Lightning Game (GhostWalkers 17)

Jonquille pressed her forehead against Rubin’s sternum, muffling her laughter with her hand. “Stealth mode?”

“That’s what triggered my radar, his supposed stealth mode.” Rubin caught up the bowl of cobbler, giving his brother a glaring reprimand. “She kissed me. She deserves the cobbler.”

“Is that what you call a kiss? The two of you set the cabin on fire. You could have set the entire forest on fire if you’d been outside.”

“Then you should have known the cobbler belonged to her, you thief,” Rubin reprimanded sternly.

Diego put his hand over his heart. “I’m sorry, Jonquille. You do deserve the cobbler after subjecting yourself to kissing the dragon, but I couldn’t resist how good the cobbler was. I don’t suppose you made a second one?”

There was a mournful, hopeful note in his voice that made Rubin roll his eyes. “He practices sounding like that, Jonquille. He thinks the women will find him irresistible.”

“Does it work?” Jonquille took the offered cobbler and sat in the rocker across from Rubin’s chair.

“You tell me,” Diego challenged.

She contemplated it over a spoonful of berries, then nodded her head. “I’d have to say yes. He’s very charming, Rubin. He hits all the right notes with his voice. He has that face, perfectly gorgeous. Those eyes. Very mysterious. Yeah, he’s probably a huge hit with women.”

Diego flashed Rubin a grin. “There you have it, big brother. I told you. Your problem is you never listen to me. You don’t bother talking. You actually have to talk.”

“He does all right,” Jonquille said. “And he can kiss. Talking versus kissing. I’ll take kissing over talking any day.”

“I’ve never had complaints in that department,” Diego said.

Jonquille licked at the spoon, eyeing him over the top of it. “We only have your word to go on.”

“That’s all you’re ever going to have, Jonquille,” Rubin interrupted. “If you want more kisses, you can look this way. He’s trying to get you to share the cobbler. I’m warning you, Diego, you try kissing my woman, I’m shooting you.”

“You can’t shoot me, I’m your brother.”

“I can shoot you, I just can’t kill you. I’m a doctor. And I have certain extraordinary gifts when it comes to healing. So does Jonquille. Between the two of us we could keep you alive.” Rubin steepled his fingers and regarded Diego. “Jonquille probably needs the practice.”

“She can’t practice on me. You never did answer, woman—did you make more than one cobbler?”

“No, but I can make another one. They’re easy enough to make.”

“I’ll take first watch tonight,” Rubin said casually. “I’m not very tired. Jonquille, you may as well keep the loft and Diego can sleep down here. He can have the second shift. I’ll wake him in four hours and then he’ll wake you.”

Diego nodded. “That sounds good. I’m beat, I’m not going to lie about it. I think I’m getting old. We covered a lot of ground today to make it to the cabin before dusk.”

“That was a priority?” Jonquille asked.

“It’s my favorite time of day,” Rubin admitted. “The fireflies come out.”

Her face lit up. “I love that so much. I sit outside and watch them every evening. I know it sounds silly, but it feels like they bring the setting of the sun. I feel a kinship with them. You call them fireflies. I think of them as lightning bugs. They appear and dance along the edges of the grass in this beautiful, musical display. I tell myself it’s just for me. Some nights it makes me cry watching, it is that beautiful.”

Rubin studied her face as she lifted her hand self-consciously to her hair, shoving back the wayward strands. Her eyes had settled back to the deeper blue, but he could still see the rings of silver circling the darker color. She handed the bowl of unfinished cobbler to Diego and drew up her knees, as if she’d given too much of herself away and felt too vulnerable.

“When I was a kid, I would sit outside and tell my sisters stories about the lightning bugs. I’d tell them they were fairies and were magic. I don’t know how I made up such crazy tales for them, but they used to beg me for new ones all the time. I got the idea from hearing a traveling salesman telling stories. That started my imagination going. The girls would come outside with me and I’d want to transport them somewhere magical for just a little while.”

“He did a great job too,” Diego said. “I’d sit and listen. I’d pretend I wasn’t, because I was a boy and boys weren’t supposed to listen to stories about fairies and magic, but they were so fascinating. Mama had to have heard them, but she never said he had to stop. Magic would have been considered sinful and of the devil. He would have gotten a beating with a belt or worse if Daddy was alive, telling stories like that, but Mama never stopped him. She just pretended she didn’t hear.”