Curiously Enchanted Read online

  Curiously Enchanted

  Witches of Hawthorne Grove Book 2

  Leighann Dobbs

  Emely Chase

  Annie Dobbs

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Also by Leighann Dobbs

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Samuel Ethan Huntingdon III stood in the middle of his mostly bare, eleven hundred and some odd square feet of workshop, both hands stuffed in the pockets of his worn jeans while he watched his newly engaged best friend, Jordan Parker, carefully disassemble the antique chiffonier he'd purchased at an estate sale a while back.

  “You're going to need to replace some of the hardware.” Jordan handed him a door and then the hardware—a pair of ruined iron hinges and what was left of the once intricately crafted wooden pull handle he'd just removed. “You might be able to find these at Seville's. If not, I can check with a few people in Center, but I'd stop in at Seville's first.”

  Seville's was actually Seville's Antiques and Collectibles—a battered, run-down, miserable looking little shop on the opposite edge of town that just happened to be the only genuine antique store in Hawthorne Grove. The place was managed by three sisters who'd lived in the area since way before Sam. He'd only moved into the small town a handful years ago. Jordan had found an antique letter box there a month or so ago, shortly after he'd come to Hawthorne Grove—one he claimed was instrumental in getting him an introduction to his soon to be wife—and Kaylee Dean, his fiance, said the same thing about a snow globe she'd purchased there.

  “Great idea,” Sam teased. “Maybe I'll run into my future wife while I'm there and we can get started building a replica antique cradle when we finish the restoration of this old thing.”

  “Go ahead and laugh, old man. Your turn's coming.” Jordan shot back, but his reply was muffled because he was leaning head and shoulders inside the cabinet, thumping and fumbling around with something inside.

  Shelves, most likely, Sam thought, until the one door that was still attached swung back and Jordan emerged, holding what looked like an old quilt rack—at least that's what Sam thought it was. That was what his Grandmother had always called the things she kept near the foot of every bed in her house, anyway.

  This one was a little bit plain. It was bare and dusty and a little beat up, but with some wax and polish and some good old TLC, Sam knew it would be as good as new. He reached out to take it to set it aside for now but Jordan was too busy inspecting the thing to hand it over.

  “What in the world? Looks like a hand-made saw horse or something,” Jordan said, eyeing the piece quizzically. “No, I don't think so, now that I give it a closer look. It's too detailed for that but I've never seen anything like it before. You got any ideas, Sammy?”

  “It's a quilt rack,” he informed Jordan. He was feeling more than a little proud to be able to claim some knowledge—in this area at least. “Grandma used to have one of these in every bedroom.”

  Each one always seemed to be holding a different variety of hand-sewn quilts, too, as he recalled, all lovingly stitched by his grandmother and sometimes, a few of her friends. The smell of springtime and sunshine seemed to have been infused into them, too, now that he thought about it. Grandma never had embraced the idea of electric dryers. She hung her quilts outdoors on the clothesline Grandpa had stretched for her until the day she'd died and the scent of her quilts, one of linens freshly taken in off the line, was one Sam thought he'd never forget. He'd been snuggling into the things since he was a toddler.

  Shaking free of an unexpected wave of nostalgia, he glanced up and caught Jordan still eyeing the wooden rack skeptically and tried to explain. “A quilt rack, Jordan. You know? A place where you store your extra quilts when they're not being used every night but it's still too cool out to stuff them away into the back of the linen closet for summer storage?”

  He reached over to take the piece from his friend and set it carefully to one side. “I remember coming in late, sneaking up the back stairs before Grandma passed away. She would catch me every time. She'd give me a pat, feel my cheeks, worry over how chilled I was, and tell me there were plenty of extra quilts by the bed if I needed them. All I had to do was pick one and snuggle in.”

  “Grandma Ellie.” Jordan nodded. “She was a great lady, Sam. I know you miss her.”

  Sam nodded. “She and Grandpa were the only constants in my life. Dad was always out in his rig on yet another cross-country run, but the only running Grandma ever did was to the grocery store on Wednesdays. Remember that? I used to think the only reason she went there was to pick up ingredients to make her famous cookies. ”

  Jordan straightened, moving so he could lean one hip against the wardrobe, a smile of fond reminiscence on his lips. He chuckled. “Double fudge chocolate chip. How could I forget?”

  Sam's laughter joined Jordan's but then he glanced toward the front of the shop when Kaylee Dean, Jordan's fiance, poked her head around the workshop door.“Jordan? Did Sam forget Lindsay's supposed to stop by the coffee shop today, or have you two decided to skip the meeting and just play in here all day instead?”

  Lindsay Vale, the owner of Vale's Vintage Interiors and a long-time friend of Kaylee's older sister, Jo Dean Leavy, was coming in to talk with Sam about renovating the interior of the coffee shop. Her beautiful vintage makeovers had landed her multiple interviews and a number of choice features in a few high profile interior design magazines and these days her calendar was solidly booked with clients. But lucky for Sam, Lindsay had a passion for his place and had been itching to talk to him about it for a while now. Jo said she'd practically jumped up and down when she'd got the call from Sam to stop by for a consultation.

