Sweet Mary! He looks just like you.”
A twin? Pierce’s mouth fell open.
The man whisked a shotgun up to his shoulder and shouted, “Get the hell out of here!”
An evil twin? Pierce exchanged a shocked look with Maggie. “Duck down and stay low.” He reached for the door handle.
“What are you doing?” Maggie scrunched down in her seat. “He’ll shoot you.”
“I don’t think he can kill me.” Pierce eased open the door. Though it would hurt like hell.
“I told you to go away!” The man cocked the shotgun.
“Wait!” Pierce edged around the front of the SUV. The headlights had yet to go off, so he stood in the pool of light. “Don’t you know me?”
The man stumbled back with a gasp. The shotgun fell from his hands and discharged with a loud ka-boom.
Pierce ducked behind the SUV. Maggie screamed.
“Sweet Jesus!” The man ran down the steps, then halted abruptly before reaching the ground. “Pierce, are you okay?”
An older, thin woman dashed onto the porch. “Patrick, what the hell are you doing? So help me, if you shoot Bob, I’ll—”
“No!” Patrick pointed at the SUV. “It’s Pierce! He’s back!”
“What?” The woman stared at the SUV, her mouth agape.
Pierce straightened and gave a small wave. “Hi.”
“Pierce!” the woman screeched. She turned back to Patrick and shoved him. “You shot at your own brother?”
“I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”
“I’m okay. Really.” Pierce headed toward the porch.
The woman charged down the steps and threw her arms around him. “Pierce! You’re alive!”
Sorta. This didn’t seem like the best time to dwell on undead details. He returned the woman’s hug. “Mother?”
She pushed back with a confused look. “I ain’t your Ma.”
“Oh, sorry.” He stepped back.
“Don’t you remember me? I’m your Aunt Betty.”
“Ah, it’s nice to meet you. You see, I have—”
“Well, I never.” Aunt Betty planted her fists on her hips and glared at him. “First, you run off without a word to anyone, leaving us here in the lurch for five long years, and now, you act like you don’t even know us. Of all the high-falutin’—”
“I have amnesia!”
His brother gasped.
His aunt scrunched up her long thin nose. “Is that like milk of Magnesia?”
“No, Aunt Betty,” Patrick muttered. “Amnesia. It means he can’t remember anything.”
Maggie exited the SUV. “It’s true. Pierce has suffered from amnesia for almost five years.”
Aunt Betty narrowed her eyes. “And who the devil are you?”
Pierce wrapped an arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “This is my good friend, Maggie O’Brian.”
“Humph.” Aunt Betty sniffed. “You remember her name.”
Patrick opened the front door and yelled, “Ma! Pierce is back!” He let the door slam shut and waited on the porch.
Pierce wondered if there was bad blood between him and his brother. Patrick hadn’t even bothered to shake his hand. “Are we twins?”
Patrick laughed.
Aunt Betty snorted. “Don’t you know you’re the oldest?”
“He has amnesia,” Patrick reminded her. “You’re three years older than me, Pierce, though you sure don’t look like it.”
Of course. When he’d become undead, he’d stopped aging.
A short, dark-haired woman ran onto the porch and gasped when she saw Pierce. “Santa Maria!” She dashed down the stairs. “Pierce Alejandro! I thought I’d never see you again.” She pulled him into an embrace and burst into tears.
Pierce Alejandro? He gave Maggie a shocked look over his mother’s head. He was part Hispanic, after all. Maggie grinned.
He patted his mother’s back. “You are my mother, right?”
“Claro.” She stepped back. “You don’t remember?”
“He has amnesia,” Patrick yelled from the porch.
His mother looked confused. “You don’t remember us at all?”
“No, that’s why I was gone for so long. I only found out yesterday that my name’s Pierce O’Callahan.”
His mother looked even more confused. “Then who were you before?”
“He doesn’t remember!” Patrick shouted. “He has amnesia!”
“Actually, I do remember the last four and a half years. It’s everything before that’s a total blank.”
Aunt Betty scowled at him. “So you’ve been cavortin’ around the countryside while we were here starvin’ to death?”
“We’re not starving!” His mother protested, then gave Pierce another hug. “Don’t worry, pobrecito. You’re home, and now, everything will be fine.”
He patted his mother on the back. He was beginning to suspect they did expect him to save the ranch. But how could he when he remembered nothing about ranching?
“Y’all had better come in,” Patrick yelled from the porch. “It’s not safe out there.”
Pierce reached for Maggie’s hand. “Mother, I’d like you to meet Maggie O’Brian. She’s been helping me find out who I am. Without her, I would have never made it home.”
Maggie’s eyes glistened with tears. “I was happy to help.”
