darkened his light Nordic-blond hair to sand.
The heat… or extreme anger?
Dick was betting on anger.
Behind Chase stood the most beautiful woman Dick had ever seen, wearing one of Chase’s black T-shirts. Long legs stretched below the hem, giving hints of more lovely curves beneath the thin fabric. From the shape of her ample breasts, and the puckering of her nipples, she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Blue-black hair gleamed against her milky white skin.
He licked his lips, anxious to get to know this lady. Then she turned and lifted her deep purple eyes to his face. Laughter sparkled just beneath the surface.
He forgot to breathe. Thistle looked a little different from the last time he’d seen her. But he’d never forgotten those eyes. The eyes of the first girl he’d kissed. The eyes of the woman who haunted, or was that taunted, his dreams every night.
Thistle studied Dick and Dusty with an eye for the possibilities of a round of mischief. They’d both given her new insight into her purpose in life-spreading confusion and chaos with wild pranks-as they all grew up together. Now her friends looked like they needed a heavy dose of Pixie fun.
How had they gotten so old? And so solemn? She should have checked back on them more often during their teen years, but there was always a new generation of little ones to introduce to the joys of Pixie.
Something had to be done about Dick and Dusty. Soon. Chase had probably been a lost cause since he was ten.
Thistle was just the Pixie to help them out of their funk. Maybe even the angry and pragmatic Chase.
Those happy thoughts sank to her middle at the sight of Dusty’s frightened form cowering half behind her brother.
Before Thistle could frame a question or murmur a phrase of comfort, the policeman grabbed her arm and thrust her forward. “Take her. Just get her out of my sight for a long, long time,” he said. “If I never see her again, it will be too soon.”
So much for tricking him into a better humor.
“What’s the matter, Chase? Didn’t you enjoy having your siren go on and off fifteen times on the half-mile ride here?” Thistle batted her eyelashes, feigning innocence.
“I don’t know who you are, or what kind of drugs you’re on, but stay away from me.” He backed up, hands held in front of him. “Bad enough the blasted siren’s on the fritz, the seat belts wouldn’t stay fastened, and the radio only broadcasts static. The minute she got out of the car, everything cleared up fine. I nearly had to cut the seat belt to get out of it, though.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“Strange magnetic fields,” Dusty whispered. “Some people are like that.”
They all heard her.
Thistle looked back and forth between the men. She expected Dick to have half his senses tuned to his sister. He’d always been overprotective, even before she got sick. But Police Sergeant Chase acted as if every word Dusty uttered fell like pearls of wisdom from a queen to her grateful subjects.
Stars above, when had that happened? Not good. Not good at all.
Dusty, of course, spoiled the regal image with a smudge of dust that clashed with the spray of freckles across her nose. That childlike smudge was good.
“I’ve got to do something about Chase,” Thistle said to herself. “Can’t have
With that thought, she flounced over to Dusty and put her arm around her shoulders. Yee gads! Thistle now stood half a head taller than Dusty. Last time they’d been together, Thistle fit into Dusty’s hand or atop her computer mouse. But she only rode the mouse when Dusty got tired and Thistle got bored. The computer made interesting noises, and the screen flashed in odd colors when Thistle got too close.
And as for Dick… well, well, well, didn’t he clean up pretty with his sun-streaked brown hair, light tan, and brilliant blue eyes, so much like Dusty’s but more… more intense and defined.
Dusty just looked crumpled and, well, dusty. Sort of like this whole house.
“I’ll launder your shirt in Faery tears, Sergeant, and have Dick return it,” Thistle said. “Unless, of course, you want it back now.” She reached for the hem and began tugging the garment over her head, exposing her butt to them all.
“That’s okay.” Chase blushed all the way from his neck to the tips of his ears. “Call me later, Dick. There’s a preseason Seahawks game on the big screen at Old Mill. Friday night, free Buffalo wings with a pitcher. And Festival in full swing.” He practically ran out the door and down the steps.
Thistle threw back her head and laughed; the only way she could keep from crying. But the tightness in her chest continued to squeeze her heart and she couldn’t swallow past the lump in her hot throat that burned like Faery fire. She’d lost Pixie. Maybe forever. Now she had to make do with
The irony of Alder’s punishment wasn’t lost on her.
Nor the cruelty.
Three
CHASE MOPPED THE SWEAT from his brow on his shirtsleeve. He wished he could start work on the cold pitcher of beer right now. He had a lot of explaining to do to the captain.
He should have kept the naked woman in lockup and processed all the paperwork on about fifteen counts, from drunk and disorderly to public nudity to… laughing at him. But lockup, with air-conditioning, had become a shelter from the heat for the elderly, poor, and homeless. Since he had a place to dump Thistle Down, or whatever her real name was, he’d grabbed it.
The captain could chew his hide. But part of Chase’s promotion to sergeant included the authority to step slightly outside the box when necessary. Today was necessary.
Besides, dumping Thistle Down on Dusty had given him a chance to talk to her, to elicit more than just a few mumbled words from her. She hadn’t graced him with a complete conversation since… since he broke her music box, the pink one with the twirling ballerina inside, fifteen years ago.
He shook his head. He thought he’d given up trying to attract her attention. Dating his best friend’s sister would complicate his life too much.
But that Thistle woman. Wow! Gorgeous. If she weren’t so much trouble, he’d love to escort her to the fund- raiser Masque Ball next week.
One more short-term flirtation in a long list of them.
Dusty probably wouldn’t even notice that he’d come, alone or with someone.
One of these days he’d forget Dusty’s pert little turnedup nose and the endearing smudge of dirt on her cheek.
His gaze drifted toward The Ten Acre Wood, imagining it lit with Faery lights on the night of the Ball. He sighed. Not this year. He planned on skipping the Ball, unless he had to run security. No sense in spending the evening longing to hold Dusty in his arms while they danced when he knew that would never happen.
“Hey!” he yelled at a couple of kids running around the picnic tables in the museum grounds. “Stop throwing rocks!” The clatter of broken glass from the vicinity of the restrooms followed by a yelp of surprise punctuated his command.
He took off after the kids as they dispersed into the bushes and down the steps to Main Street. He had ’em
