Ripley grunted, as close to a thank-you as she could manage before caffeine, and plopped into a chair.

“Too much snow for your morning run.”

Ripley grunted again. She never felt completely herself without her three miles. But the coffee was helping. She sipped, idly patted Lucy’s head when the Lab came over to greet her. She’d have to use the damn treadmill. Hated that. But she couldn’t go two days without a run. Zack was taking the first shift—where the hell was Zack?—so she could wait until midmorning before popping into the gym.

She didn’t want to run into Mac.

Not that he worried her or anything. She’d already reasoned out a number of very plausible excuses for her reaction to that good-night kiss.

She just didn’t want to deal with him, that was all there was to it. Nell set a bowl in front of her. Ripley blinked at it. “What?”

“Oatmeal.”

Suspicious and far from enthusiastic, Ripley leaned over and sniffed. “What’s in it?”

“Nutrition.” Nell took a batch of cookies from the oven, slid in another tray. “Try it before you make icky faces.”

“Okay, okay.” She had been making icky faces behind Nell’s back. It was sort of lowering to be caught at it. She sampled, pursed her lips, took another spoonful. There didn’t seem to be anything Nell put together that didn’t go down well. “It’s good. My mother used to cook oatmeal in the winter, but it looked like gray glue. Tasted worse.”

“Your mother has other talents.” Nell poured herself a cup of coffee. She’d all but shoved Zack out of the house early so she could grab this time with Ripley. She didn’t intend to waste it. She sat. “So, how did it go?”

“What?”

“Your evening with Mac Booke.”

“It wasn’t an evening. It was an hour.”

Defensive, Nell thought. Cranky. Well, well. “How did your hour go?”

“It came and it went, which wraps up my obligation.”

“I was glad he drove you home.” At Ripley’s lifted brows, Nell blinked her baby blues innocently. “I heard the car.”

And had looked out the window. Had seen Mac walk Ripley to the door. There’d been quite the little time lag before he’d walked back to the car.

“Yeah, he was all ‘It’s too cold out. You’ll get frostbite and die before you get home.’ ” She shoved oatmeal into her mouth, then wagged her spoon. “Like I don’t know how to take care of myself. Guys like that burn me. He can’t even find his keys half the time, but I’m going to wander off and turn into a Popsicle. Please.”

“I’m glad he drove you home,” Nell repeated.

“Yeah, well.” Ripley sighed, toyed with her oatmeal by putting little crescent-shaped dents on it with the tip of her spoon. She decided it looked sort of like a moonscape.

If he hadn’t driven her home, she’d have been fine, but she’d have missed one whale of a kiss. Not that she was obsessing about it or anything.

“You wouldn’t recognize the cottage,” she went on. “It looks like the den of some mad scientist. All this electronic and computer junk shoved in there. No place to sit down except the kitchen. The guy’s totally wrapped up in his spook show. He’s even got some voodoo charm in his glove compartment. He knows about me,” she finished in a rush, and lifted her gaze to Nell’s.

“Oh.” Nell drew in a quiet breath. “Did you tell him?”

Ripley shook her head. Her insides jittered, infuriating her. “He just knew. Like I had a sign on my forehead, saying ‘Local Witch.’ It’s all real academic with him. ‘Well, this is interesting, Deputy Todd, perhaps you could conjure something for me for the recorder.’ ”

“Did he ask you to do magic?”

“No.” Ripley rubbed her hands over her face. “No,” she said again. “But I . . . Damn it, he pissed me off, and I . . . I burned him.”

“Oh, my God.” Coffee sloshed at the rim as Nell set her cup down.

“I didn’t set him on fire or anything. I burned his wrist with my fingers.” She stared down at them now. Harmless, ordinary, maybe a little on the long side, with short, unpainted nails. Nothing special.

Lethal.

“I didn’t think about it, not consciously. All the mad went to heat and the heat went to my fingers. I haven’t needed to think about it, to worry about it, in so long. The last few months . . .”

“Since you opened back up to help me,” Nell finished quietly. She rose at the buzz of the oven timer.

“I don’t regret that, Nell, not for an instant. It was my choice, and I’d do it again. It’s just that it’s been harder to lock everything down again. I don’t know why—”

Wouldn’t admit why, she thought, and ground that thought to dust. “It just is. I caused physical harm. I had to fix it, but that doesn’t make up for causing it.”

“How did he deal with it?”

“Like it was no big deal. Got me a glass of water, practically patted me on the head and went back to conversation like I’d done nothing more than spill some wine on the tablecloth. The man’s got cajones , I’ll give him that.”

Nell walked back, stroked Ripley’s hair as she might have stroked a child. “You’re too hard on yourself. I can’t even count the mistakes I’ve made in the past few months, even with Mia guiding me step by step.”

“It’s not a good time to bring her name up.” Ripley leaned over again, began to eat as if the food would ease the clenching in her stomach. “If she hadn’t brought him here—”

“She didn’t bring him, Ripley.” The faint but unmistakable edge of impatience in Nell’s voice had Ripley hunching her shoulders. “And if she hadn’t rented him the cottage, he’d have found another, or stayed at the hotel. Did it ever occur to you that by renting him her cottage, by agreeing to talk to him, she controls the situation to an extent that she couldn’t otherwise?”

Ripley opened her mouth, shut it again. “No, it didn’t. It should have. She never misses a trick.”

“I’m going to talk to him, too.”

The spoon clattered into the bowl. “That’s just a bad idea. All-round bad idea.”