Captivated by Nora Roberts Page B

“Now, if you’ll just give me a minute, we can get started.” She tossed her hair back, pleased when she heard him gun the engine of his motorcycle. “Would you like some tea?”
    His brows were knitted, and his hands in his pockets. “I’d rather have coffee.” He trailed after her as she walked toward the kitchen. “What kind of a cousin is he?”
    “Sebastian? Often an annoying one.”
    “No, I mean . . .” In the kitchen he frowned at the remnants of their cozy dinner for two. “Is he a first cousin, or one of the three-times-removed sort?”
    She set an old-fashioned iron kettle on the stove to heat, then started to load a very modern dishwasher. “Our fathers are brothers.” Catching Nash’s look of relief nearly had her chuckling. “In this life,” she couldn’t help but add.
    “In this . . . Oh, sure.” He set his knapsack aside. “So you’re into reincarnation.”
    “Into it?” Morgana repeated. “Well, that’s apt enough. In any case, my father, Sebastian’s and Ana’s were born in Ireland. They’re triplets.”
    “No kidding?” He leaned a hip on the table as she opened a small tin. “That’s almost as good as being theseventh son of a seventh son.”
    With a shake of her head, she measured out herbs for tea. “Such things aren’t always necessary. They married three sisters,” she went on. “Triplets also.”
    Nash rubbed Pan’s head when the dog leaned against his leg. “That’s great.”
    “An unusual arrangement, some might say, but they recognized each other, and their destiny.” She glancedback with a smile before she set a small pot of tea aside to steep. “They were fated to have only one child apiece—a disappointment to them in some ways. Between the six of them, they had a great deal of love, and would have showered it over quantities of children. But it wasn’t meant.”
    She added a pot of coffee to a silver tray where she’d arranged delicate china cups along with a creamer and sugar bowl, both in the shape of grinning skulls.
    “I’ll carry it in,” Nash told her. As he hefted the tray, he glanced down. “Heirlooms?”
    “Novelty shop. I thought they’d amuse you.”
    She led the way into the drawing room, where Luna was curled in the center of the sofa. Morgana chose the cushion beside her and gestured for Nash to set the tray on the table.
    “Cream and sugar?” she asked.
    “Both, thanks.” Watching her use the grim containers, he was amused. “I bet you’re a stitch around Halloween.”
    She offered him a cup. “Children come for miles to be treated by the witch, or try to trick her.” And her fondness for children had her postponing her own All Hallows’ Eve celebration every year until the last goody bag had been filled. “I think some of them are disappointed that I don’t wear a pointed hat and ride out on my broomstick.” The silver band on her finger winked in the lamplight as she poured a delicate amber tea brewed from jasmine flowers.
    “Most people have one of two views on witches. It’s either the hooked-nosed crone passing out poisoned apples, or the glittering spirit with a star-shaped wand telling you there’s no place like home.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t fit either category.”
    “Exactly why you’re what I need.” After setting his cup aside, he dug in his knapsack. “Okay?” he asked, setting his tape recorder on the table.
    “Sure.”
    He punched the record button, then dug again. “I spent the day slogging through books—the library, bookstores.” He offered her a slim soft-cover volume. “What do you think about this?”
    One brow arched, Morgana studied the title. “
Fame, Fortune and Romance: Candle Rituals for Every Need
.” She dropped the book into his lap smartly enough to make him wince. “I hope you didn’t pay much for it.”
    “Six-ninety-five, and it comes off my taxes. You don’t go in for this sort of thing, then?”
    Patience, she told herself, slipping off her shoes and