Sympathetic Magic(39)

Margot summoned a faint smile as Claire returned to the kitchen, passing Jeff, who had another bowl in his hands, this one of what smelled like garlic mashed potatoes. He set it down, and they did their little dance once again, this time with her carrying a very large bowl of some kind of beef dish, judging by the savory aroma, and Jeff bringing out a basket of bread, carefully covered with a brick-red napkin.

“That’s it, then,” he said to Lucas. “Everything’s cleaned up. We want to hit the road — that storm coming in looks bad.”

“It does?” Lucas said, apparently taken off guard by this revelation.

“Well, according to the alert I just got on my weather app, it does. Have a great dinner — bon appetít!”

With that he ducked back into the kitchen, and Lucas, after a short pause, went ahead and took his seat next to her. He picked up the bottle of wine and poured a measure into her glass, then his.

“Is the storm going to be a problem?” she asked.

At once he smiled and shook his head. “I doubt it. I didn’t see much on the news this morning, and besides, even if it does do something crazy and actually snow — which generally doesn’t happen this early in November — I’m sure it’ll be melted by morning.”

“And if it doesn’t melt?” She wasn’t sure she believed him. What would happen if they really did get snowed in here? Sure, they had food for tonight — well, the next several days, judging by the size of the meal Claire and Jeff had prepared — but it didn’t sound as if Lucas was the type to keep much in the way of supplies around.

He seemed to recognize her concern, replying, “If it doesn’t…well, I wasn’t sure if you were much of a ‘going out to breakfast’ person, based on the way you shot down my suggestion about having brunch that one time, so I did get a few things. It’ll be fine.”

His reply did allow her to relax…a little. It was one thing to be up here in Flagstaff, running around town and doing things in public. What was she supposed to do if she really did get trapped in Lucas’ house for several days because they were snowed in?

Relax, she told herself. It’s Flagstaff in the twenty-first century, not something out of Little House on the Prairie. Even if we do get a heavy snowstorm, I’m sure the roads will be plowed in no time.

“Okay,” she allowed, and he raised his glass to her. Uncertainly, she did the same.

He said, “To trying new things.”

She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to respond to that particular toast, but she knew it would be rude if she didn’t chime in. And really, just being here in Flagstaff, in Wilcox territory, was a new enough thing for her. She wouldn’t worry about what Lucas might or might not have meant.

“To trying new things.”

They clinked glasses and then drank. It was a Rhone-style blend, she thought, although she knew there was no way she’d be able to tell if it was a true Rhone wine or one of the blends whipped up by the mad geniuses at one of the Verde Valley’s various wineries. Either way, it was marvelous, rich and nuanced, yet not too heavy on the tannins.

She set her glass down. “That’s excellent.”

“I’m glad you like it — it’s one of your own.”

“Mine?”

A smile. “From Burning Tree Cellars. They’re in McAllister territory, right? So I guess I think of the winery as being yours.”

Margot supposed that was true, if you stopped to think about it. “I had no idea you’d been coming down there and shopping regularly.”

“Oh, I haven’t. Connor picked this up for me the last time he was there, told me he was really impressed with their blends and that he thought I’d appreciate them, too.”

“And do you?”

The dark eyes surveyed her over the rim of his wine glass. “Oh, yes. Definitely.”

Once again she got the feeling he was discussing something entirely different from what she had asked, but she decided to let it go.

He seemed to as well, setting down his glass so he could hand her the bowl of salad. She took some, waited for him to help himself, then took a bite. The dressing was a light vinaigrette, expertly balanced.

“So do Jeff and Claire run a restaurant, or do they just do freelance cooking around town for men trying to impress their dates?” Damn. Why had she said “date”? That was going to sound all wrong.

Judging by the way one corner of his mouth quirked, she guessed Lucas had picked up on the word right away. “They own a restaurant. But Tuesday’s a slow night, so I wooed them away for a few hours while their sous chefs handled things.”