  Jordan handed over the hardware he'd removed from the chiffonier and hurried across the shop to greet Kaylee with a warm kiss while Sam looked wryly on. “We were just about to head out, Kaylee. Now that you're here, you can help us wrangle Sarge out of Sammy's forty acre field out back.”

  Kaylee laughed. The “field” in question was really just a huge back yard Sam had recently fenced in where his new Husky pup, Jabez, was allowed to roam free. “Sarge loves it when you bring him for a visit now. I think he likes playing protector. ”

  It only took a minute for Jordan and Kaylee to collect the Golden Retriever Jordan had adopted from the animal shelter where Kaylee worked a few months ago from Sam's back yard and then Sam walked with them to Jordan's pick-up.

  “I'll meet you two at the coffee shop,” he promised Kaylee. “Jordan says I should stop by Seville's to look for replacement hardware for the chiffonier and since it's on the way, I think I'll stop in.” He offered a casual shrug. “If the sisters don't have what I need, maybe you can ask around in Center this afternoon when you and Jordan go up to look at wedding dresses?”

  Kaylee hopped up onto the passenger side seat, a grin slowly spreading across her lips. “Oh, I think the Seville's will have exactly what you need, Sammy. Don't rush. If Lindsay shows up at the One Shot before you, Jordan and I will keep her entertained until you get there. Take your time!”

  Sam waved goodbye to his friends and went to the house to collect his keys and a jacket, shaking his head all the while at Kayl
ee's not so subtle insinuation. How could the Seville sisters possibly know what he needed in his life when he didn't have a clue himself?

  The soft sound of musical bells ringing over the door of the antique shop was accompanied by an almost electrical hum of awareness that brought Emma Riley's head springing up, but only long enough for her to peek inquisitively through her lashes and over the rim of her glasses to see who had come inside.

  A tallish man with hair the color of wet sand and a contagious friendly smile walked into the showroom, surprise clearly evident on his face at how different the interior of the small antique shop was in comparison with the almost frighteningly debilitated look of the exterior.

  Hiding a smile of her own, Emma quickly ducked her head back down before he could make eye contact, forcing herself to focus once again on the display of antique puzzles in front of her instead of checking him out.

  As a Freelance Research Specialist, her job often brought her into contact with all sorts of rare, artful things, but her latest client—a fiction writer—needed some information about antique puzzles and that was why she had driven down here this morning—to see what she could find, if anything, at Seville's.

  Lindsay Vale, her roommate from college and probably what most people would call a best friend, had suggested this particular shop. Lindsay was an interior decorator and she frequently hung out in antique shops or at estate sales looking for the perfect pieces with which to transform the bland, boring interiors of her clientele.

  Lindsay had warned her about the fallacy of Seville's battered exterior, promising sheer magic awaited her beyond the ramshackle appearance and half-rotted wooden doors. Emma hadn't been so certain when she'd gotten her first look at the place. Once inside, however, she'd found herself enchanted by the beautiful selections on offer.

  Right now, she was having a difficult time making up her mind over which of the puzzles waiting with infinite patience in front of her she should buy. Even though she hadn't come in this morning with the intent to actually purchase a puzzle, now that she was here, looking directly at them instead of viewing them from a set of badly shot photographs on the Internet, she couldn't seem to will herself to resist.

  One puzzle in particular, made from an especially warm hardwood with a slightly worn image of a charming Victorian couple on front, pulled at her. She knew she'd probably settle on it in the end, but right now, she was enjoying the momentary back and forth debate in her mind of trying to decide between it and another which sported an ancient world map—which she also loved—but that one seemed far less sophisticated in regard to the cut of the individual pieces.

  “Good morning! Can we help you, sir?” came the lilting voice of the woman who had settled behind the counter a few moments before, right after she'd carefully lain out the most interesting quilt Emma had ever seen. Made up of black and white squares, each one sewn together in a lovely pattern she knew probably had a name though she hadn't a clue what it might be, Emma figured the only reason she found the antique coverlet intriguing was because it was so simple. The piece was crisp. Practical. Useful. A bit like herself, she supposed. Maybe that was why the thing kept drawing her eye?

  “It is lovely, isn't it?” The woman behind the counter ran her hand over the material in a gentle sweep, caressing the fabric as if it were something precious and rare. “The lady we acquired it from said it had been in her family for at least six generations, and look—not a stitch out of place after all this time.”

  “My grandmother made one like this once, only she used bits of multicolored fabric where this one has solids. Interesting that this piece was done in simple black and white,” the man who had come in earlier replied. His voice moved over her slowly; like a ray of sunshine stepping boldly from behind the shadows of a cloud, it warmed her.

  Blushing at the realization, Emma cast a quick, surreptitious gaze in his direction and sucked in a breath of surprise. She had somehow managed to gravitate over to the counter without the slightest awareness of having done so and was now standing right beside him—so close she could feel the heat emanating from his body. No wonder she imagined his voice was warming her like the sun!