His mother grabbed her in a tight hug. “Thank you, thank you. You are an angel to bring my son back to me.”
Maggie returned the woman’s embrace.
“You must call me Dorotea,” Pierce’s mother announced. “And you are always welcome in my home. God bless you, child.”
“Don’t just stand there!” Patrick shouted from the porch. “Hurry, get in the house!”
There must be some kind of danger. Why else was his brother standing guard with a shotgun? Pierce led Maggie up the steps, following his mother and aunt. As soon as he reached the porch, his brother grabbed him in a bear hug.
“I’m so glad you’re back.” Patrick pounded him on the back.
Pierce grinned, relieved that he and his brother were on good terms after all. “What’s the deal with the shotgun?”
“Nothing.” Patrick slanted a nervous look toward his mother and aunt. “But you shouldn’t be outside tonight.”
Pierce exchanged a confused look with Maggie as they filed into the foyer. Then, they followed his mother and aunt into the living room on the right.
“Come, sit down.” Dorotea gestured toward a long tan sofa with plump cushions.
Pierce and Maggie sat together on the couch. Patrick took a position next to the Christmas tree in front of the bay window. On the opposite wall, a large bookcase took up the whole wall, stuffed with books, knickknacks, and an old television. His mom and aunt sat across from him in two maroon wing-back chairs.
Maggie frowned at Patrick’s gun. “Is there something wrong? We saw a strange creature on the road. Pierce almost hit it.”
Dorotea gasped.
Aunt Betty jumped to her feet. “What kind of creature?”
“I’m not sure.” Maggie twisted the cross-shaped ring on her little finger. “It was large and sorta wolfish looking.”
“And you hit it?” Aunt Betty shrieked.
“No, no,” Pierce assured her. “The animal was fine. It just gave us a shock.”
“Oh.” Aunt Betty sat back down, her face pale.
Patrick muttered a curse while gazing out the window.
“What’s going on?” Pierce asked.
“You must be hungry.” Dorotea stood and headed for the door. “I’ll get you something to eat.”
“No, thank you,” Pierce replied. “We ate on the way.”
Dorotea halted halfway to the door. “Something to drink?”
Maggie smiled. “We just finished some drinks in the car, but thank you very much.”
“Oh.” Dorotea returned to her chair. “So, tell me, Pierce. What have you been doing while you were gone?”
“I was in New York City.”
“He’s a famous actor,” Maggie added.
Aunt Betty sniffed. “Not too famous. I’ve never seen him in anything.”
“I play Don Orlando de Corazon on a soap opera on DVN.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” Dorotea beamed at him. “I’m afraid we don’t get that channel. We could never afford cable.”
Pierce leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “Be honest with me. Is the ranch in trouble?”
His mother sighed. “We’re having some difficult times, but it’ll pass.”
Patrick snorted. “It’ll never pass.”
Aunt Betty crossed her arms, frowning. “It ain’t Bob’s fault. He can’t help it.”
“Who’s Bob?” Pierce asked.
“My husband, your uncle.” Aunt Betty glared at him. “He taught you how to ride. Don’t you remember anything?”
“Give him a break,” Patrick growled. “He has amnesia.”
“Well, I hope he remembers how to tend cattle.” Aunt Betty glowered back. “What with you too afraid to leave the house.”
Patrick stiffened. “I can’t help it. It’s the curse.”
“Superstitious nonsense.” Aunt Betty pursed her lips.
“A curse?” Pierce asked.
“Don’t worry about it.” Dorotea rushed over to Pierce and perched on the sofa arm next to him. “We’re so grateful you’re back. And just in time for Christmas!”
“I bet Pierce is too smart to believe in a curse,” Aunt Betty muttered.
He wasn’t so sure about that. After all, a potion from a voodoo priestess had wiped out his entire memory. “What curse?”
“A biting curse.” Patrick lay his shotgun down on a deacon’s bench against the wall. “Don’t ever leave this house. If you do, I’m warning you, you’ll get bitten.”
Dorotea whispered loudly in Pierce’s ear, “Your brother’s afraid to leave the house.”
“It’s not fear.” Patrick frowned at them all. “It’s common sense. How did Dad die three years ago?”
Dorotea sighed. “He was bitten by a rattlesnake several miles from home. Pobrecito. He didn’t make it home in time.”
“I’m sorry.” Pierce patted his mother’s hand.
“And what happened to Uncle Bob and Rosalinda?” Patrick continued. “I’ll tell you what. They were bitten!”
“Who’s Rosalinda?” Pierce asked.
“Your sister.” Dorotea frowned at him. “You don’t remember her, either?”
“For God’s sake, the guy has amnesia!” Patrick raised his hands in frustration.
