Tribute

on yourself. I don’t know anything about building houses, but I do know the person in charge of what’s going on across the road. She’s no screwup. She’s smart and bold and she works for what she wants. She may not have the mystical powers of the goddess but . . .” He tapped one of the sketches. “That’s her. That’s you, Cilla. Just the way I see you.” He took down one of Brid, gripping a two-headed hammer in both hands, her face alive with power and purpose.
    “Take this one, put it up somewhere. You feel one of the events coming on again, take a look at it. It’s who you are.”
    “I have to say, you’re the first person to see me as a warrior goddess.”
    “That’s not all she is.”
    Cilla looked from the sketch up into his eyes. There was tightness in her chest again, but not the sort that presaged tears. It was the flexing, she thought, of something starting to open again. “Thanks for this, and for the rest. As payback . . .”
    She turned, had his pulse bounding when she lifted the back of her shirt, bent just a little at the waist so her jeans gapped at the spine. And there, at the base, in deep blue, the three lines of the triple spiral curved.
    He felt the punch in his libido even as it hit the intellect. “Celtic symbol of female power. Maid, mother, crone.”
    She glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows cocked. “Aren’t you smart?”
    “I’ve been researching.” He stepped closer to study the tattoo. “And that particular symbol was top of my list for Brid. That’s freaking kismet.”
    “It should be on her biceps.”
    “What? Sorry. Very distracted.”
    “Biceps.” Cilla turned, flexed hers. “It’s stronger there. Not as sexy, maybe, but stronger, I think. And if you go with the idea of having it form when she transforms, it’s a bigger statement.”
    “You were listening.”
    “So were you.” She lifted a hand, touched his cheek. “You’re good at it.”
    “Okay. We need to get out of the house now.”
    “We do?”
    “Yeah. Because I could talk you into bed now, and I really want to. Then we’d both wonder if it was because you had a bad day and I was just here. Angst and awkwardness ensue. So . . . let’s go get ice cream.”
    Another key word had Spock deserting bear and bed and leaping up.
    Smiling, she stroked her fingers down to Ford’s jawline. “I want you to talk me into bed now.”
    “Yeah. Shut up. Ice cream. Let’s go.”
    He grabbed her hand, pulled her along. The dog passed them at a run in a race for the front door.
    “You’re a confusing man, Ford.”
    “Half the time I don’t understand myself.”

TEN
    T o Steve’s mind very little topped the sensation of roaring along a country road, hugging the curves with the warm night wind streaming. Scoring with the hot brunette, Shanna the landscaper, would’ve edged that out, but he’d come close there.
    And there was always next time.
    He’d gotten a taste, anyway, and had the feeling the full dish would live up to the promise of the sample. Yeah. He grinned into the wind. Next time.
    But for now, cruising along the deserted road after a little beer, a little pool, a few laughs and the prelude with Shanna hit all the chords. Swinging down, taking a couple of weeks to hook up with Cilla, yeah, that was working for him.
    She’d taken on a big one, he mused. A big, complicated project, and a wicked personal one. But it was working for her, too. He could see it in the way she looked, the way she talked. And she’d make herself something—something big, complicated and personal. Just like she’d always needed to.
    He could give her another week, maybe ten days on it. Because damn if the rehab didn’t grab him, and tight enough he wanted to see it through a little longer. He wanted to hang with Cilla a little longer, too, watch her build the framework of her new life.
    And hopefully close the deal with Shanna while he was at it.
    A week ought to do it, he thought as he swung around the turn and onto Cilla’s road. By then, the rural charm of the Shenandoah Valley would start to fade for him. He needed the action of the city, and though New York appealed to him for short stints, L.A.’s gloss and sparkle was home, sweet home.
    Not for Cilla. Steve glanced idly at a car parked on the shoulder near a long, rising lane. No, for Cilla L.A. had always been just a place. Probably another reason getting married had been such a whacked idea. Even back then she’d been looking for a way out,