Fire Dancer (Spellbound in Sedona #2)

Chapter Nine

PIPPA

“Well, thanks for the ride,” I said, sliding out of Ingo’s Jeep in my best fake-casual way.

And, woo-hoo for me. I’d managed two hours in a confined space with Ingo, and I hadn’t even slept with him.

Just those couple of kisses we pretended didn’t happen. Side effects of the vortex and all that.

Never mind that my heart was still tap-dancing and my nerves fluttering, dammit.

“Thanks for showing me around,” Ingo murmured.

His pupils were still dilated, and that woodsy scent he got when his wolf inched closer to the surface clung to him.

Roscoe rushed out of the house, jumping at me in greeting. Calvin and Hobbes weren’t far behind, and they all swarmed Ingo in glee. Wolf shifters were the canine equivalent of rock stars, and it showed.

“All right, all right,” Ingo laughed, motioning for them to sit.

All three obeyed instantly, butts glued to the ground, tails wagging at warp speed.

Claire emerged next and called from the porch. “Hi, Auntie Pippa! Hi, Ingo!”

Ingo waved. “Heya, kiddo. Heya, Hopper.”

Claire made her stuffed animal rabbit wave an ear back, and whatever genes I possessed that judged men as potential mate material registered a solid ten for Ingo.

Stupid genes.

“Mommy and I drove home in your car,” Claire told me.

“We did. Thanks for loaning it to us,” Abby said.

Her car had broken down — again — so she’d picked up my car and driven it home; hence Ingo giving me a ride.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Claire asked him.

He shook his head quickly. “Not tonight, kiddo. Another time, though, okay?”

A split second later, his nostrils flared, and he whipped his head around.

I did the same, as did Abby and Roscoe. A short distance away, Erin and Nash shot out onto the porch of their cabin. Everyone was still tense after our recent tangle with Harlon Greene, the warlock.

My ears registered the hum of a truck. Or, wait. A motorcycle. A truck and a motorcycle?

Erin and Nash started moving toward us, on high alert. We didn’t get casual visitors at the ranch — not with the entrance protected by a cloaking spell that worked on humans and most shifters.

Abby moved in front of Claire in a protective stance. I stepped clear of Ingo’s Jeep. He slid out quickly and stood beside me, hair bristling as if he was defending home turf.

Evolution poked at those genes of mine and added another ten points to Ingo’s scorecard. Definitely mate material.

A motorcycle appeared on a steep rise, followed by a pickup. The driver of the motorcycle waved, and the driver of the truck — a vintage Grand Wagoneer — tooted the horn merrily.

I cheered, as did Erin, Abby, and Claire. Ingo and Nash, slower to recognize the occupants, continued bristling until the vehicles reached the house.

“It’s Grandpa and Grandpa!” Claire exclaimed.

I trotted over to the Wagoneer as my father slid out and opened his arms wide.

“Dad!” I threw my arms around him.

“Sweetheart!” He wrapped his arms around me and rocked a little.

As a kid, I’d considered my dad a giant, and his hugs made me feel invincible. Nowadays, they still did, even though I was almost as tall as him.

My dad was one of Claire’s “grandpas.” Erin’s father was the other. Neither she nor Abby was related to either of them, but they treated both like their own flesh and blood.

Dad released me to tousle my hair, and I echoed the gesture. Good old dad. His youthful, Richard Gere looks were going a little gray around the edges, but he was as fit as ever. Firefighter fit, he liked to call it.

Erin’s dad, Mike, gave his motorcycle a last, loud rev, then killed the engine. His worn leather jacket creaked as he stood in time to catch Claire in a hug.

“There’s my girl!” he cheered, spinning her around in a huge circle, then setting her down gently.

I stepped aside as Claire sprinted toward my father, who repeated the procedure.

All in all, my father and Erin’s went a long way toward making up for our mother. She’d hooked up with Erin’s father just long enough to get knocked up — Mom’s term, not his — and have Erin, only to abandon them a short time later. It hadn’t taken her long to hook up with Abby’s father afterward, and mine two years later. Each time, it was pretty much the same procedure. Slam, bam, thank you, man — oh, and good luck raising our daughter.

Erin’s dad and mine had done a great job. Abby’s…not so much. Another reason our dads doted on little Claire the way they did.

“Let me fix your beard, Grandpa.” Claire ran her fingers over Mike’s thick handlebar mustache.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He tapped her nose, then set her down and marveled. “You get bigger every time I see you!”

Claire stood Roscoe up on his hind legs to show off. “I’m taller than Roscoe now.”

Roscoe wagged his tail weakly. Unlike Claire, he knew two powerful supernaturals when he sniffed them.

Erin was the next to hug her father warmly. Nash followed with a stiff handshake.

“Hello, Mike,” Nash said evenly.

“Nash,” Mike grumbled.

Poor Nash. It was hard when your true love’s father was a tough-talking, spell-weaving, overprotective warlock and leader of a motorcycle gang — er, club.

And poor Mike. He loved Erin, so he tried to tolerate Nash. But I had the feeling Mike wouldn’t have minded if his “little girl” had remained single — and a virgin — forever.

My dad, on the other hand…

He stuck out a hand and caught Ingo in one of those three-part manshakes followed by a hug.

“Greg!” Ingo might as well have been embracing his own father.

“Ingo!” My dad greeted him just as warmly.