“Sorry.” Dorotea smoothed back Pierce’s hair. “I keep forgetting.” Suddenly, she removed her hand. “Santa Maria. Is it contagious?”
“No,” Pierce assured her. “You’re perfectly safe.”
Patrick snorted. “Yeah, as long as we don’t get bitten.”
Pierce exchanged a worried look with Maggie. This was probably not the best time to admit they were vampires. “Where is Rosalinda? I’d like to meet her.”
“She’s gone…out,” Dorotea mumbled.
“She’ll be fine,” Aunt Betty whispered. “She always makes it back home.”
Patrick grabbed the shotgun and went back to the window. “We always stay up on nights like this.”
What the hell was going on? “Where is she?” Pierce asked.
Dorotea shrugged, then her face brightened. “It’s so wonderful to have you back for Christmas! Surely, things have turned around now, and God is blessing us.”
Pierce glanced at the clock on the bookcase. Four-fifteen A.M. It would take an hour to drive back to Dallas. “Well, actually, we need to be going.”
“No!” Dorotea stood. “You must stay for Christmas! And forever! There’s no place like home. We won’t let you leave.”
“I’m really sorry,” Maggie ventured, “but Pierce needs to give me a ride back.”
“Nonsense!” Dorotea circled the coffee table to sit next to Maggie. “You must stay, too. You’re the angel who brought my son back to me. You’ll always be welcome in our house.”
Maggie blinked. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She gave Pierce an apprehensive look.
He figured she was worried about finding a place for their daily death-sleep. The Dallas coven’s underground headquarters would be much safer. “I’d better take you back.” Her face paled. Were those tears in her eyes? Dammit, he’d said the wrong thing.
“You cannot go!” Dorotea stood once more.
“His daughter!” Aunt Betty jumped to her feet. “He must stay to see his daughter.”
Pierce’s mouth fell open. “My—my daughter? She’s here?”
“Yes!” Dorotea grinned. “Can you bring her down, Betty?”
“Of course. Just a minute.” Aunt Betty dashed into the foyer. Her steps pounded up the stairs.
Dorotea clasped her hands together at her ample bosom. “She’s sound asleep, waiting for Santa Claus to come. But an even greater miracle has happened! Her father has come home.” She frowned as Pierce rose to his feet. “You don’t know you have a child? Shame on you. I raised you better than that.”
“For God’s sake!” Patrick shouted. “He has amnesia!”
“No, I do know about Lucy,” Pierce confessed. “But I only found out last night. And I thought she was with her mother.”
Dorotea grimaced. “That terrible woman. She doesn’t deserve Lucy. She dropped off la pobrecita like an unwanted gato. Just because the man she was with didn’t want a child.”
Maggie gasped. “That’s horrible!”
“I know.” Dorotea cocked her head when steps sounded on the stairs. She held a finger to her lips. “We never talk about it in front of Lucy.”
“Of course not.” Pierce moved toward the foyer, anxious to meet his daughter for the first time. His heart leaped up his throat when he saw her on the stairs. Her curly black hair was disheveled, her big brown eyes drooped with sleepiness, her mouth was plugged with two fingers, and her Sesame Street pajamas were twisted askew. He’d never seen a more beautiful child in his life. His heart filled till it was heavy with love, then settled back into his chest with a sense of contentment.
Maggie and Lucy. He loved the most precious girls in the world.
Aunt Betty helped the sleepy little girl down the stairs. “We all adore her.” Even Betty’s pinched, narrow face had softened. “She’s brought joy back into this house.”
“I can believe that.” Pierce knelt down to greet his daughter.
Lucy stopped in front of him and removed her fingers from her mouth. “You’re not Santa Claus.”
“No. I’m your father.” And she was the only child he and Maggie could ever have. Their undead status precluded any more. “I think you’re a miracle.”
“No, I’m Lucy.”
With a grin, he hugged her.
“Did you come with Santa Claus?”
“No.” He straightened. “I came with an angel.” He pointed at Maggie on the couch who was watching with tears in her eyes.
Lucy wandered into the living room and stopped in front of Maggie. “You’re pretty.”
A tear ran down Maggie’s face. “I think you’re beautiful.”
“I’m sleepy.” Lucy climbed onto the couch and rested her head in Maggie’s lap.
Maggie gently stroked the girl’s hair. Pierce felt his heart expand. For the first time in his memory, everything was right. He was blessed.
“What a lovely picture you two make.” Dorotea headed for the bookcase. “I should get the camera.”
“No!” Pierce rushed toward the couch. Shit! If his mother had a 35 mm camera, he and Maggie wouldn’t show up in it.
Maggie gave him a frantic look.