  Flustered now, she glanced down at the quilt they'd been discussing. The sight of his large, tanned hand resting firmly atop the cloth started a flutter in her ribcage and her gaze jerked upward once more. It clashed with his and held, refusing to break away.

  “The simplicity of it is what makes it so special,” Emma said, responding in a voice gone breathless, and to her surprise, he wholeheartedly agreed.

  “I'll take it,” he said, glancing up at the proprietress. “Along with four sets of each of these if you have them.” He held out his other hand to show the woman what he needed before handing over the hinges, and Emma, now freed from the intensity of his gaze, was suddenly galvanized into action.

  “Oh, no. You can't! I—It's—” Emma laid the puzzle box she didn't remember picking up on the counter beside the quilt and turned an imploring gaze on the woman behind it as her fingers found and slid like a caress over the warm cloth. “I—I'd already decided to purchase it you see,” she fibbed, stuttering out an explanation while her eyes silently willed the shopkeeper to go along before she said, “Um, yes, and I'll take the puzzle, too.”

  Guilt over her fib instantly plaguing her, Emma tilted her head upward by tiny degrees until her eyes met the doubtful suspicion in his—and she could feel the cloth beneath her fingertips changing, firming, expanding until it seemed to have come alive. It now felt as if she were caressing the planes and contours of a slightly stumbled chin. A male chin—just like that of the man standing beside her.

  Emma snatched her hand away and quickly turned her head to break eye contact with the handsome stranger but not before she noticed the flecks of tawny gold highlighting his eyes go bright, changing the lucent green to a marbled, molten amber.

  Flushed with embarrassment, her face heated. He couldn't possibly have known what she was thinking. Could he? Keeping her gaze lowered, she merely nodded her head when the woman behind the counter asked if she wanted the puzzle and quilt wrapped. She could sense movement at her side, but didn't dare look up again. Not while he was still there.

  The minute the puzzle and quilt were both wrapped and bagged, Emma hastily signed her name on the check she'd been making out and handed it to the woman, then grabbed up both packages and hurried from the store, head down, her eyes firmly focused on nothing but the path in front of her.

  Chapter Two

  Mortianna Seville waited until the bells over the door quieted before she swept into the main showroom of the antique shop with a dull gray cardboard box clutched in one hand. The other, she used to motion to Serephina.

  “Put it over there,” she said, pointing to a cleared stretch of counter space slightly to the left of the register at the checkout area where Esmerelda currently stood. “If it doesn't sell soon, well, at least we will have a lovely decoration to look at while we pass time behind the counter.”

  The decoration in question was a lovely twelve piece, English rose patterned antique coffee set and every one of those pieces were marked with the numbers 214 on the bottom but even if there had been no numbers the sisters would have known precisely who this particular grouping was for: Sam Huntingdon, owner of the popular coffee shop out at the edge of town.

  Serephina carefully balanced the tray, wincing when the near-priceless pieces rattled as she transferred the setting to the counter top. She cringed, but Mortianna noticed it was more of a distracted reaction because her attention wasn't really on the heirloom bone china at all. Instead, she had been staring, both brows arched high in questioning demand at Esmerelda.

  Mortianna could have walked over and warned her younger sister about the impending furor but instead she simply watched as Serephina gingerly moved each of the pieces of the coffee set into place—straightening here, aligning there until she was satisfied with the arrangement—and all the while continuing and failing in
her not so subtle attempts to catch Esmerelda's eye.

  Finally, Serephina gave up trying to make eye contact and retreated slowly toward the back of the storeroom again, this time motioning ever so slightly with a quick, jerky little nod of her head in yet another covert attempt to encourage Esmerelda to notice and to follow her.

  Esmerelda didn't. In fact, she hadn't done anything except stare at the door since their last customer had left.

  Mortianna knew something was wrong. From the not so subtle hints Serephina was giving to Esmerelda's uncharacteristic daze, she had her warning that all was not as it should be. But the pieces of this particular “what-is-going-on-now” puzzle hadn't quite managed to fall together enough to tell her exactly which of Esmerelda's actions had gone south.

  Pasting on a smile, she swept over to the counter to greet Sam. “Excuse me. You wanted hardware, right? Hinges, I believe?” She handed him the box. “These come in lots of twenty, so you'll have a few extra if you need them. Will that be all or is there something else we can get for you today?”

  Like Esmerelda, she noticed, his eyes were also still focused on the door. He nodded inattentively, then shook his head no as he reached distractedly into his back pocket for his wallet. “How much?”

  “Forty-one twenty,” Esmerelda finally murmured quietly from behind the counter, sounding very much as if she were lost in thought and miles away. “Do you need a bag?”

  “Of course he doesn't need a bag, silly. They are all boxed up already.” Mortianna blurted, her words followed by a warm chuckle as she smiled up at Mr. Huntingdon again then sidled around the counter to sit near her sister on one of the stools. “You're Sam, right? From the coffee shop?”