Yeah, my dad had a lot fewer hang-ups than Mike. Also, he’d spent the last twenty-five years working on a wildland fire crew with Ingo’s father, his close buddy. Ingo had joined the same crew before a couple of arson cases had set him off on a new career path in law enforcement.

Second also , my dad thought Ingo and I were perfect for each other. He hadn’t even blinked the time he’d discovered seventeen-year-old Ingo and me in bed together.

Yeah, I figured, was all he’d said. Just don’t get pregnant , okay?

Thank goodness for laid-back fathers.

Except, of course, when they couldn’t get their idea of your perfect partner out of their heads.

“Some coincidence that you got a job in Sedona, hey?” my father chuckled at Ingo.

Ingo glanced at me, and his throat bobbed. “Yeah. Funny coincidence.”

My dad half coughed, half muttered, “Can’t fight destiny.”

Yeah, well. I fully intended to.

“Abby!” my father called, hugging her next.

Mike greeted her just as warmly.

Abby closed her eyes with each hug, and my heart swelled when I saw her arms firmly around their shoulders. Erin liked to say we had the world’s most functional dysfunctional family. Me, I was grateful for having two out of three blue-ribbon fathers.

And two hot ones, too. I could see why Mom had been attracted to them. Hell, if they were total strangers and twenty years younger, I would have a hard time choosing between them.

But then my eye caught on Ingo, and a voice deep inside me whispered, Easy choice. Ingo, Ingo, Ingo.

I’d known him my entire life, and even as a child, I’d known he was the only one for me.

I scuffed the ground. Too bad things hadn’t worked out that way.

“How are things, honey?” Mike asked.

“All good, all good,” Erin assured him.

“No more trouble around here?”

“No, Dad. All fine. Thanks.”

“And…you know. Finances. Everything okay there?” Mike went on.

“The usual,” Erin bluffed.

Not the usual, but we were too proud to admit it. We’d received official notice of the new property assessment and back taxes to the tune of $30,000 — all due within thirty days.

Thousands we didn’t have, not even when we scraped every cent together.

I did my best not to exchange worried looks with my sisters. We could lose the ranch. Even more than a home, it was our keystone — the thing cementing the fragile construction we called family.

Abby’s eyes bored into mine, and she spoke into my mind and Erin’s. We’ll never let that happen. Never!

There was something even more significant about the ranch. The part we never mentioned out loud.

Magic.

Magic was rooted in the earth here, in the rocks, the earth, the sky. I could feel it in every wrinkle of the cliffs and every meander of the creek. Being here drew out the weak powers I’d inherited from my much more powerful parents. And ever since the vortex incident…well, those powers were becoming more and more evident.

“It’s great to see you both,” Erin said. “What’s the occasion?”

She glanced at me, then Abby, speaking into our minds. They’re checking on us, aren’t they?

Her father folded his arms, making his muscles bulge. “Do we need a reason to visit the four best girls in the universe?”

He left Nash out of the equation, but I suppose it was better than saying, the four best girls and that guy I’m forced to tolerate.

Definitely checking on us, Abby sighed into our minds.

“We just wanted to say hi — and to treat you all to a barbecue,” Mike added. “It’s been too long.”

“A barbecue and a bonfire.” When my father rubbed his hands in anticipation, sparks flew off the tips of his fingers.

“Careful, Grandpa,” Claire giggled.

He winked. “Oops. Sorry.”

Nash’s eyes went wide, but he was the only one who expressed surprise.

My father, like Erin’s, was a warlock — but while Mike specialized in wind and weather, my dad’s talents related to fire.

I could see Erin mouthing to Nash now. Pyromancer, remember?

A really, really powerful one — one of the few who could kindle fire from nothing, rather than manipulating an existing one.

Nash considered my dad, then me. I looked away just in time, holding my head high despite the harsh truth. My father is a powerful pyromancer, and my mother is a badass dragon shifter, but I’m fine with not having any of their powers.

Totally fine with that. Really.

Okay, so I knew a few small tricks that came in handy in the hot shop. But none of the cool stuff: changing into a mighty beast or flying. No conjuring, directing, or extinguishing flames at will either.

“Barbecue, bonfire, and stargazing,” Mike added.

Nash looked up and around. “It might be too overcast for stargazing.”

Mike flashed a smug grin. “Oh, I’m sure it will clear up in time.” Then he clapped once. “Come and help unload, everyone. We brought everything we need.”

“ I brought everything we need,” my dad corrected him, motioning toward his truck.

Ingo pitched in, then waved goodbye and moved toward his vehicle.

“Now, wait a second there, son.” My father stopped him. “You can’t leave before the party starts!”

I shot my dad a pained look and made a chopping motion with my arms.

“Um…” Ingo stalled.

“Ingo has a lot of work,” I threw in. “He’s very dedicated to his job.”

“All the more reason for him to take a little time off. You know what they say about all work and no play.”

Usually, I would be on board with that plan. But I’d just spent two hours with Ingo and barely managed to keep my hands off him. (The kiss didn’t count. He started it.) Spending an evening under the stars together would be way too much like old times.

“Also, it’s a conflict of interest,” I tried. “With his line of work and everything.”

My dad cackled and smacked him on the shoulder. “Nah. You’ll keep this off the books, right, kid? You’re family.”

“Thanks, but…” Ingo started.

“You can’t go now,” Erin admonished.

I glared at my sister. Of course he could.

But he didn’t.

And so it was that I found myself running around with firewood, sausages, drinks — everything a girl needed for an evening around a bonfire with her crazy family and her ex-lover.