“The—uh, the flash might wake up Lucy,” he grappled for an excuse.
“Yes.” Maggie nodded. “Perhaps we can look at your old photos? Maybe it’ll jog Pierce’s memory.”
“Good idea!” Dorotea grabbed a photo album from the bookcase.
Pierce exhaled with relief and sat next to Maggie.
Dorotea perched on the sofa arm and thumbed through the photo album. “Ah, here’s one of my favorites.” She lifted the album so Pierce and Maggie could see. “Halloween. Rosalinda was a princess. Patrick was Robin, and Pierce was Batman.”
Maggie slanted an amused glance at Pierce. “A black cape?”
“Yes.” Dorotea smiled. “Pierce was always fond of capes.”
Maggie grinned. “How interesting.”
Pierce wondered if somehow his subconscious had held on to certain things. Like capes. And a natural preference for short women with dark hair. Like his mother and Maggie.
Patrick wandered over to look at the picture. “I remember those costumes. We used to wear them when we played in the cave. Pierce would say, ‘To the bat cave, Robin.’”
Dorotea scoffed. “And the two of you would come home stinking of bat guano. You ruined those costumes.” She flipped pages in the album till she located another picture. “Here they are the next year. Patrick was Spiderman, and Pierce was Zorro.”
Maggie laughed. “Another black cape?”
Dorotea continued through the album. “Most of these are Pierce with his horses. He was winning medals by the age of ten. Then in high school, he discovered another passion.”
Maggie’s grin faded. “You mean girls?”
“Oh, no,” Dorotea chuckled. “He was shy around the girls. It was the marching band he loved. And music.”
Pierce blinked with surprise. “I know how to play an instrument?”
“Of course.” Dorotea tipped the album toward them. “Here he is in his band uniform. Doesn’t he look handsome?”
“Very handsome.” Maggie leaned closer. “Sweet Mary, you’re holding a trumpet.”
A trumpet? Pierce exchanged a surprised look with Maggie. No wonder Don Orlando had played the trumpet in a mariachi band.
Dorotea continued to show them photos while Lucy slept soundly, cuddled up to Maggie.
“It’s getting late,” Maggie whispered, then projected her thoughts into his head. We could teleport to Dallas, but that would be hard to explain to your family.
You’re right. He glanced at the clock. Five-fifteen. “Maggie and I are tired from our journey. Is there a place we can sleep? A dark place with no windows?”
“No windows?” Dorotea closed the photo album on her lap.
“There’s a bed in the basement,” Aunt Betty offered. “But only one.” She pursed her lips in disapproval.
“There are a few windows in the basement.” Dorotea returned the albums to the bookcase. “But they’re very small. I’m sure they won’t bother you.”
“I—I have a skin condition,” Maggie explained. “Any exposure to sunlight would be very painful.”
Betty snorted. “I thought you looked too pale. In fact, both of you look too pale. A little sun would do you good.”
Pierce winced. “This may sound strange, but we both have an illness that requires a lot of rest and complete darkness.”
Betty scoffed. “Sounds like hanky-panky to me.”
Patrick chuckled. “There’s always the cave.”
“Don’t be silly,” Dorotea fussed. “There are a million bats in that cave. And mounds of stinky bat guano.”
Patrick nodded. “With our luck, one of those bats would bite them.”
Dorotea’s face lit up. “The storm cellar! It’s very dark.”
“That sounds good.” Pierce stood. “Where is it?”
“Close to the garage. It’s where we go if there’s a tornado warning.” Dorotea wrinkled her nose. “But it’s not a fit place to sleep. There’s no electricity or heat.”
“It’ll be fine,” Maggie insisted. “Thank you.”
Pierce gently lifted Lucy’s head so that Maggie could get up. He slid a pillow under Lucy’s head and kissed her brow. “See you tomorrow night, little one.”
Dorotea shook her head. “This is terrible. How can we let you sleep in that cold hole in the ground when we have perfectly good beds in the house?”
Aunt Betty harrumphed. “I doubt they’ll be cold.”
“We’ll be fine, Mother,” Pierce assured her. “We really do need total darkness. And we need to sleep all day tomorrow undisturbed.”
“All day?” Dorotea asked. “But tomorrow’s Christmas. You should watch Lucy open her presents. And dinner will be at three in the afternoon.”
Pierce gave Maggie a worried look. “We’re…very tired.”
Aunt Betty snorted.
“I’m serious,” Pierce insisted. “I want your word that none of you will enter the storm cellar until after sunset.”
Dorotea ran a hand through her graying black hair. “Very well. We’ll have Christmas dinner at seven in the evening.”
“Thank you.” Pierce kissed his mother’s cheek. “Now, take us to the storm cellar.”