Darknight(23)

“Oh, no,” I said, putting my hand to my mouth.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. His expression held only a kind of weary resignation. “She stuffed rags in the tailpipe to concentrate the carbon monoxide. Damon came home, saw that there was no one in the house, and heard the car in the garage. He ran out and grabbed me — I was already unconscious at that point, I guess, because I don’t remember any of it — and then went back to try to get her. But she’d locked all the car doors while he was rescuing me. Of course he called 911, but by the time they got there, it was too late. They rushed us both to the hospital, and I was okay after they administered some oxygen, but….” He pushed his hair back from his brow. “She was in a coma for three days and then just…went. The Wilcox curse strikes again.”

I stared at him in horror. “Connor, I am so, so sorry — ”

A shrug that was chilling in its detachment. “We’re used to it. But maybe now you can see why I put up with Damon’s crap. If it weren’t for him, I’d be dead.”

And with that, I did see. At least, I thought I did. I couldn’t quite understand owing that kind of debt to someone, as I’d never been in that position, but the bond Connor and Damon shared was far, far greater than what two brothers might normally have.

“Your father?” I asked then, since that was the last piece of the puzzle. The Wilcox brothers weren’t so old that their father shouldn’t still be alive.

“Heart attack when I was fifteen,” Connor replied briefly. “Definitely Type A, just like Damon. The healers had been working on him for years, keeping him going, but as you know, spells aren’t always infallible.”

No, they weren’t, especially when it came to something as fluid and unpredictable as healing spells. Not that I knew from personal experience, as the McAllister clan’s one healer had passed away several years ago, and we didn’t have a good replacement. Like the rest of the mere mortals in the Verde Valley, we relied on regular medicine or certain forms of alternative and holistic healing.

“I’m sorry,” I said. It was an automatic response, the sort of thing you were supposed to say when you learned of such an untimely passing.

“Don’t be. He was a first-class bastard.”

Like father, like his son Damon, I thought then, but I held my tongue. It was one thing for Connor to be passing judgment on his relations. I didn’t think I was yet in a position to do so.

“Well, that’s enough ancient history,” he went on. “Now can we talk about something more pleasant so I can actually enjoy this food you made?”

“Of course,” I replied immediately. “Do you think it’s going to snow? Those clouds looked pretty ominous.”

He actually cracked a grin at that. “The weather? Seriously?”

“Do you have something better to talk about?”

“Not really.”

After that we really did talk about the weather, how much snow Flagstaff usually got, how he liked to go cross-country skiing with his friends, how the snow would stick on Mt. Humphreys long after it had melted down here in town. Normal things. Someone eavesdropping on the conversation would never have guessed that just a few minutes earlier, Connor had been relating the Wilcox equivalent of a Greek tragedy to me.

But I knew. And I’d never look at him in quite the same way again.





5





A Midnight Clear





I woke the next morning with Connor’s revelations still rattling around in my head, but because he was acting almost studiously normal, I decided I had better let it go. If he wanted to tell me more, he could. That was his decision, though. I wouldn’t be the one to force it.

Because it was Christmas Eve day, I sort of thought maybe he’d close the gallery early, but I thought wrong. When I asked, he gave me his trademark raised eyebrow and said, “No, I’ll close at five. Gotta catch all those last-minute desperate men buying things for their wives.”

“I wasn’t aware paintings and sculptures were such a hot item with procrastinators.”

He grinned and shook his head. “They aren’t, but we also sell jewelry from local artisans, and that is the sort of stuff that tends to fly out the door at four forty-five. Besides, Joelle does need to leave early so she can head out to Winslow to be with her family. So I’ve got to close up.”

My disappointment must have shown in my face, because he made an odd little movement, as if he’d been about to reach out and brush my hair away from my cheek, and then realized that wasn’t a very good idea. “You won’t be alone on Christmas Eve. I’ll be here by five-thirty.”