Heartwishes (Edilean 5)

“I don’t have—” Gemma began but glanced at the woman. “How did you know?”

“I opened this shop right after my husband passed away, and you can’t imagine all that I’ve seen. So many young women come in here pretending to be looking for a gift for a relative, but they’ve really just found out about the baby they’re carrying, and they want someone to talk to.”

“What do you do with them?”

“First, I listen, then I send them to an Aldredge. Is young Tristan . . . ?”

“The father?” Gemma asked. “No.”

“Ahhh,” Mrs. Wingate said. “Have you told our sheriff yet?”

“Hell will freeze over before I—” Gemma took a breath. “I mean, no I haven’t. We had an argument and he . . .” She shrugged.

“I understand,?

?? Mrs. Wingate said, “and you can rest assured that I’ll tell no one. Although, dear, you do know that you can’t hide the coming event for too long.”

“Especially since twins seem to infest this town.”

Mrs. Wingate smiled. “They do, don’t they? In fact, just this morning one of the women who sews for me finished some outfits for twin boys. I have a feeling that dear Sara’s good fortune will send several people to my shop to purchase gifts for her.”

Gemma gave a sniff and smiled back. “It was good business of you to think of that.”

“I have to think ahead. I’m trying to survive in a world of mass production. Now, come with me and I’ll show you some different items.”

“Do you have a restroom?”

“I have to have one when so many enceinte ladies like yourself visit me. Right through there.”

Gemma smiled at the use of the French word. Her grandmother thought pregnant was a vulgar word and that no one with a respectable upbringing would use it.

When Gemma returned, Mrs. Wingate had spread some of the prettiest clothes she’d ever seen across the counter, and she got another lesson, this one in storybook smocking. When Gemma said that Mike would like some martial arts guys on his son’s play suits, Mrs. Wingate opened a laptop, logged on, and Gemma chose some photos that Mrs. Wingate said were suitable.

“I’ll have two outfits ready by the end of the week,” she said. “Why don’t you come back then and we’ll talk about . . . everything?”

When Gemma left the shop she felt much better, so good in fact that she’d added a fourth outfit for the baby she was going to have. Mrs. Wingate was certainly an excellent saleswoman!

As soon as Gemma got to her computer, she e-mailed Joce and asked what was going on with Mike and Luke. Joce wrote back,

Sorry I didn’t tell you, but it’s been chaos around here. Luke had an offer of a movie deal. Brad Pitt wants to play Thomas Canon. And I can’t believe no one told you about Mike. He was in a restaurant in Fort Lauderdale and recognized some guy who was wanted for the murder of four young women. Mike brought him in and they found another woman tied up in the creep’s house. Mike saved her life! As a reward, he’s being allowed to take early retirement with a full pension. He and Sara and the boys will be moving back here permanently at the end of the summer.

Gemma slumped back against the chair. It seemed that yet more of the wishes had been given. If Luke’s movie was a hit, it could give him the immortality he’d asked for. And Mike had brought a “truly evil” person to justice—just as he’d wanted to do. She e-mailed Tris about everything, from her 7 P.M. morning sickness to all the wishes that were being granted.

That night as she was getting ready for bed, she glanced at the silver compact in her makeup basket. She opened it and looked at the pretty little necklace. On impulse, she said, “I don’t think you’re magic but if you are, would you please make Colin come back into my life?”

When the necklace did nothing—not that she had actually expected it to—she closed the case and went to bed.

25

TELL HER.”

The words were so loud that Colin jolted awake. He’d fallen asleep in the big leather chair he’d bought with Gemma, and when the words were shouted, his feet came down, which made the chair spring forward. He was almost catapulted across the room.

He’d been so hard asleep that at first he didn’t know where he was. Papers had fallen off his lap and were now an inch deep on the floor. He looked around the room almost as though he expected to see someone there, but he knew he must have been dreaming.

“Tell who what?” he murmured as he got out of the chair. It was raining hard outside, but the words in his head drowned out all other sounds. “Tell her. Tell her. Tell her.” Over and over.

A crack of thunder immediately followed by a flash of lightning almost made him reach for his gun at his belt. Last night he hadn’t bothered to undress. He’d had a sandwich and a beer, then settled down in the chair to yet again go over the files about Adrian Caldwell, aka John Caulfied, aka . . . The list was endless, but whatever name the man used, he was Jean’s criminal uncle.